Saturday, May 31, 2003

A Day of Discovery in Iraqi Army Facilities

May 31, 2003 2300 South East Baghdad, old officers academy

Today has been unforgettable. It was a day when fact seemed stranger than fiction, and the mystery of this compound we are on became both clearer and cloudier. I feel like I have been in some Hollywood movie.
This morning I awoke to a cool and cloudy Iraq. I had to crap, so I walked around to find a place in the bushes to dig a hole. On the way there, I found some buildings and explored them a bit. One was a cafeteria, with loaves of bread all over the place, grain, rice, trays. It was ransacked. This was only the beginning though. I drove to our new HQs , an abandoned reception station and lecture hall, winding around bomb craters in the road. There were bombed building all over. Then, I explored the theater and found old Bundeswehr (German army) training films, Disney films, old pictures, all kinds of things. Every building yields a new discovery. We started occupying an Iraqi barracks for us to live in, it being dusty and looked bare to the bone. The officers are hiring the locals to clean though. They even set up a store with snacks. SGT Rob and I were talking in the theater when SGT Miller told us about a find. “Finds” are becoming important here, because we can get furniture that we need for our bed space and offices. It became more than a find though, as we drove to a medical building that had been trashed, looted, and abandoned. I will never forget what I saw, and because of time limits, I can only make this brief. There were vials, needles, ID cards, showers, books about biological and chemical weapons, medicines, pills, blood, rifle parts, stench, bloody plastic, a hook in the ceiling, IV bags, medical records, gas masks, and more. It was the most macabre thing I have seen in my life, I thought I would vomit after seeing it. We are still trying to determine what it is, what the hook with a stain underneath would be used for. It was like being in the experimentation rooms at Dachau. You cannot imagine how strange it is to see all of this, where Iraqis were only a few weeks ago. Despite the blood, the chemicals, and the lumps and bags of bloody things, the commander went to hire some peasants to clean it so that we can move there. See, there is another battalion trying to live here too, so we are fighting each other for living space. I can write more on the medical center later. We then went to some warehouse, and like in a movie, found mountains of brand new military gear still in boxes. Thousand of boxes, untouched in each warehouse. It was unreal how much equipment and uniforms where there. Boots to the roof, jackets, uniforms, canteens, tanker vests, helmets, sleeping bags, cups, kakis, metal lockers, brief cases. All wall to wall, floor to ceiling. SGT Rob and I were in shock at what we found, and took some things that we could use. The value of everything had to be near a million, at least. I know this sounds unreal, so I am going to videotape this tomorrow. It’s so amazing to see all of this, to see this world, to be on a base where it seems like everyone just disappeared and left everything. Every door opens, anything you want to see in a building you can see. The loss is horrible though, all the looting and destruction. So much has been lost or stolen, so much work undone. Today, as we came around a checkpoint, the little kids were cheering for us, and the mother was smiling widely and tossing olive branches at us. So strange, the things here. They seemed to be OK before the war.

