I'd like to thank my mother for sending me so much beef jerky and pistachios. The inconsiderate, Iranian-backed militia in Basra had the audacity to attack us with rockets for about 3 hours tonight, right in the middle of our dinner hours. This kept us holed up in bunkers and unable to get to the chow hall for the evening meal. Luckily, I had enough "pogey bait" in my bug-out bag, which I brought to the bunker, to keep my coworkers and I satisfied until the attack ended. Thanks mom.

At this point, it should be clear that I am not a racist. I am not so shallow as to judge a person by their race or ethnicity; lifestyle choices and eating habits, perhaps, but not something that is out of one’s control. I have always gone out of my way to help anyone in need here, regardless of their country-of-origin. That being said, I often find it difficult to look at the diverse people I work with and not picture them as their stereotype. Let me explain- there is a gentleman from Fiji here. He’s a very nice guy and works extremely hard. However, I cannot look at him without visualizing him clad in a leaf or loin cloth, clutching a spear, and dancing around a fire on a beach with a bone through his nose. I know, you can’t believe I actually wrote that. Well, as I’ve said before, this blog is about my daily observations, and I’m just keeping it true-to-form. Actually, I really have no idea if native Fijians even do what I envision. Perhaps they stick to apples and over-priced bottled water.

When I see the guys from Nepal, as in the gentleman on the left in the picture, I picture the same thing every time: his small frame hunched over, loaded down with 200lbs of the climbing gear of some wealthy, English aristocrat, headed for a Mt Everest base camp; a Sherpa.

Most of the guys from India dress and behave just like you and me- blue jeans, t-shirt, etc. Once in a while, though, you get someone such as the guy on the right in the photo. The traditional Hindi garb gives me images of him sitting, Indian style (obviously), around a woven basket, charming a Cobra with a flute (he has the flute, not the cobra). The other image conjured up by the Indian’s native outfit is that of one of the evil priests in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I must say, also, that the Indians are probably the hardest and smartest workers I have ever seen, and it is my pleasure to work alongside them.

Now, in my defense, many of these thoughts were generated by hearing the guys laugh about their stereotypes. The Kenyans often joke about bringing me back a lion from their next visit home. Simon has gone into great detail, attempting to convince me that young, Kenyan men still hunt lions as a rite of passage into manhood. So, they do give my mental pictures a bit of ammunition.

Finally, I'd like to thank my brother Steve for being the greatest human being ever to exist. Of all time, EVER. I don't know how you do it, Steve, but you do it well, let me tell you. Keep it up! Someone's gotta be the man, right? We're all glad it's you!!!

Mortars Are For Cowards

I typically don't write about the daily mortar and rocket attacks because I don't want to worry my friends and family back home.  I'll make an exception for this post. We received the worst attack I have seen since 2004, when I was here as a Marine. I returned from the gym at about 9pm. At 915, I had just sat down and began checking emails, when I heard that distinctive, deep percussion "thmp!" in the distance; it is a sound that anyone whom has spent significant time in a war zone will be able to instantly identify- a mortar exiting its tube. This ominous sound alerts you to the fact that impact is imminent and only seconds away. All which time allowed me to do was drop to the floor and lie as flat as possible, as indirect fire blasts throw shrapnel up and out, in a mushroom shape. Sure enough, multiple rounds detonated in my camp. Rocks and dirt flew everywhere  I would give exact proximity to my office, but I would prefer to avoid giving those cowards any extra useful information (the instant, 24-hour-news-feeds gives them enough) After the first 10 hits, I made my way to the reinforced bunker, just in time to hear the volleys of more mortars being launched. This is as much as I will write, as I don't want to divulge any further details on this public blog. This article provides more details.... http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/31957966/ns/world_news-conflict_in_iraq/
My time in Basra has been filled with nightly rocket attacks. At times, it's reminded me of Abu Ghraib prison, where we were mortared and rocketed all day, every day. Several soldiers here, some of whom were my friends, have been killed. I have survived hundreds of mortars and rockets in my time in Iraq, and I hate them just as much now as I did at Abu Ghraib.   I detest the feeling of extreme vulnerability they fill you with once you hear them leave their tubes, not knowing where they will land, but that they are obviously close enough for you to hear their fins cutting the air.
The word is that the "bad guys" (insurgents, Al Qaeda-in-Iraq, etc) are trying to ramp up attacks across Iraq in an effort to undermine the Iraqi Army, whom are now taking over security as the US troops withdraw.

