Since arriving here in mid-June it’s been day after day of cloudless blue sky and a blazing sun. There have been exceptions, including dust storms of varying severity, but the weather has been unrelentingly predictable. For the past few days the wind has been blowing from the east and the humidity has been elevated. The salts in the dry soil have attracted this moisture, making the soil wet and sticky where salt concentrations are high, which is to say most places around here.
Then, yesterday afternoon clouds appeared. These weren’t the wispy clouds that were occasionally apparent around sunrise but then quickly burned off in the heat of the day. These were bona fide clouds, big round packets of roiling moisture. The sky grew dark around mid-afternoon. Then, what was that? No, it wasn’t an outgoing artillery round, it was thunder! A bright flash of lightning, then another. The rain was coming! Sure enough, big fat drops began to fall, slowly at first. I held my breath. Soon the sky opened up and a nice steady rain fell for almost 45 minutes. Beautiful sweet rain.
We were thinking of the Bedouins camped in their tents in the desert on the outskirts of the base, wondering how they were celebrating the arrival of the rain, wondering too if their rough tents were leaking. We know that farmers everywhere that rain was falling were celebrating its arrival. The drought here has been multi-year and severe, perhaps felt most acutely by shepherds and herders, whose flocks and herds have been reduced to less than half of pre-drought levels. With the rain, I’m expecting to see wheat and barley sprouting in the fields shortly.
The rain has turned the base into a muddy mess. Drifts of dust collected on the roadsides and elsewhere have turned to slush. There are puddles! The mud is slippery and sticks to your shoes. The floor of the DFAC is strewn with tiny clods escaped from the lugs of boot soles and the Bengali workers are busy chasing them around with brooms, dustpans, and mops.
Why all the excitement and fuss over this rain? After all, it was just a shower. The point is that it has been a long time since rain has fallen here and ANY rain is a big deal. Also, working in agriculture, we know how important water is to the success of farming here (indeed, anywhere). The rain is a cause for celebration and for hoping that there’s more on the way.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Another Fallen Soldier
Our brief 10-day stay in Amarah is now finished and we have returned to COB Adder at Tallil Air Base near Nasariyah. I probably need a little more time to fully digest everything that occurred while working in Amarah but this represents an initial telling and interpretation of some of what happened while there. In the last post I set the scene of the small and new base where we stayed and a brief recent history of wartime events in the province.
Our team was really breaking new ground in terms of US involvement in provincial development. Unlike other provinces where we have worked, there had been very little pre-planning or knowledge of places to go and people to meet. Over time we have developed a template for this and it turned out to serve us well in Maysan.
Last Saturday we looked forward with anticipation to visits to the pump stations that served two of the three largest irrigation districts in the province. We got off to a rough start with some friction between the lieutenant who was in charge of our security detail and the major on the Civil Affairs team who was serving as a liaison between our team and the military. Once we got that worked out, we had some confusion around the link-up with some local leaders who were going to show us exactly where to go and then meet with us to discuss problems. Then, while on site, more and more people kept crowding into the main room of the pump station, making our Army security detail very nervous. At this point we were also far enough away that we were no longer in radio contact with the base so that if anything went wrong there was no way to call for help.
Once we finished our meetings at the pump stations, we made our way back toward base. When we finally came within radio contact, we learned that another soldier from the battalion, the second in about ten days, had been killed in an IED attack on the base commander’s convoy on a road heading south from Amarah, very near the same spot where the first soldier had been killed last week. Like the first soldier, this one was a gunner killed by an EFP directed upwards. Immediately, I could sense a change in the soldiers riding in my Humvee, their thoughts turned inward and a near complete lack of the normal radio chatter and good-natured ribbing.
When we arrived at the base I thanked the soldiers that took care of us as I usually do and told the lieutenant who led our security detail how sorry I was that he lost another comrade. He appreciated the gesture but I could tell that he was struggling to maintain his composure. I too got caught up in the moment, feeling a lump in my throat. A mental numbness washed over me.
We returned to our tent to try and make sense of the day’s events. The major came in and unleashed a brief and emotional tirade, directed largely at our BBA, who had been serving us well and diligently. I realized right away that the major’s anger and frustration was not really aimed at the BBA, that he was only a convenient target, and that the major was responding to a perfect storm of the events of the day, that it represented a response to cumulative causes. We also came in for criticism about circumventing the major’s authority in dealing directly with the lieutenant leading our security detail.