Friday, May 30, 2003

Arrival at the Former Rustimiya (Camp Muleskinner) Base

30 or 31 May 2003 0130 Somewhere in SW Baghdad

We have arrived at the compound that we are to occupy during our time in Iraq. The truck broke down again. I believe the fuel pump went out. There is a strong wind-sand-rainstorm blowing through right now. When it rains here, it rains dirty water and the air smells like dirt. The temperature is nice though. That is a pleasant change from Kuwait.
We left the parade grounds tonight to come here. Today has been like a dream, days are developing into unforgettable pages of memories. Being in Iraq, you get the distinct feeling that this place is in a coma, and that the heart is still beating (heart being the people here), but the country itself could either die or recover at any moment.
My serious instincts are telling me that there is no concerted, intense, or well articulated plan for bringing this place back together. You get the feeling that the primary goal of the war was to rid Iraq of Saddam, and anything other that that hasn’t been comprehensively planned. There is an elaborate infrastructure here, the layout of the city is modern, and one gets the impression that Baghdad was doing well, despite the U.N. sanctions placed on it. Whatever the case is, the full potential of this place to recover is strangely diminishing week by week, as civil matters are overlooked while “security” issues and “show of force” priorities are clumsily executed. We are here, lots of tanks and vehicles to roll around the city, but (they call it stabilization) where is the motivation and leadership for the new Iraqi free republic? The confusion here in the battalion is growing. The lack of purpose and mission (secure Baghdad) is clearly on the minds of the officers. This is all political chatter though.
When driving into Baghdad and seeing all of the children smiling and waving, it is easy to forget what was happening here a month ago. Sometimes you wonder if they are happy because they may get some money or food from us. On the way to Baghdad, I crumpled up a one dollar bill and tossed it from my truck while I was driving on the highway to a kid. These people are along every highway, every road, selling everything from Pepsi to hashish. It is unreal, the swarms of goods and people. Many of them speak good English – even the rural families. So far I have seen salt mines, little colourful children, destroyed tanks, blown up civilian cars, bombed buildings, looted museums, pock-marked buildings, spent ammunition casings, abandoned uniforms in foxholes. Today was a day unlike any to date, concerning my concern for war and Iraq. Today, I missed you so much Nora. Today we met an old tank gunner that used to work in our office. He was sent to Georgia last year, and was then deployed to Iraq, and was then in the war. We said hello, and then SGT Rob and I talked to him. I wanted to find out what he had been through, not for entertainment, but to get some perspective on the war. He acted strange, almost absent minded, and his eyes wandered. Like a man we no longer knew. He said, this is a direct quote, “Yeah, huh, we killed so much shit. I ran over some people and, and destroyed the side of that building there, fucked this place up.” He said it is so strangely though, almost like a retarded child, or a serial killer during police interrogation. SGT Rob noticed this too and got uncomfortable. We left him right away, I didn’t want to be around him, there was something wrong in him – something real. The evening before, I found another guy and really asked some key questions that would get him talking about what he had seen. At first, he said he just wanted to get home, and then (I thought he spoke with remorse) he talked about people who had died in their battalion. Then he told me about a truck he blew up with his tank. He fired one shot, and it missed. He fired another at 2300 meters and hit it. He laughed and said he had the record for the longest hit. He confirmed it with a buddy who vouched for him. The he said, “We went out to the truck, and we found some bodies. I got a picture of one guy with his head half blown off (while huffing with self-satisfaction). Hey, do you think they will develop this in the States? I got some cool pictures.” He continued, “There was one van that was coming towards us, and it got shot. Well, come to find out here was a family inside. Well, it exploded, so we went to it, and they were burnt all over, black, with the father stuck in a position with his legs bent behind him. You could see they were in pain, but couldn’t move, all you could see was their white mouths moving and screaming. The son was burnt to his mom. It was crazy. We got pictures.” I was shocked, but to see the look in his eyes, and the voice, the body language, the stare. You feel like you are with a child killer who is confused, whose soul is dead, who is living in another world superimposed on ours. I cannot (Gunshots! Camp is being fired at, 0225. Gun bursts stopped, return fire can be heard. No more shots fired) describe what all these men share, something they radiate makes you realize there is a real evil in the world, and that I couldn’t even comprehend how deep it can fester in our human existence. These men need to go home, because they are forever changed, and I truly mourn that. War is more than firefights and adventure, it is the transformation of human beings into animals. This is wrong, it is satanic.
If you see something useful, take it. Those are the rules here. SGM Fleischmann reminded me of this as we carried furniture out of a performing arts center at the parade ground – a very modern, respectable, and well kept theater. We took what we wanted. You can take anything, go anywhere – anything goes here – it is unreal. At first I compared this to the liberation of Paris, but it seems more and more like the L.A. riots. You can take anything you want – anything. If you don’t some other G.I. will. I picked up several things at the President’s Museum of Gifts. It had been ransacked completely. G.I.s were leaving with vases and daggers, paintings and clocks. There is also human crap, shit everywhere, in every room of every building. Flies, urine, smells enough to make you vomit. It is everywhere. The G.I.s are just shitting all over the places where they live. They are living like animals. It is anarchy, it is defeat, and it is a wild dream where anything goes. Each soldier is himself judge and jury. There is also the sense that Iraq was just fine before we got here. Honestly.
Today the guys were talking about sexual adventures and prostitutes, and I just became depressed, because the company of men here is so lacking civilized qualities, it makes me think I am with a herd of animals, Baghdad being our zoo. I just sat in my chair and wondered exactly how different I am from my average people, and how lucky I am to have Nora. I miss her so tremendously, every breath I take makes me ache for her company, for her voice. The feelings I have for her are so complete in sincerity, she is beautiful in every way to me. I talk to her constantly – constantly. Being here forces you to face your conscience repeatedly, but loving her is the most right thing I have ever done, or will ever do, in my life. I am devoted to her, and to coming home alive. This is a new era for me, a huge one, and I know already that being here in Iraq is going to shape who I am in so many ways for a long time. I will always be Nora’s though. I am going to sleep now, in the cab of the truck. The wild dogs are out, so it is best to stay above ground. It is prayer time, Hail Mary. Goodnight Spatzi, I love you so!

