I'll try to get Adam to take that rib back.....

Last week, it was announced that one volunteer was needed to transfer to Basra. For reasons including more opportunities for promotion and the more relaxed atmosphere that comes with a smaller, growing base, I submitted my name. On a day which I will not disclose on a public blog but in the near future, I will take a 100-mile Blackhawk ride to Basra, to work there permanently. I am very excited. And handsome. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basra
Please click on the link, as the history of Basra is quite interesting. Legend says the Garden of Eden was there.....as my friend Matt Write cleverly told me, I should "try to get Adam to take that rib back". Sinbad the Sailor hails from Basra, as well. I wonder if there is still a cherubim with a flaming sword, guarding the Garden's entrance.....I doubt it.
When I broke the news to my Iraqi and Injun workers, they were genuinely sad. You need to understand that we work together over 13 hours a day, 7 days a week, and have grown to be friends. Though they work under me (not in the way Matt Haley wishes he could be under me, oh snap), I treat them as human beings, as I have written about in past posts. After I informed them of my transfer, one of them pulled me aside and told me, "you leave, no good. you stay. you good man, mr Jim." This just about broke my heart, knowing that the seemingly simple things I do for them mean so much. A couple of times a week, some of them will quietly ask me if I'm going to the PX (camp store- Post Exchange), and if so, if they gave me some money if I could buy a case of Mountain Dew for them. Once in a while I'll surprise them with Red Bulls or Monster energy drinks, which they love. Or, as I've written about, the much-needed dental operations or extra food we sneak out of the chow hall to supplement their budget-saving rice/bean diet. Even the constant "Good morning, Gandu!" brings laughter and uplifted spirits. I will say again, I am not trying to boast about my good deeds, only to show that these guys are no different than you or me. They are here trying to pay off debts, support families, save for an arranged marriage, or even rebuild after the 2004 tsunami (I am friends with 2 Sri Lankens who had to literally swim to safety that day). The only difference is that they were born in a 3rd world country, and I happen to be born in America. That is it. Senses of humor are the same (with mine being slightly funnier), basic values are the same, the desire to work to better one's life is the same, which brought all of us here in the first place. I will say again- extremists aside, people are basically the same. Everywhere. I just happen to be better looking than most.

This hyena was caught in Al Asad- it tested positive for rabies, Leishamaniasis, and mange.Occasionally we see one trotting across a road here.

I Am Not Mature

"hello my brother how are you i am going to karbla tom perhaps i find girl f there you know all girls there beatfuls and the eyes coulors brown all the ways good ihope you fine iam happy to hear this news about your vacation and perhabs when i gets on any chance to leave iraq to usa i will go to unversity your f hadi ali -iraqi" The latest email from an Iraqi friend, Hadi.
A while back, I wrote about my buddy, Hadi, who delivers propane to us every couple of weeks. He speaks english so well that he could easily be a translator, and, in fact, hopes to become a translator for the US Army, very soon. However, he fears for his family's safety, as he says "militias from Iran are back in town and threatening everyone working with Coalition forces". He gave me an example of just how dangerous it can be.....
His father died of a heart attack in 2007. Prior to his death, he had worked with the British troops in Basrah, where Hadi is from. One night, in 2005, he did his nightly duties of locking up all the doors and windows in his family's home.....but forgot one. In the middle of the night, they were woken up by a group of "very large men, Iran militia men". They beat him. They shot his younger brother in the leg, and they kidnapped his father. This part of the story was difficult to understand, but apparently the British troops whom his father worked with were able to find him and rescue him just before he was executed.
Now that things have improved in Basrah, Hadi, 21, works with us, but is afraid of the apparent growing Iranian presence in Basrah. He hopes to one day go to college in the US.
In other news, my daily communication "problem" with the servers in the chow hall is as funny as ever. I have learned that "Ma Chikini" is Nepali for "mother fu@%er", so I make it a point to mispronounce fried chicken when ordering this dish, instead requesting "fried ma CHIKINI". At first I am greeted only with blank stares and, "yes sir, fried chicken, sir...." To this I just respond more emphatically with "fried MA CHIKINI, please". When they realize I was saying "chikini" on purpose, they all burst into laughter. Whatever it takes to keep spirits lifted.

Gandu, not Ghandi

Many adjectives have been used to describe my rather particular brand of humor: brilliant, witty, jocular, facetious, dry, intelligent, ingenious, keen, funny, piquant, amusing, piercing, clever, audacious, and hilarious. A rather long, egotistical list, you say? Perhaps. However, one word exempt from this list is 'mature'......

