My First Iraqi "Friend"...

While I was walking through the gate that leads to the DFAC, I saw the young Iraqi security guard woman that mostly sits at the gate looking pretty wearing a cute rein stone necklace. I thought to myself: "she really tried to look pretty today, she would appreciate somebody to compliment her necklace." So, I did…I told her that she looked pretty and that her necklace was pretty and then continue walking into the DFAC. While I was setting my things at the table, she came in running in towards me with a clutch hand.

She reached her hand over towards me and opened it. In it, she held the rein stone necklace that she was wearing before and she was putting it in my hand. I tried not to accept it but she was considerably adamant about it and I remember that we were told not to refuse gifts from the Iraqis thus, I took the necklace and I instantly started thinking about what I was going to give her in return--something that was told to us as well.

I ran back to my room and started looking all over my bags for something to give her back that would have some meaning, not a t-shirt or a pen. I had nothing but the butterfly pin that Dave had given me in Christmas; I had no choice but to make that my return gift to her. In their culture, when you are given something, they most likely expect something back, I did not want to be the weird American that just took something from a poor female guard and was too cheap to give her something in return.

I ran--again--back to the DFAC, called her to me and gave her the pin. There was an interpreter nearby so I utilize him to explain to her that my name is Vanessa, that it means butterfly, and that she can now always remember me by looking at that pin. She was very happy, and I could see that she was surprised and bashful because she thought the pin was very nice--it was a nice pin indeed. We hugged--again-- and I told her that I was leaving that night and to take care of herself.

A couple of days later, I saw my female guard friend in the afternoon when we went to dinner. She called me and asked me how old I was. After telling her my age, she said that she was 18 years old. I could not believe that this female who I thought was my age, was only 18 years old. She looks much older than that, but all I could think of is that her life has been harder than mine has. She looked at me amazed that I was 34 years old and she called me back towards her to give me her email address and to ask me to write to her. Through all this, I was looking at her uniform shirt where she pinned the butterfly that I have given her two days ago.

After walking off, I once again commenced to pack my bags. I finished up and laid on the bed thinking about this young woman that was so impressed with me. I thought about the way that she looked at me, her childish mannerisms and how open she was to give me a hug without really knowing who I was. I felt an immeasurable amount of remorse taking over me. I speculated on her living conditions outside the gate, how her family felt about she being a guard for the Americans and if she ever faced dangerous situations because of her job. I also questioned the future, my future, her future and the future of this country. I would like to think that later on in life when she becomes a mother to beautiful Iraqi boys, she will tell them that Americans are not bad, that she does not let hate teachings get to them and that she would have our brief meeting--and other pleasant experiences--to convey to them. A sappy part of me would like to think that she will keep that butterfly forever as a my token of gratitude and respect for her culture and her traditions. I hope that in years to come she will get to see peace, freedom and happiness.

Trying to Learn the System...

June 15, 2007
In the midst of being in a place that resembles a concentration camp, I have to remember the days of the week and the dates in the month. Today is my Sammy's birthday. I could not stop thinking about it all day. I wish that I was home and that I could have spent his 7th birthday with him but I know that in his heart, he understands that it is not because I do not love him it is just because I cannot be there right now. I found out that he lost his first tooth today on his birthday, how special is that? I wish I could have been there but I got this beautiful pics to make me feel closer to home.

We had a small break in the monotony and went to Taji Depot in the other side of post. Once there, we learned about the supply system--or absence of--in the IA and we had a special trip to the maintenance shops and class IX (parts for vehicles) yard. The motor pools here (maintenance shops) look like "Billy Bob’s auto repair shop conveniently located in his back garage." The vehicles are parked randomly, the tires are piled up everywhere, the cabinets--supposed to be toolboxes--are falling apart and full of rust; it was quite a sight for us.

I was looking around and found a cable coming out of an air compressor that has been stripped, split and plugged in the outlet . I had to take a picture because I found it amazing and it showed to me that there is no safety standard. Some vehicles that have not made it in the Ministry of Defense vehicles density list, are still sitting waiting to be added so they can get the parts needed. In so many words, it is a royal mess. Cannibalization of vehicles is a common practice here and unfortunately it is not controlled thus some vehicles become so non-mission capable that they are never driven again.

In the class IX yard, the parts, boxes and piles are everywhere. You can notice that they try to have some organization to the madness but it still looks very primitive. The drive there and back was depressing to say the least. Along the way there were piles and piles of trash, broken down military vehicles and tanks and buildings that were raided, had their walls shot, their windows blown up and now sat abandoned as a bittersweet reminder of our "victorious" take over.