Thursday, May 29, 2003

We Finally Arrive in Baghdad

29 May 2003 0845 Somewhere in Iraq

We stopped to get fuel. The march has been peaceful, and the land is beautiful. So far, the people, the families, the children we’ve seen are smiling and waving. Last night when we drove across the boarder, the children were along the roads cheering for us. I was surprised by the unexpected emotions that swelled up inside of me out of seeing this, and a tear did come to my eye. It will be interesting to find out what is going on here. From the looks of it, all is going well, and we are appreciated here. Nora, I love you, and the whole drive I was looking at the stars and thinking of you. This is an important time in many ways, and I thank God for you and for the day I come home to you. Muah! I love you so much!
1258 – Baghdad. Saddam Parade Ground. We just made it into Baghdad center, the scene is amazing for both good and bad reasons. Most important is the people – they are overjoyed – to say the least – that we are here. I have never seen anything like this; it must be something akin to the liberation of Paris. The scale of jubilation and gratefulness is growing on the faces of every man, woman, and child. The devastation here is real and apparent everywhere, but seems to be limited to government buildings. The real work can now begin, and I thank God for that, now that I can help pick up the pieces. Nora, everything is going to be OK, we are so fortunate.

Wednesday, May 28, 2003

Gearing Up for the 18-Hour Roadmarch to Baghdad

Read more and see pictures at http://www.american-interrupted.com

28 May, 2003 1605 Camp Udiari Gate

Well, the wind is blowing strong, with a sandstorm here and there, the sky is a sandy grey, and the heat is baking my skin. My hands are brown and discolored with pink splotches, dry and flaking. In an hour or so, I will be driving my truck with our battalion’s first convoy to Baghdad. Right now, we are just sitting in a holding area waiting for the word to move out. Helicopters are flying overhead, and bullets are clanking here in the cab of the truck, as Sweeny has his machine gun sticking out of the passenger’s window and onto the hood. The drive to Baghdad is going to take 22 hours, and I will be driving most of that. It will be the longest drive of my life.
The past few days have been difficult for me. I have heard so many speeches about this war, and now I am prepared to see it for myself. The most difficult part is being away from Nora, and the thought of being killed and taken away from her. My soul is prepared for whatever happens, but she is the biggest part of my soul, of my heart, and I always want to be there for her, because I know I mean that much to her too. (Sandstorm blowing through.) I’ve never had to consider my own violent death as being likely, but being here and going to Baghdad brings that chance one step closer. I hope though, and I know God hasn’t brought me all of this way and shown me so much, only for me to die in this wasteland. It is a stressful time. I’ve been mean to Nora on the phone, regretted every bit of it, because she is in the Canary Islands right now. I can tell in her voice that she is hurting too, I know that she loves me as I do too. I am so lucky to have her.
1730 – Listening to James Taylor. We should be leaving soon. I have a picture of Nora and me in my helmet, I look at it always for a smile. I was so happy to talk to her today, I cannot wait to go home. As I get ready to leave right now, my Nora is on my mind, in my heart, and I know I am in hers. One step closer to going home. I am concerned about what lay ahead, but I trust God ultimately. I love you Nora. I am coming home to you soon. I’m yours forever.

