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.