The Phoenix Academy Experience...

Morning came quick. I woke up a little disoriented—it seems to be norm lately for me—after a moment I realize where I was at and I ease my nerves. We are staying in a concrete building with open bay barracks. The barracks have a lock on the door and so does the bathroom facilities. Speaking of, the shower and the toilets here run with water from the Tigris River. The water was tested not long ago and found to have some bacteria that can make you have several unpleasant trips to the bathroom if drank. It also has a similar smell to sewer water when it comes out of the showerhead or faucet. Actually, the whole bathroom smells like it.

The Phoenix Academy is a 53-acre compound—forward operating base (FOB)—within a FOB. Camp Taji is adjacent to it but the Academy is actually in the 9th Division Iraqi Army compound. Some of the structures here are permanent—concrete built—but the classrooms are trailer-like pods inside of warehouses that could be removed if needed. The academy has a barbershop,—free of charge—a small weight room and cardio room, an internet café, a small dining facility,—with not the same quality of food we had in the other camps—a very small shoppette, and a laundry facility where we drop off our laundry—all of it—and we pick it up in 24 hours—free of charge. To be honest with you, if I have to pick between somebody washing my underwear or better food…I will do my own laundry.

Our schedule is now composed of classroom time. The classes are geared to help us have situational awareness and cultural awareness. I found our classes interesting although I could detect a hint of bias information that would keep a doubtful mind, either doubtful or convinced of whatever it is they are trying to convey to us. As I sit in these classes I am amazed at the amount of people that do not know anything about the history or culture of Iraq, better yet, I am amazed about how many people do not know about our own form of government. They did not know simple things like; who will take office if the president and the vice-president died? Is there even or odd numbers in the Congress and the Senate? How do we break an even vote in the Senate? What branch of government handles constitutional issues? Come on!!! I went to school in Puerto Rico until I was 19 years old and I still know the answer!

Annoyed with the silly questions, I started thinking about some events that transpired during the past week. Thinking about things that I somehow did not think about much before—and did not mention in other letters—but were crawling up in my head now as if I was supposed to notice something from them. I remembered the amount of people that stopped us, thanked us and cried for us at the airport, the somber feeling disguised with applauses that was pouring out of the people lined up by the gate to cheer us on and wish us luck.

General Patreaus, the big head honcho here, visited us today in Iraq. I have to admit that I was quite surprised when I saw him because he was not close to what I thought he would be physically. I expected a tall , vociferous man that would stand in an offensive position, talk in an offensive demeanor in order to keep the questions at the bare minimum. Instead, a considerably short man with a humble--almost grandfather-like--walk enters the room. He stood away from the podium and walked around the front of the audience to ensure that we all could hear his very low voice--which was supposed to be helped by a microphone but it was not working. He was pleasant and stopped talking to welcome all of our questions. I did not sense a propaganda tone in his speech; he was not there to try to persuade us to change our minds about things. When the briefing was over, Sonia, I asked to take a picture with him, and he was pleased to; he even put his arms around us and asked us if we were sisters.

While getting, yet another briefing, the screen suddenly started to tremble, it was an outgoing mortar shot that could be heard in the near distance, one after another one, as the helicopters flew over circulating the area. 3, 4, 5…9 shots in all were fired while we were sitting in the classroom and nobody moved a finger…wow!! We have become so accustomed that we do not even look for the nearest exit…Me, I just sat there listening to those--not so long ago unfamiliar but now--familiar sounds as I wonder: "How in the heck did I end up here."

Let us hope that this display of political violence will someday bring something decent to these people, if not…well, it will be hard not to think that it was a waste of time. Moreover, let me clarify; if this mission is successful, I will never credit the administration for it; I will credit the men and women that even against their principles came here and gave this people something that the big wigs did not show…compassion, patience and humility.

One Day in BIAP...

This place is much like a dump, there is nothing but reminders of war everywhere you look. Today, we took a bus to take us to Camp Victory. In this compound, there are several camps together—Camp Stryker, Camp Slayer, Camp Victory, Camp Liberty and of course, BIAP. Victory is the camp that most of the politicians come and visit. It has palaces, what used to be nice buildings and even a manmade lake. To me, it is a shame what we have done to this city. I look around and I could see how everything was destroyed. We drove through what used to be a zoo and now it is just a field with overgrown grass and trash. We went by a palace that was being built during the invasion and, four years later, it still have the cranes park beside it but has not been touched. I was told that palace was being built for Saddam’s children but I am not sure how true that is.