The day that we left was an eerie one. We were contemplating our own fates as word came in that a convoy that left before us came under RPG attack south of Baghdad. It reminded us that we weren’t going on vacation. When we finally did leave Camp Udairi, we drove along a rough paved road that winded through some of the most wild looking desert landscape I have ever seen. It was hill after hill, wadi after wadi, and wind carved gullies. I imaged the desert to be completely flat, not rugged badlands.
About one hour into the drive towards the Iraqi border, Sweeny, Sergeant Smith, and I noticed that the armored plates inside our vests, combined with the rudimentary 5-ton truck bench seats, caused an unnatural curving of the backbone. The pain caused by the unnatural position began to creep up on us all, and it was clear we were in for a long, uncomfortable drive. There was a break though. I can’t remember why, but we stopped along our desert journey shortly before linking up with the main Kuwaiti highway that lead north. It was dusk, and along the softly glowing horizon, you could see the glow of highway lights leading forever north. A cool breeze was blowing. I brought along a “near beer” from the chow hall that I planned on drinking while crossing the Iraqi border. The smell of that near beer filled the air, as I looked under my seat, only to find that the can had exploded. No parties tonight.
Night was fast upon us as we pulled onto the main, modern highway and headed north. Several Kuwaiti soldiers at checkpoints casually looked at us without paying us any mind. Highway signs warned of camels crossing the road, and several signs read messages like “Allah is Peace.” They were obviously intended for the present audience. The three of us in that 5-ton truck began to relax a bit. We still had some time until we would reach the border. It would be late at night though when we would cross. I threw a CD in my stereo and we listened to James Taylor as our miles-long convoy roared north.
You could tell we were approaching the border of Iraq when we diverged from the main highway and followed arrows spray painted on concrete traffic barriers. We began to roll along a sandy path, winding through the dusty haze and glow created by our convoy in the sand. James Taylor continued to sing. We then came to a narrow passage that was the border entrance of Iraq. It was late at night, but you could see a few earthen houses with televisions glowing inside. Then, like an eerie echo, you could hear “I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!” The cries grew louder and more frequent. They were the cries of Iraqi children running to our convoy. It caught me off guard, but a burning emotion rose from my chest and filled my eyes with dignified tears, tears nobody else could see. I had crossed the threshold. These children were here, they needed me, and now I would have to do my best.
The first thing I remembered about Iraq was the highway system. It looked modern enough, following the same design principles as the German autobahn system. Rolling on these highways, we couldn’t see a thing, only the glowing horizon where Basra was. It was an empty space, a vacuum. I would look up at the stars occasionally and think about Nora. There was nothing else to do. After a very long time driving, we needed to stop and get some more fuel. We pulled into a combat fuel stop. It was eerie. We were in blackout conditions, and raggy, oil stained soldiers walked around dragging heavy fuel hoses around in the darkness. It reminded me of our training in Germany, only this time it was real. In the distance, you could see Nasiriyah. I fueled up and then pulled forward to check my engine fluids. The other guys in my convoy and I talked and joked around a bit. There was a slight chill of apprehension in the air, but nothing out of the ordinary. I just couldn’t believe I was walking on Iraqi soil. We still had many hours to go.
It was Sweeny’s turn to drive. That would allow me to get some sleep. Sergeant Smith had been sleeping the entire time, protecting our right flank. With Sweeny driving, our convoy continued its push north. This part of the road march would take us across a 100 mile stretch of unpaved road. As we bumped violently down this road, I was able to get some sleep somehow, even as my Kevlar helmet beat continuously against the rearview window with each bump. I would fade in and out of consciousness during the jarring ride, only to see that we were surrounded by a thick cloud of dust – visibility only being about twenty feet. I would glance over at Sweeny and see his worried face droop and struggle to stay alert. Then he fell asleep. I don’t know for how long he was asleep, but as I drifted back into consciousness, I looked at him through a cloudy, sleepy haze. His eyes were shut, but his hands were on the wheel. I rustled him a bit and he immediately woke up as if nothing happened. I promised to keep him awake, and that is exactly what I did. We worked as a team. He would drive, and I would poke him when his eyes shut. That was about every five minutes. That was all we could do. There was no stopping to take a break. We had scheduled stops and a strict timeline to follow. Our next stop wouldn’t be for several hours.
I was glad to see the sun come up. It was early in the morning when we hit real pavement again. The smooth ride and the softly glowing sunlight had a soothing effect. We made it through the nightlong hurricane. The Iraqi country side was rough. I noticed the square shaped houses, the date trees, the salt flats where women in black gathered salt. I noticed the children waving, whole families waving, people dancing underneath overpasses. Orange and white Taxis loaded with suitcases and people were racing north. It was an amazing sight, something totally new to me. It looked a lot more inviting that Kuwait, that was for sure. There was a celebratory atmosphere among the Iraqis, and a slight bit of unease on our side.
I remember my first encounter with an Iraqi. It was a boy, one of many, who immediately swamped our truck as we stopped next to the road. Sergeant Major Fleischmann drew his pistol and yelled for the kids to get back. Our training was to keep the people away, but that proved impossible – short of putting your rifle in their face. No one wanted to do that, and thus the boys came. It was awkward, that first encounter. We had to keep our guard up, but at the same time they were so happy to see us. They wanted to sell Iraqi money, and we wanted to buy it. With a rifle in one hand, I grabbed through my pocket for a few bucks and quickly bought up a few Iraqi dinars. I looked around as everyone was trading and buying from these kids. SGM Fleischmann looked on in disgust. He was right to do so though, we didn’t do as we were trained. I’m not sure if we were naive though. I remember one kid asking for a writing pen from Sweeny. Sweeny gave him a pen, and then the kid immediately tried to sell me the same pen. We learned early that the Iraqis knew what the soldiers wanted. I was amazed to see village people holding up blocks of ice, insulated drink coolers, and bottles of Pepsi cola. I thought this was a poor, oppressed land! It didn’t take long before some MPs (military police) roared up in their Hummers and dismounted their trucks, chasing the kids away with batons. As we pulled away, kids would run alongside the trucks asking if we wanted any hashish.
We fueled up again at very small Army outpost. I saw the carcass of a 5-ton truck, stripped to the absolute bone. So was the fate of vehicles that were abandoned along the Iraqi highway. The Iraqis would strip down abandoned equipment like piranhas.