Flak Jackets and Burns

This picture is of me after a recent rocket attack. When donning the vest, I'm reminded of the movie Dumb & Dumber, when Harry asks the detective, "What if he shot me in the face?" The answer I'd get, if I asked this question, would be the same as in the film: "Well, Mr Petersen, that was a risk we were willing to take." The vests are a bit of a joke, though I guess they're better than nothing.....my flak jacket in the Marines actually surrounded and somewhat protected my torso and neck, unlike these.

Yesterday, one of my Iraqi subcontractors, Abass, showed up to work with a rather prominent limp, which he was, rather unsuccessfully, trying to hide. He appeared to be in so much pain that he was having trouble performing event the most routine of his duties, so I asked him why he was limping. He hesitated, then removed his boot. He had on a partially white sock, and what I saw startled me. The sock, across his toes and front portion of the top of his foot, was discolored with an obvious mixture of blood and puss. I had him remove his sock, and my first thought was that it was the biggest blister I had ever seen. The wound completely covered 3 toes and continued to about an inch past the toes on the top of his foot. I've seen many blisters on the tops of feet in the Marines, and judging by the raw flesh exposed, mixed with the bloody puss, this was my assumption. Knowing the dangers of infection, and the fact that he could barely walk, I walked to my hooch and got my first aid kit. Upon returning with my supplies, I knelt down to begin cleaning his foot.....I should add a note here- it was obvious to me that he had no idea how to properly clean and treat this wound, hence, I was willing to help him out; besides, I had rubber gloves, so I didnt mind. As I was kneeling down in front of him, I was able to study his wound more carefully, and I realized that this indeed was not a giant blister, it was 3rd degree burn. When I inquired as to how he was burned, he either refused to answer or didn't understand how to explain it. At this point, I decided to, once again, break the ridiculous rules set in place by the powers-that-be, and go seek the advice of our on-site medic. The medic, being of sound mind and not easily persuaded by the contemptible rules which prevent us from helping out anyone but Americans who may be in need, insisted that if I kept it between he and I, he would love to go out to the work site and render aid to Abass. The doc (our nickname for any medic) too, was a bit surprised at the extent of the burn. It was relatively deep and oozing a myriad of colors that have never been oozed before, with noticeable infection setting in. But alas, he managed to clean it up, applied the appropriate creams and bandages, and a even offered up a few Motrin for the pain. Being that my arabic is not extensive enough to include medical terminology nor wound-tending instructions, I then walked to the office, logged into Google Translator and printed out instructions, in arabic script, for him to continue care. Yes, my instructions included the importance of immediately getting to a hospital, should the infection get any worse. After all the care was said & done, Abass begged me to not email his boss, or he'd be fired. This, of course, was conveyed via certain words, phrases, and gestures, as he doesn't speak much English. I assured him that it would remain between us. I must say: that I need to sneak around and guard the fact that I'm helping someone in obvious need, infuriates me. There's so much politically correct BS and fear of lawsuits, that I need to walk on eggshells just to give a guy some bandaids? If you're wondering, yes, I could easily be fired for this "offense", just as I could have been terminated for taking the Indians to the Romanian dentist. Where is the logic? Common senes? Where is the idea of basic, human decency? I guess that in contracts of this magnitude, all of that is lost.

Today, however, Abass returned to work and was doing much better. He had applied the creams and bandages and was not limping so profoundly. We got to talking, and it turned out that he was stationed in Fallujah as an Iraqi soldier at the same time that I was at Abu Ghraib prison with the Marines. He was there until 2007, which means he served alongside my brother, who was in Fallujah as a Marine from 2006-07. It's a small world....a very small, hot world.

