Iraq dispatch 5

This will be my last dispatch as part of my 6-week summer retreat to Iraq. There were some unpleasant times, such as not showering for almost a week straight in 120-degree temps; relying on Kaopectate to get me through one bad week after eating tainted food; and walking along sewage-strewn roads.

But for the most part, I have to say that I’ve enjoyed the trip. There’s no place like a combat zone. Once a few days in country, you no longer worry about the possibility of rockets landing on your head, a roadside bomb blowing a limb off or a sniper taking you out.

You eventually take on the Muslim approach to everyday life: “Inshallah,” they always say, which translates to “God willing.” When danger surrounds you, there’s nothing more you can do to keep you sane.

Saying that, Iraq isn’t as bad as before - at least for U.S. troops. It seems that Iraqis are just killing Iraqis these days. Hopefully they’ll realize that that’s not the way to go and will start progressing into the country they should be – a filthy rich Arab nation pumping out excess amounts of oil to wasteful Americans.

I ended my stint in Mosul, a restive city in northern Iraq. The city of about 2 million is filled with historical sites but nowadays buildings leveled by ongoing fighting dot the landscape and unemployment is at 75 percent. I’m thinking they just need a few chains of fast-food joints and Wal-marts to get the jobs flowing.

I never got the chance to spout off these ideas to the provincial council on how to improve employment. Instead, I was kicked out of the area by the U.S. Army after I tried to cover a story about sex downrange. No, I didn’t do any in-depth research on it, as some of you may be thinking. I was just pursuing a story about a sign that I saw posted at one of the calling centers at the base. According to the sign, free condoms were available to prevent “unexpected pregnancies.” The Army commander wouldn’t support me on it and threw me on the next flight out.

The early departure didn’t bother me too much. I covered everything that I wanted to cover, including a story about the city’s unemployment, a soldier who survived a botched grenade attack and another on reconstruction issues. Here’s the links:

Unemployment woes
http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=64552&archive=true

Grenade survivor
http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=64659&archive=true

Two fronts of Mosul
http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=57546

Today, I’m back in Europe. Germany to be exact. I should be heading back to jolly old England later this week. After that, I’ll be getting out of the Army and who knows what’s next for this guy. Whatever it is, I’ll probably babble about it in further blog reports. Stay tuned.

Iraq dispatch 4

I have finally escaped the hellhole that is Diyala province, a dormant bomb ready to explode at any time. Suicide bombers, corrupt police and government officials and sectarian strife still loom in the province and I don’t see that changing in the near future.

Before I left Diyala, I headed to the Iraq-Iran border. A mural of Iran’s ayatollah looked down on us from the other side as Iranian guards stared at me while I snapped photos like a Japanese tourist. The border even had a duty-free shop, though we didn’t look inside. Maybe instead of cigarettes and alcohol, they sold goats and Qurans, I thought.

I eventually made my way to Balad and flew to Speicher (Tikrit), where I’d catch a flight up to Mosul near the Turkish border. However, I’ve been waiting three days now for that flight. Sandstorms have grounded all helicopter traffic and they don’t look to let up today.

Yesterday, I strolled to a Bazaar on base to check out Persian rugs. You can make an easy couple of Gs if you know what to look for. But I saw no cheap rugs so I headed back to my Quonset hut to take a nap on a cot.

As I walked back, I looked over my shoulder and saw this dark brown cloud on the horizon. It seemed to move slowly but after a few minutes, a sea of dirt blocked out the sun. The sky then turned pitch black as I stumbled like a blind man to my hut.

Hurricane-like winds whirled clouds of dirt into my ears, eyes and mouth. I couldn’t see anything in front of me and I didn’t know when the storm would blow over. I began to worry that I’d suffocate, so I tried to enter the nearest hut but it was locked.

I walked further down, coughing up dirt and rubbing away more dirt that had caked onto my eyes. A few minutes later, I made it to my hut and as I opened the door, a plume of dust entered. I wiped my eyes clean and saw 10 or so people inside the hut begin to laugh at me.

I can’t wait to get out of here and up to Mosul, I said to myself. Hopefully it’ll be soon.