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Thursday, May 22, 2003

Thinking of My Engagement to Nora Before Leaving for Iraq

May 22, 2003 (I think) Camp Spearhead

The urge to call Nora and hear her voice is overwhelming, but there is no way to go to a phone right now. I just got back from the internet trailer, so I was able to send her another e-mail. Jimmy’s now fiancée sent an e-mail saying he is in south central Iraq. I doubt I will see him before I go to Baghdad. Maybe at a checkpoint on HWY 80 or something. I hope he is OK, and not suffering mentally. She said they got engaged the night before he left. I told her that Nora and I are engaged too.
Getting engaged, and more so encountering that feeling and voice, that force that tells you it is time to ask the one you love to marry you – is the most important thing I have experienced thus far in my life. Over the past few months, the voice grew louder, clearer, and irresistible in the most wonderful way. I was almost driven to propose in London, and on a few later occasions when Nora and I were traveling. I don’t remember the night, but I was in the field in February or January when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would ask her within weeks. With my conscientious objector situation developing right along side of the war, and following my pilgrimage to the Vatican, there was little time or place or happiness to propose. When I did come back from the Vatican, I felt an immense sense of peace, trust, and faith. This calmed the storms of uncertainty and Nora and I grew even closer.
It seemed surreal, but I began the search for a ring. I asked Nora’s parents for permission to ask for her hand, and the response was so positive and supportive. Her dad was so nervous when I asked, and he blurted out “Yes, of course!” as soon as I asked. I had to try not to smile and reveal my amusement at his nervousness. I had some sympathy for him, and he soon relaxed and we were able to talk about it. Biggy and Oma Lissy were really positive about it, and it was so great to experience. I chose one ring out of two, the other one being gold. The one I picked was silver (white gold), and it was exactly what I had in mind. I knew that Nora would be over-modest, but I wanted to give her a symbol of my love – even though in our relationship, symbols have always been far less valuable than what we hold in our hearts for each other. I chuckled though, knowing that she would deny the ring was hers and proclaiming it to be unnecessary and too expensive. I also knew she would understand it though – and she did. I got the ring, and couldn’t believe what I had, what a step it was, what an important signal I was sending. I showed everyone at work, Foley saying, “Yes! I do!” I went home and showed the kids and Biggy. She inhaled deeply and clapped her hands over her mouth, and the kids all grinned widely. Biggy then hid the ring.
Time came and went, along with some bad weather, and changes in plans due to my deployment. I thought about Easter as the day, but we were too busy to get out of the city, and I had been up all night for the Army. It seemed there was never a perfect time or place to do it, but I wanted originally to do it in Boston, or Charleston. If not there, I would do it in Freiensteinau. I wasn’t disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to do it in Boston due to the deployment, and I felt better because it didn’t feel like I was proposing in a hurry.
Oma Moo had her birthday, and that was the day I decided, because it would be in Freiensteinau. The family went up there, and all I could think of was when and where. Biggy took us for a walk across the village and the church yard, telling Nora and I about the family history and her memories of growing up there. Nora and I were walking close, hand in hand. We went to the house where Biggy used to live, and looked at some old pictures of the family from the 1800s.
When we came back to Oma Moo’s, the sun was starting to go down, and I was debating on whether or not I should have waited another day. Biggy signaled that she had the ring in her jacket pocket that was in the van. Nora and I went to the van with Ronja and her cousins, and I found the ring and quickly put it in my pocket. I had to look for it earlier, but couldn’t find it, and Nora was asking “What are you looking for?” So I had to stop that. Now, I had the ring, I just hoped she wouldn’t notice. I knew that from this point on, I was on my own, doing something all important, for the first time, and I didn’t know what to expect from myself. I felt like I was on that plane to Boston all over again.