The man to the left (my left) of me is Artan, my Albanian friend. Of course, our crazy friend, Sattar, whom I recently wrote about regarding his imbibing of blue toilet disinfectant, is being as classy as he knows how. (again, click on picture to enlarge)

Artan and I share a similar flavor of humor, and laugh all day long whilst working together. One thing we have taken to doing is learning new Hindi words and phrases, as there are thousands of Indians (dot indians, not feather indians) working as subcontractors here in Iraq. We learn the usual greetings and farewells, but alas, our education sessions always seem to include inappropriate words and phrases. What we do with our newfound knowledge is reflective of said missing word above, though funny nonetheless. On a daily basis, we see at least 50 Indians working in our chow hall. Most of them know us, as we exchange mutual greetings with them while being served our food. Occasionally, we use one of the new Hindi words we've learned, such as "shukria", which is 'thank you'. This usually brings a smile to a young Injuns face, and brings me satisfaction to be reaching out to the subcontractors, whom are generally treated with disgust and disdain by our government and its holier-than-thou contractors. Lately, however, I have been implementing my new, inappropriate words into my greetings, and I have never laughed so hard in my life. Picture me moving through the serving line at the chow hall......I see the tasty, mashed potatoes that I would like to be served....so, I say "Hello, Gandu! Mashed potatoes, please!" I immediately see confusion on his face. "what did this guy just say? did he really say, 'gandu'?" As I'm moving further through the line, I repeat the word to the next indian, with my next food request...."Hello, Gandu! Chicken, please! Shukria, gandu!" By this time, all of the servers behind the line are looking at eachother, trying to stifle and hide their imminent laughter, so I tell them "I learn 'Gandu'! 'Gandu' mean 'friend!". Upon hearing this, they are erupting in laughter, sidesplitting laughter. I keep a straight face, pretending not to understand why they are laughing at me, knowing all the while that I just called each of them "homo", in their native tongue. "Gandu" means "homo", in hindi. I walk away, continuing my act of ignorance, trying to hide my own smirk.

Today, I broadened my act with phrases, such as "Mae teri gand marunga", which I pretend to think means "How are you doing?" In reality, this means "I want to have sex with you." When this is used as part of a greeting, the reaction is priceless. Their initial look of disbelief and shock, followed by some of the loudest laughter I have ever heard, is so funny that I need to start filming these and posting them on youtube. I am funny.

My Friends

A quick note- yes, Daniel Larusso from 'Karate Kid' was, in fact, based on the man in the front/right of this picture.

Each morning, I drive from my office to the front gate where I pick up our Iraqi workers. Most of them live in Nasiriyah or its surrounding villages, spend the day working on our base, and return to their homes at night. These are some of our Iraqi workers who work with me. I'm wearing my "shemagh", which one of my workers bought for me in Nasiriyah. I absolutely love it, as it's such a practical piece of gear. It keeps the sun off of the face and neck, protects the eyes and mouth from the blowing sand, and keeps the head cool. I plan on single-handedly making shemagh's fashionable in the US, should I ever decide to return.

The temperatures are finally approaching 100 degrees, which I love. I would prefer to be uncomfortably hot than uncomfortably cold, so I'm looking forward to summer. When you're in intense heat, you can always drink water and sit in the shade to find relief- however, there's no getting warm when you're in extreme cold. You can pile on the layers, but it's still cold and miserable- for me, anyway.

The base I'm working on is expanding at a rapid rate, though you probably don't hear this on the news. It is obvious that this base will be a permanent, US/Iraqi base, after the majority of US troops have returned home. For me, this means job security.

I'm enjoying myself a lot out here. I love working with the Iraqis, as we seem to get along rather naturally. Most of them seem to share my brilliant sense of dry humor, and I appreciate their toughness and work ethic. I respect them, and they seem to respect me. The fact that they know I was "mushatabariyah" ('warrior of the sea', Marine) in the Sunni Triangle back in 2004 helps this, but I also treat them like real men, unlike a lot of the Americans do. I have worked with several Iraqis who have told me that they preferred working with Marines over the Army, only because of the fact that the Marines treated them with respect, as opposed to just some 2nd class local national.

Manute Majanuhn

Please click on the picture to enlarge; note the expression on the man's face. Hence, the epithet I have ascribed to him.....