It is amazing to think that going for a tour now consist of finding a good dining facility, a nice PX and a place that sells coffee. Over in Camp Liberty, we went to the PX. We were told that it had the biggest PX around so we had to go see it…well, it is tiny but I guess that here one should be happy with almost anything. We found a Seattle’s Best Coffee and we were drinking hot coffee in 100-degree weather but as I sweat my tail off, I was enjoying the only coffee that I have had for a while. We also made it to the dining facility in Camp Victory, which was huge, lots of food but could not find sour cream, go figures!

Our night was different, to say the least, there were mortar rounds, gunshots and bomb sounds in the distance. I finally put my headphones on and went to sleep. Some of the people from our team could not sleep at all but lately I am finding out that I can fall sleep just about anywhere.

Drinking water in BIAP comes from the local river. A private company purifies and bottles the water for the soldiers to drink…there is something about that I did not completely like and so I realized that unconsciously I decreased my water drinking and drank more juices or other beverages. If not, we use little single packages of Crystal Light that we drop in the bottles to disguise the unfamiliar taste.

We staged our bags outside of our tents late evening and loaded the bus to the flight line where two Chinook helicopters were coming to pick us up. To make a long story short, we were supposed to leave at sometime before midnight but did not leave BIAP until well after it. I did not mind it at all because as I said before, I can fall sleep anywhere, so this woman, climbed on top of three duffle bags and went to sleep. Not the helicopters flying in and out not the dust blowing all over my face woke me up. I guess that is what happens when you get used to be in these conditions.
Finally, our ride arrived and we started the meticulous process We made a stop for gas before leaving—where we all had to exit the “bird”—and then we began our trip scheduled to last just over an hour. After about an hour of flying we stop again for gas—dismounted the “bird” again—and thirty minutes later we arrived in the airfield at the Iraqi Base name K-1. During the flight—and before I gave up and closed my eyes—I watched the young soldier that sits at the back hatch of the aircraft, loosely holding a mounted machine gun and looking out for possible threats. I could not help but to wonder how much has he seen from there, if he ever witnessed any attacks, and if he had used that machine gun recently.

We made a stop for gas before leaving—where we all had to exit the “bird”—and then we began our trip scheduled to last just over an hour. After about an hour of flying we stop again for gas—dismounted the “bird” again—and thirty minutes later we arrived in the airfield at the Iraqi Base name K-1. During the flight—and before I gave up and closed my eyes—I watched the young soldier that sits at the back hatch of the aircraft, loosely holding a mounted machine gun and looking out for possible threats. I could not help but to wonder how much has he seen from there, if he ever witnessed any attacks, and if he had used that machine gun recently. 

Early in the morning, we arrived at the Phoenix Academy, signed for our keys, took a shower and went to sleep. The sun was almost up but since the windows are blocked and tinted—because these were female barracks—we did not notice that it was well into daylight when we woke.

Living in and Leaving Kuwait..

We went to a range, shot some rounds down range and made sure that our weapons were working properly. We also train on foreign weapons and had the opportunity to shoot the infamous AK-47. I liked that part of the day although the wind was blowing sand everywhere and it was hard to keep the sand off your eyes. While I was at the range, I learned that some of the locals—called Badoins (Desert People)Americans call the Bedouins—go around the ranges picking up brass so they can take it and sell it somewhere else. We had one of them come and ask us for water and another couple pulled up in a Toyota pickup truck and simply ask for brass. I looked at the person that asked for water and was amazed to see that he was walking on the burning sand with sandals that are very similar to flip-flops. I also looked at their skin and noticed how burnt it was from the sun.

Another type of range consisted on preparing us to react to contact in case necessary. They have simulators through the desert and Kuwaitis that pretend to be civilian casualties. It was somewhat sunny until the winds picked up and so did the sand. There was little visibility and hotter than the day before. I cannot believe this people live here under these conditions.

The sand storm continued through the day and late into the night. The walk from the tents to the dining facility was quite a site. The sand was blowing everywhere and getting into our shirts, on our face, hair and everywhere else, it could. There was no escaping it because we HAVE to walk to the dining facility or not eat at all.