2100 – continued… (Found out it is 21 May)
I just talked to Nora for an hour, hehehe. I feel fine now, it was so great to hear her voice.

“If I’m well, you can tell she’s been with me now…
with me now…
she’s been with me now for a long time…
And I feel fine.”
- James Taylor

I was laughing so hard when she was talking about washing my old clothes, I am still laughing about it right now. God, I am so lucky! Back to the proposal!
Well, we were all outside, and there was still enough sun light outside, so I took her by the hand and we ran away from the kids and Oma Moo’s house and towards the old church road and fields. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I was excited, nervous, and anxious all at the same time. I couldn’t wait any longer! So we ran towards the hill, then over it towards the field. The little kids all followed, sneaking along in the bushes. Part of me wanted them to leave, and part of me thought it was cute, especially knowing what was about to happen. I remember getting so nervous, because I didn’t know what to do, but I know I wanted her forever, and I had the ring in my pocket to show her. Nora noticed something was happening, saying, “What is it? What is it Dan?” It was in that voice that let me know she was curiously amused. She felt the ring box in my right pocket. I will never forget… “What are you doing? What is that?” in a funny voice. She knew, I could swear that, and that only made things better. I said ‘Do you think you can get that ring off?’ laughing (talking about our friendship ring). I remember telling her how much she means to me, and my legs got weak. I then started to go down on my knee, and I will NEVER forget how powerful that was. Hesitation, awe, happiness, surreal wonder, all trembled through my knees until I took control and planted my knee firmly down and looked up at her in her eyes. ‘Nora, will you marry me?’ I asked. Excited and seemingly in shock, she said, “Yes, I will marry you,” along with repeated “You are crazy, oh my God, I love you!” I’ll remember most that she got on her knee too and we met at the face level, looking into each other’s eyes. I thought that was awesome. I jokingly said ‘You need to stand back up so I can do this properly!’ We hugged so much spinning, repeating “I love you!” Her cousins and Ronja came out of the bushes to see what was going on. We wanted to keep the news private. Nora hates to be the center of attention, and if news of that got out while we were there, it would spread quickly. Her cousin Katrin came over to us and I saw the “Holy Crap!” look on her face. We just had to laugh. Then the kids left, we weren’t talking to anyone else. We went back to the van, and sat there debating over whether we should go back in the house or not. Lilo came to the van and we talked to her. She is so nice to us. We eventually got back to the house and thought everyone knew about what had just happened. We figured Biggy told everyone. She says she didn’t. I’m not sure about that. When it was time to go home, the topic of Iraq came up again.
I hated that I would be leaving her grandparents, and I was worried that would be the last time I would see her grandfather. Before we left, I told the whole crowd there, in good German, where I was going, why, and for how long. I told her grandfather goodbye already, but as I was leaving, he came into the hall (just thinking about this is upsetting me to tears now) grabbed my arm firmly and looked into my eyes. I saw then, as he trembled, that he was crying. I was shaken. I thought that I would start crying at any moment if I didn’t stay strong. I know he himself had left for WWII before being captured in France. He has certainly seen so much, and his showing of emotion meant so much to me. I knew that I had to leave, or I would break down, that I had to be a man, and move forward – stay in control. I whispered to him ‘Danke schön für alles.’
[1] He looked at me in the eyes to nod “yes.” I will never forget this, ever.
Nora and I got in the van, Biggy and Ronja and Larissa got in. I would be driving the family home that night. I felt so close to Nora, our hands were finding each other as I drove, and she would lean over to put her head on my shoulder. I am so in love with her! It felt so peaceful, like we had our own family, and looking in each other’s eyes, we knew we would. I remember Larissa asking why I had to go away. I told her that I had to go help people far away. When I heard her ask this, it hurt, and it made me angry that the children are learning what war is – another generation failed by its elders. It made me sad, and it made me think – again – that there has to be another way than war. I hope to this day that I will be going to help people, God knows I hope that. I want so much to be part of the only good thing to come out of this disaster – the reconstruction. I think this war means more to me than people may realize, except for Nora. Tonight as I write, I am looking forward to going to Baghdad, so that I can get home to Nora, to Oma Moo, the kids, Oma Lissy, Biggy, Mr. Schmid, they are all family, and I cannot wait to see them again. Sometimes the time ahead seems like eternity, but there is no avoiding it. It is a test, and God will see us though – always. I have been too fortunate to think otherwise. As I went to call Nora, the evening prayers were being played on the loudspeakers. Some workers stopped to pray, pointed towards Mecca. I thought about my relationship with God, took a deep breath of salty air (smelled just like Charleston), and knew that everything would be just fine. It always has been in the end. Life has been hard, but it has also been so amazing to me. As I close tonight (I have to take a shower), I think about Nora’s grandfather catching my eye while I was rubbing her back. He smiled at me and nodded his head while blinking his eyes slightly. It was as if he said “Good luck to you boy.” But I know what he meant in my heart, something words would only serve to complicate. Nora and I are everything I ever wanted, all I ever wished for and more. We will make it through this time. I love her so dearly, completely.