Dreadful Heat & Sesame Street

I saw this little guy while convoying from Nasiriyah to Basra. I have no idea what kind of lizard this 2 1/2'-long one was.

I'm still enjoying my time in Iraq, though at times the days & weeks seem to drag by. The daytime temperatures are consistently in the 120's, and this is in the shade. In direct sunlight, the mid-130's. At night, the temperatures rarely drop below 100. However, as cliche as it is, it is a dry heat, and this does make a difference. Not a huge difference, but a noticeable one. I would posit that 120's in Iraq, with minimal humidity, is roughly equal to 100-degree weather in St Louis, with 90+% humidity. Here, sweating doesn't do much to help your body regulate itself, because the wind blows like a hot hair dryer, evaporating your sweat before it has a chance to cool you off.....at home, with 90% or more humidity, the sweat doesn't get a chance to evaporate, thus, not cooling you off. There's actually a fine balance between outside temperatures/wind/humidity and your sweat and your body's ability to utilize these factors to cool itself off. This is one reason that traditionally, Arabs wear long, loose-fitting clothing: so that the hot wind doesn't evaporate their sweat before it has a chance to work.

I don't mind the heat as long as I have ample water to drink. On average, I drink about 3 gallons a day. This is all I can do to prevent dehydration. In fact, I actually prefer the intense heat to cooler weather, such as anything below 70's. In the Marines, when I would proclaim my hatred of the cold (anything below 70), I would often hear, "just wait until we get to Iraq and it's 120!". Well, it's over 120 and I still prefer this to the cold. We don't have air conditioning, or at least none that we are allowed to use due to our generators lacking the capacity to handle them, which makes being indoors a bit uncomfortable. The intense heat affects the amount of food I eat, as my appetite is virtually non-existant during the day. I force myself to eat a bowl of Special K cereal, with a banana, for lunch.

This morning, I almost stepped on a snake, which I believe was a desert horned viper. I tried to go back to get a picture, but could not find it when I returned. Encounters with venomous snakes, here in Iraq, have increased exponentially in the last several weeks. After researching this online, I found this interesting yet very alarming article. http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/nature/as-iraq-runs-dry-a-plague-of-snakes-is-unleashed-1705315.html Perhaps it's true that water is the next "oil".....it’s often been said that the next resource wars will be fought not over oil but over water. In 2007 an 18-month study of Sudan by the UN concluded that the conflict in Darfur had its roots in water shortages. According to the report, disappearing pasture and evaporating water holes—rainfall is down 30 percent over 40 years in some parts of the Sahel—had sparked dispute between herders and farmers and threatened to trigger new wars across Africa. I hope Turkey cooperates, soon.

There is a gecko that lives in the bathroom in my hooch. I actually find him rather interesting and have allowed it to reside there for the past 2 weeks. We have a bit of an arrangement- he maintains the bug population in my hooch to a minimum, and I allow him to drink from my toilet and sleep in the corner, behind my toilet brush.

I had an interesting conversation with an Iraq soldier this morning......for some reason, Iraqis are always curious as to whether or not I'm married. When I answer in the negative, they look surprised......"You no married?! You- too much beautiful, you be married!" I believe this means that they think I'm a good-looking guy and I should be married.....I guess it's a cultural thing. This morning's conversation began like this, but this time he then followed with inquiring if I had a girlfriend. I told him "yes, 3 years......are you married?" He replied, "Yes, 2." I immediately thought he was saying that he had been married for 2 years. He then said, "One wife, baby 2 years, one wife, baby 5 months." I then realized that he was telling me that he had two wives, not that he had been married for 2 years. Good for him! I guess when you got it, you got it. Curiously, he strongly resembled the Count, from Sesame Street. I wanted him to say, "One! Two Wives, HA HA HA!" but I had no idea how to convey my wishes. "Waha! Neon....."