In the afternoon, we found out that we are going to fly out the next day in the early morning—some would say that is the same day indeed. We slept until almost midnight and then we put our bags outside to wait for the bus. Since we did everything so fast, we were able to go to midnight chow again—yay! The bus arrived at an hour and half later and we loaded the bus with our bags so we can take a ride back to the same place we flew in country to take a plane that would take us to Baghdad International Airport (BIAP).

We arrived at the Air Base considerably soon and the flight was schedule for three hours later, therefore, Sonia and I went to get some coffee and some pizza. At the time set for takeoff, we were loading a C130 airplane and we were packed like sardines—all 52 of us—in the little seats with our carry-on on our laps. It was, by far, the most uncomfortable flight I have ever taken in my life. It was worse than taking a flight with a fat person sitting right by you.

I listened to my iPod the whole way and even took a little nap. When it was time to land, well, all I can say is that I have never felt such big vacuum on an airplane before. We landed in BIAP around two hours after boarding the plane and we walked out to the flight line to get on a chopper to our next destination. Once we were here, they told us that we are not going to fly until the next night so we get to spend a day there in a huge compound.

Driving around the compound you can see how the coalition forces and we destroyed this place. There are a few trees—more than I expected—and it is not as sandy as I thought it was going to be. There are huge cement wall blocks—T blocks—along the road and separating the living areas—called pods—which makes everything look like something from the movie “Mad Max- Beyond the Thunder Dome.”

They took us to the tents where the transient people stay. All I have to say is that, if I thought that tent city in Camp Buehring was bad, I was wrong. This place makes Camp Buehring look like Club Eden. The tent that we are in is a dump. There are the lovely sleeping cots, and as if that is not enough for us, they have added lovely thin, old, dusty mattresses. I started itching as soon as I entered the tent. Well, at least if was steak and lobster night in the dining facility so Sonia and I went to get some chow.

My second Day in Kuwait

I finally went to sleep around 0200 in the morning and had to get up at 0600. The generators in the tents ran out of gas so they turned off during my sleep, which woke me straight up for most of my "sleeping time." It was hotter than hot in here...but I refused to get up. At 0600 we got up and went to the "bathroom" to brush our teeth, then reality slapped us in the face telling us..."you are not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy..." I mean, Vanessa. There were so many females in the bathroom you could not even walk through it without bumping on somebody.

After sneaking through to get a quick fix for our teeth, hair and face, we walked the--what seem like a mile--long way to the DFAC. I was somewhat excited to go to breakfast because it is my favorite meal—since it is almost impossible to mess it up—but I, once again, was reminded that I was not in the US anymore. The scramble eggs were powder eggs, the bacon had more 5/8 fat and 1/8 meat, the French toasts were made out of some sort of strange bread and all the milk, water, juices or liquids were from the Middle East . The chocolate milk tasted like soymilk and the regular milk was not any better.

After breakfast, we attended classes all day while fighting our sleepiness because of the jet lag. When I woke up this morning and stepped outside, I looked over to the sky and saw flying sand; I looked over to my right or left and saw flying sand; and I looked up straight forward or to the back and I saw flying sand. I can almost bet that not many of this people know the real color of the sky. It is almost impossible to see things that are far away from you. Permanent dust clouds linger around here and cover everything and every color; it even covers you. As soon as you step outside you can feel the sand sticking to your hand, face and coming inside of your mouth. If you happen to be without sunglasses, then you will have sand rubbing your eyeballs; it is awful.

The whole place smells like an old cellar, or basement that was not cleaned in years. The structures here are all temporary, save some water towers that could be more complex to move. The Burger King, Taco Bell, Star Bucks, Subway, and other food places are set on trailers and so are all the permanent party barracks and other organization buildings. The PX is a huge fiberglass siding building that looks more like an enormous garage than a store. Now I understand when somebody once said that all these bases could be removed from here in a year or less and there will not be any trace of them ever existing.

Well, tomorrow is range day, another 115 degrees day for us. We were told we will only be here for four days—instead of the 10 days, everybody else usually spends in Camp Buehring. It will be a long day but I will do my best to keep you guys informed since this will be the most exciting part of my deployment; I hope.

The Long Way to An Old Land, First Day

The night of May 31st, 2007 was just another stormy night for most of the people in Fort Riley, KS. For us, Team 8840 (Jokers), it was the last night we were to spend in the states for the next 15—hopefuly 12 months. I went to bed at 2200 (10:00 pm) but was up by 2215 because I wanted to speak with my three kids one more time before I left. I called home and spoke with all of them, they were happy and supportive so I tried to be strong and appear to be positive.