[1] Thank you for everything

Tuesday, May 20, 2003

Living the Desert Life in Kuwait

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May 20, 2003 Near Kuwait City Port

A lapse in entries has unfortunately occurred, but it is not entirely unfortunate that so much has passed and happened since April. I am now at Camp Spearhead at a port to pick up my truck. I have been here for 3 days, but I arrived here in Kuwait a week ago, last Monday. Since then, I have been living at Camp Udiari in an isolate desert near Iraq in the north west of the country. So much has happened that I must record, the most important thing being my marriage proposal to Nora on May 3, 2003. The time following that was so happy and full of love, and I pray, an indication of things to come following my return to my proper home. The other notable happenings are, obviously, my arrival in the dusty capitol of oil-rich Kuwait. The pace and circumstances surrounding this Army expedition have prevented me from writing as I should. This is easy to say as I sit here in an air conditioned tent. This is luxury though, Camp Udairi is nothing like Spearhead. Unfortunately I will have to leave here tomorrow. Then the profuse sweating and killer heat will have me and my guys incapacitated, panting like dogs, lying about like desert lizards. That is all you can do there, you can’t read or write, because it is too hot to think. That is no exaggeration. You get used to it, maybe not. Again, I am saying this from an air-conditioned tent. Once reality bites tomorrow, I may change my tune.
The lights are going out soon, so I am going to part with my first impression of Kuwait. The more important reflections on Nora and our engagement merit attention to details and more time. That will follow soon.
Kuwait is a dirty country. On the flight here, I already hated Kuwait before I arrived. When I saw it from my passenger window, there was no world music playing in my mind, or images of exotic shops. I was numb, and that only developed into mental surrender and disappointment as Kuwait failed to meet my minimal expectations. I had faith in this place as a model of civilized Arab life, but found it to be a dump, an ill-maintained slum that hints that it may have been nice in the 70s or 80s. I could also tell that Kuwaitis don’t like to work, the only people working here are from Bangladesh or Africa. This comforted me, and filled me with pride – as I realized I would be away from Nora for 6 months or more to protect and serve a rich, lazy region. I mean this in jest. But I quickly became angry as it was and is still obvious that all this place is good for is oil. Iraqi Freedom seemed like a joke, and what’s more is the thought that George Bush could actually have a genuine, humanitarian concern for this region. I think not. I am in a camp right now surrounded on all sides by oil refineries. It is the perfect backdrop, as I breathe the exhaust fumes from the factory and look up to the brown, disgusting sky. Kuwait makes me sick, it makes me angry to see that our U.S. government so freely wastes money on this place and gets away with it. The more I think about it, the more I think I need to change something about our government, or become a German citizen. Being here is an insult, and I can’t believe that we as Americans have been sustaining wounds, September 11th being the biggest, over the past decade since Gulf War I – because we believe we must have a presence in this Islamic region. I am going to retrace my journey to this country in later entries, but I have found my truth about this place with my own eyes. This war past was a war for oil, and that I cannot be convinced otherwise. The contempt I feel for the U.S. government for sponsoring this is immeasurable, and all I hope is for Nora to stay strong as we both struggle through this folly of men – as generations of lovers have had to do before us.


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