My Bosian friends are devastated by the death of Michael Jackson. Apparently he was still "cool" in developing parts of Eastern Europe. I also just caught one of them singing, "It's Raining Men", which says a lot. I'm not joking.

Swine Flu is over-hyped

You can click on these pictures to enlarge

It's been rather difficult to update this blog due to the lack of internet availability at my location in Basra. There is only one computer, which is to be used for work purposes; therefore it's difficult when sharing said computer with 5 other employees, to stay on long enough to write an update. However, I will soon have internet wired into my trailer. So, for now, I will condense a month and a half's worth of activity in this post.

I thoroughly enjoy working in Basra. Being that I work in a small, special forces camp, one must be placed on a special list in order to even enter our camp. This serves me well in that it eliminates unwanted guests coming by, such as upper management and others who seek only to find petty faults in others in efforts to boost their own careers. Picture Bill Lumbergh from Office Space.....the contractor I work for has a lot of these characters, so it's nice to see an army specialist at our front gate turn away one of them, simply because they're not on "the list". It actually happens quite frequently, and I love it.

We are able to do our jobs and avoid, for the most part, the trivial BS that seems to pollute the larger bases. My tasks consist of anything that the special forces need help with....special forces being Navy Seals, a few Air Force commandos, and Army SF's. It's like day and night compared to having to work for National Guard (nasty guard) soldiers, as I was while in Tallil. Some days I work with the electricians, grounding and bonding the various buildings, and other days I work with the carpenters (the tradesmen, not the 1970's singing duo). Not only is the atmosphere more relaxed, I also get to learn some new skills.

After six months of working in Iraq, I was finally able to take a vacation. I met my brother and Elizabeth in Mexico, and had a great time. I went snorkeling in the 2nd largest reef system in the world, toured the ancient Mayan Ruins, rappelled into a cenote and snorkeled inside (there were 1,000-year-old skeletons at the bottom, which you could see with a diving mask), rode a scooter around Cozumel, ate lobster and shrimp that had been caught locally that morning, relaxed on the beach, ziplined over an alligator-infested lake, got a great tan, didn't drink alcohol once, racked up 16,000 frequent flyer miles, and avoided Swine Flu. And to pre-empt anyone who may want to ask me, again, no, I was not worried about catching Swine Flu.....millions of people catch influenza each year, and there have only been 2500 confirmed SF cases, worldwide.

Now, I am sitting in Kuwait for the 3rd consecutive day.....Delta somehow lost my luggage, and I only got it back a few hours ago. It's very difficult to communicate lost luggage when you're dealing with 3 different languages.....English (me), Arabic (Kuwaitis), and Spanish (Cancun airport). But luckily, it only took 3 days. Now, in a few short hours, I will fly up to Baghdad to get my passport stamped, fly down to Tallil, and then take an armored SUV back down to Basra. I'm looking forward to that, so I can see the countryside.

I shall write more soon.

Addendum: In late January, 2010, I caught the H1N1 Swine Flu, and wow. It's not exaggerated. I couldn't recall being that miserable in my entire life. The virus spread throughout Camp Basra and my diagnosis was confirmed with a blood test. I was put on isolation for a week. Being sick isn't fun. Being sick in an austere place, a war zone, is less fun. 

I am a lucky man

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.”-Mark Twain

This quote was in my daily "Art of Manliness" email this morning, and it reminded me of what I have experienced in my adventures in Iraq.