I met the young man in this picture about a week ago when I had to fill in for his usual escort. He is a 21-year-old Iraqi from Nasiriyah; his name is Sattar. The first time I saw him, I was absolutely horrified. You see, the tank of blue water that he is standing above is the neon-blue sanitation water that is the toilet water of portable bathrooms. In the picture, he is filling the tank with water, which has the concentrated blue chemical added to it. Well, before the concentrated blue chemical is diluted inside the tank that you see, it is stored in a 55 gallon drum, which gets syphoned out into a smaller container, and eventually poured into the white tank that you see. About 30 seconds before I met Sattar for the first time, he was apparently having trouble getting the hose to begin its syphoning...so, naturally, he placed the hose into his mouth and sucked. Hard. Too hard, and too long. The hose was not a clear hose, and before he knew it, he had a mouthful of royal-blue, industrial-strength, toilet disinfectant. All I could hear was a horrific scream, nay, a screaming gurgle, as he attempted to spit the caustic substance onto the sand. I was in shock. He was laughing. You must also understand the extreme to which this liquid stains everything it comes in contact with. 6 hours later, he looked like he had just eaten a Smurf, whole (I'm assuming smurfs have blue blood). His teeth and tongue were still blue the next morning. I later learned that he had done the same thing the week before, but with gasoline. The title of this post is the new nickname I have given him, to which he takes great pleasure in- "fu#%@ng crazy", in Arabic.

Now, let us also take a look at the company he works for, "Future Services". I do not understand this name. What does it mean? If I call them because I am interested in their business, will they simply inform me that "no, sir, I am sorry, we cannot perform our services until a later time...."?

"But I need this done now!"

"I am sorry, sir, we are Future Services."

It doesn't make any sense, and I don't like it.

"good m iam hadi from basrah how are you my brother i miss you"

This is an email I received today from my new friend, "Hadi". Hadi is obviously from Basrah. The one-line email is a bit odd, but his english writing is much better than my arabic, so I won't judge him too harshly. He is a 19-year-old entepreneur who makes his living selling propane to people, including our military. He is very well-spoken and very friendly, and although I was leery to give him my email address when he asked for it, I humored him and wrote it down. Here is how I met him..... Three days ago, my boss approached me while I was sitting at my desk in our office. "Hey Jim! I've got a mission for you, you're gonna love me!"

I replied with, "Um, Ed, if 'loving you' is the mission, I'd rather not take part."

It took him a few seconds to understand my little joke.....typical. The mission was to drive the Suburban just outside the front gate and link up with a young man selling propane, escort and sign him in, and bring him to the work site so we can switch out our tanks. So, I did. The ride with Hadi was an interesting one. He was immediately friendly and talkative, asking me numerous questions about America. He knew many of the US states and was very proud of this fact. His dream was to ultimately save enough money to move to Texas and attend "university". All of the Iraqis know of Texas. And Michael Jackson, "King of Pop, yes?" Our conversation eventually shifted to the pre-invasion era, and Hadi described to me how his father was forced to fight in Saddam's army for 30 years. His uncle, his father's brother, had refused and had subsequently been executed. This seems to be a resounding story in Iraq; people refusing to follow Saddam, mysteriously disappearing or executed by his secret police. I heard countless stories like this while at Abu Ghraib, and and same is true down here.

My 2nd sighting.....

Habbaniyah Waterfall- this is the species of mullet (the haircut, not the fish) that I was lucky enough to encounter only two days ago. Note the locks of long black hair, cascading past the neck and shoulders; draping onto a shirt that would have been stylish only 20 years ago. The "molester-mustache", meticulously groomed with such pride that anyone gazing upon it will only turn away in shame; shame that they do not also own such fine craftsmanship of outdated facial hair.

A rare specimen indeed, this is only the 2nd mullet I have seen in my almost 12 total months in Iraq. The first was in July of 2004; an insurgent being escorted into Abu Ghraib prison- fitting, isn't it? Like an exciting episode of Cops, but with the criminal actually clad in a shirt (ever notice how the criminals on that show never wear shirts?).

The 2nd sighting occurred earlier this week....a convoy of "jingle trucks"(shown in picture) stopped at our base to refuel. An avid mullet hunter, I easily spotted the prey inside his truck at 400 meters away, bouncing down the road, all the bells and whistles screaming "hey dude, look at me- but watch yourself, I will fight you at the drop of a hat". In terms of "mulletude", this gentleman had it all. The truck, the attire, the 'stache, and as I would soon see, the swaggar. As his truck rolled to a stop at the fuel point, the driver's door opened.....I swear I saw the clouds part and rays from heaven shine down upon my find, with a multitude of heavenly host singing "Hallelujah, Hallelujah!". He then, cool as can be, climbed out of the truck, leaned against the side, and lit a knockoff Marlboro- with a match. Unfortunately, these sightings don't always happen when I am armed with my trusty Olympus digital camera (my weapon of choice in the task of mullet-documenting), and I wasn't able to capture him- this time.

Mullets are the same virtually everywhere in the world. Languages and locations may differ, but the same cocky swagger and insistance upon all things 1980's remains steadfast. They are elusive and cunning, but I will continue the hunt.