After I hung up the phone, I laid in bed attempting to fall sleep once again but the thunder, the lighting and the rain was pouring so hard that I resolved to just sit there and watch the light show until boredom made me fall sleep. I ended up sleeping for about 2 hours—although it felt like an eternity—and woke up disoriented and in shock.

Our morning started at 0200 in the morning when we stacked our four duffle bags, rucksack; carry on, laptop bag and weapon’s case on the still wet side walk ready for the anxiously awaited bus that was scheduled to come at 0300. Trace helped me with all my bags and some of my peers and then we sat for about an hour to wait to for the bus. The bus finally arrived at around 0315 and after taking a pregnancy test, we were ready to go to Kansas City International Airport.

We traveled to the airport in a commercial bus contracted for the two-hour ride to the airport. Trace and I said our goodbyes—again—like five times before I was finally in the bus ready to leave. The air was humid and my eyes were burning because of a combination of lack of sleep and continuous crying. I slept most of the way to the airport but once there, we had to work together to get all of our bags to the terminal on time without getting on each other’s way—or nerves.

We flew, first class, to Dallas, Texas where we had to pick all our bags and move them to another terminal—the military one. Now, imagine this, each person has four duffle bags, one rucksack, a carry one, a laptop case, and a weapon’s case. It was quite fun to move all those bags from one place to the other in the muggy, humid, heat of Dallas, TX. After much confusion, we had a boarding pass in our possession and were ready to wait for two hours until our next flight.

We were stuck in a flight with a bunch of other soldiers that were going back to theater from R&R. There were so many people trying to get through that I just sat down and waited to have a turn.

At the terminal, there were a lot of kids and dependents saying goodbye to their loved ones. It was sad, bittersweet and it made me think about my own kids at home. We finally boarded the plane—an old B-767—to the max; with aboard 264 soldiers I do not think there was an empty seat through the whole plane. It had a funky old, moldy smell, which was quickly replaced by the smell of feet—once soldiers began to take off their boots. We sat in our seats for about an hour before we finally took off.

While waiting I sent my last text to Trace and to my sis, Zory. I waited patiently for a while but my tranquility was interrupt when the plane was rolling on the runway. I thought about all I was leaving behind and how the things that I have taken for granted during the past years suddenly became very important to me. Things like being able to pick up my cell phone to make a call or open my computer to write an email or a blog post. Sonia sat beside me—per my request—and I held her hand tight while a few tears were silently rolling down my cheeks.

We flew for about eight hours—or so—to Scotland. While in the plane, I watched movies and at one point of time, I looked over my right shoulder to see a beautiful yellow full moon staged on the window and later on I looked to the right and saw a beautiful pinkish-orange sunset. I guess that was the highlight of the flight since the food sure was not.

We landed on Glasgow, Scotland around 1200—local time. We were not allowed to get out of the plane so I did not get to walk around and see the locals. The plane refueled and we departed again about an hour later towards Kuwait.

We landed in Kuwait at 1456 local time. We rushed into six buses that were waiting for us and then we had to wait for two hours until the convoy could leave toward the Air Base in Kuwait were we were in-processed. The temperature was 113 degrees at the time of arrival but I think that it cooled down to the 90’s after the sun set. The in processing—welcoming to the country—part was not as painful as I thought I was going to be. We were done there at 2230 and now we are—again—in another bus that will take us to Camp Buehring were we will receive our training for the next 10 days or so.

There’s bottle water everywhere you look, I guess they want to make sure that people stay hydrated at least until we get acclimatize to this dryness. It is very dry and somewhat dusty; you can almost feel sand in the back of your throat sometimes. In the air base, the soldiers that stayed get to sleep in what they call “tent city”—and they are not exaggerating when they called it a city. There are countless tents with air conditioner where the soldiers spend the night when they are leaving or are coming back from R&R.

The air base has a McDonald’s and a Pizza Hut. Camp Buehring, I heard, just opened a Star Bucks two days ago so I am thrilled to go and get some coffee, a shower and some grub. I still have not seen any camels or much of the landscape really, since we mostly traveled during the dark hours and because the curtains of the bus are shut—I guess so the civilians cannot see that soldiers are inside.

Just minutes to leave the US

I am sitting at the airport waiting for my flight out of the US. I hope everybody have a nice summer and I will update you as soon as I get to a computer. Pray for us...

Vany