I find myself very fortunate to be working in Iraq right now. Besides the obvious monetary benefits, I have the joy of working with people from so many different ethnic backgrounds, countries and cultures, that it has enabled me to see people in ways I never have before. I have written about the certain amount of "sameness" which I have discovered is common amongst all the people I have worked with, despite their country-of-origin. I have been able to form meaningful friendships with so many different people, more than I ever thought possible, being just a kid from Illinois. I have learned to speak rather fluent arabic and I still email some of the Iraqis I met whilst working in Nasiriyah, even now that I am living in Basrah. A few weeks ago I had the privilege of talking to a local Iraqi man who has been working as an interpreter for the US military since the 2003 liberation. He told me how he and his friends and family had been waiting for the US to liberate them from Saddam's oppression. He was careful to clarify with me that he was being honest, that he wasn't telling me this simply because I was "American". He explained that under Saddam, there was no hope, no future for Iraqis. An Iraqi could go to a university, but there was no opportunity to really use that higher education....they were oppressed and limited. Now, he is able to use his degrees to travel and work around the world, something he never could have done only 6 years ago. He was a teacher before the war began, and said teachers now make many times more than they did before the war. Yes, he is tired of the troops being here, but is forever grateful for us liberating them. He specifically said, several times, "no one would do anything....the entire world just sat back and watched us suffer....only the US was brave enough to go in and free us......" The thing is, this is a tune I heard hundreds of times when I was here as a Marine in 2004; Iraqis thanking us for their newfound freedom. We spoke of who exactly the people were who continued the insurgency, who continued to attack US troops and Iraqis. His explanation reflected what I have learned in my sociology classes; that it's generally the less educated people, the people who don't really understand just what freedom means, that continue to fight. People with less education are typically more close-minded. But the majority, he said, are truly grateful to us.

I have worked with and befriended countless Indians (dots, not feathers) and Nepalis. I have sat and listened to 3 Sri Lankens describe, in detail, how they swam for their lives on December 26, 2004, as tsunami waves engulfed their entire village and killed every member of their families and thousands of their neighbors.

I have become friends with many, many Bosnians who told me countless horror stories of the Serbians executing thousands upon thousands of their countrymen, and how they too, could only sit back and take it, wondering why the rest of Europe only watched the genocide take place. Just this morning I spoke at length with former Bosnian soldiers who described the Serbs' calculated ethnic-cleansing campaign, and how they were powerless to stop it until the United States stepped in and beefed up Bosnia's forces, finally turning the odds around and putting an end to the slaughter. They said they love the United States for interceding and fighting for them. It is true, we do step on a lot of toes around the world. We irritate a lot of people and we often come across as imperialist war junkies. But when people are in need, we are the first and often-times only country to step in and help those less fortunate than us.

I have become good friends with a Kenyan, named Simon. Simon looks like he could be Seal's twin brother; he even has the facial scars. Of course, when I found out he was from Kenya, I naturally had to ask him if he had ever seen a lion. He responded with a 2-hour-long explanation on how yes, he has indeed not only seen many lions, he has killed a lion, and how it is a prerequisite for a Kenyan male to marry a Kenyan woman, to kill a lion with his bare hands. He went into detail on the methodology, execution, techniques, etc, on how one must go about killing a lion, complete with marker board outlines and vivid descriptions. I only later discovered that he was making it up as he went along. Simon speaks with a very thick, Kenyan accent, yet speaks perfect English. His grammar is flawless, something I appreciate, but moreover, it is amusing to listen to him speak because he uses very precise, proper words- absolutely no slang. "The room is illuminated!" as opposed to "it's bright in here", for example. I love it. Simon is a Christian, as I have found that most Kenyans are. He is the happiest and most gracious person I have ever met, and it is my pleasure to speak to him. He was a soldier in Nairobi in 1998 when Al Qaeda blew up the US embassy, killing several of his friends. Since then, the Kenyan military has put him through medical school, and he is here earning money to buy a CT Scan and Xray machine to open his own clinic in Kenya. His face and hands bear the scars of a medical school chem-lab accident, when a fellow student mixed combustable chemicals, resulting in Simon's severe burns.....and he is still the happiest person I have ever met, just grateful for every day life.

I arrived in Basrah on April 5, after a 4-hour Blackhawk ride (we made several stops). It was interesting to see the Iraqi terrain from the air, most notably the vast wetland that intersects the arid desert.....it's remarkable....brown desert, then abruptly it's lush green vegetation, blue water, then brown desert. The above picture is the Tigris River. The other photo is a wild camel I managed to capture with my bare hands on my last day in Nasiriyah. I am lucky to be here.

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.