After the major left our tent, we sat there looking at each other in disbelief, trying to make sense of everything. A few guys opened MREs but I had completely lost my appetite. Then, we heard shouting from a nearby tent, the one housing the Iraqi interpreters living on the base. Apparently, a soldier came to the tent brandishing his weapon, threatening to kill one of the interpreters, thinking that one of them had tipped off whoever had triggered the IED. Apparently the soldier had really become unhinged. When I talked with the interpreters later they told me how much they liked the soldier who had been killed, how he used to come by and visit with them and learn a little Arabic, and how they too grieve for the loss of his life. Several interpreters were genuinely afraid for their lives and were going to request transfers to other bases.
Walking around the base that afternoon the soldiers were somber. The sense of anger and frustration was palpable. The desire for vengeance was very strong, nerves were raw, and tensions high. I spent the afternoon in quiet introspection, thinking about the young man and how his family was going to respond to the news of his death. Until the Army notified his next-of-kin, the base commander imposed a communications blackout, an order that remained in effect for over two days, essentially cutting us off from the outside world.
On Saturday night (actually Sunday morning) around 2 AM, the major came running into our tent to assure us that everything was fine, that we had taken some incoming fire but it had landed outside the perimeter of the base. Every night while at the base we had been hearing outgoing mortar fire, sent at random intervals to deter attacks. I found it impossible to distinguish between outgoing and incoming fire so I had assumed that it was all outgoing and had slept through the “attack.” Apparently the incoming fire was part of an elaborate plan to draw out the QRF (quick reaction force) and then spring an ambush. Fortunately it did not succeed.
It seemed to me that the growl of fighter jets, a constant nighttime feature during my stay at FOB GarryOwen, was more intense that night. In the morning we saw two Apache helicopters circling slowly overhead, looking for a target.
All movements off the base were cancelled on Sunday so we had no choice but to stay put. The major stayed away from us and for the most part we kept to our tent. I could really see the look of frustration on the faces of the soldiers. They are trained to kill and they wanted vengeance on the enemy that had taken one of their brothers, but they know that this was not an enemy that can be fought conventionally. It’s this knowledge that they find so frustrating.
For my part, I was surprised at the intensity of my own reaction. Upon reflection I realized how close I’d become to these soldiers, especially the ones who’ve been guarding our lives and enabling us to do our work. They are often in the background, but I always know they are there and will act professionally to any situation; I never take them for granted. Although we have followed very different paths, we share a common purpose here, each doing different parts of the same mission, and we need each other (although they need us less than we need them). I believe this, at least in part, explains the depth of my feelings for the loss of these two young men within the last ten days.
Our team was really breaking new ground in terms of US involvement in provincial development. Unlike other provinces where we have worked, there had been very little pre-planning or knowledge of places to go and people to meet. Over time we have developed a template for this and it turned out to serve us well in Maysan.
Last Saturday we looked forward with anticipation to visits to the pump stations that served two of the three largest irrigation districts in the province. We got off to a rough start with some friction between the lieutenant who was in charge of our security detail and the major on the Civil Affairs team who was serving as a liaison between our team and the military. Once we got that worked out, we had some confusion around the link-up with some local leaders who were going to show us exactly where to go and then meet with us to discuss problems. Then, while on site, more and more people kept crowding into the main room of the pump station, making our Army security detail very nervous. At this point we were also far enough away that we were no longer in radio contact with the base so that if anything went wrong there was no way to call for help.
Once we finished our meetings at the pump stations, we made our way back toward base. When we finally came within radio contact, we learned that another soldier from the battalion, the second in about ten days, had been killed in an IED attack on the base commander’s convoy on a road heading south from Amarah, very near the same spot where the first soldier had been killed last week. Like the first soldier, this one was a gunner killed by an EFP directed upwards. Immediately, I could sense a change in the soldiers riding in my Humvee, their thoughts turned inward and a near complete lack of the normal radio chatter and good-natured ribbing.
When we arrived at the base I thanked the soldiers that took care of us as I usually do and told the lieutenant who led our security detail how sorry I was that he lost another comrade. He appreciated the gesture but I could tell that he was struggling to maintain his composure. I too got caught up in the moment, feeling a lump in my throat. A mental numbness washed over me.
We returned to our tent to try and make sense of the day’s events. The major came in and unleashed a brief and emotional tirade, directed largely at our BBA, who had been serving us well and diligently. I realized right away that the major’s anger and frustration was not really aimed at the BBA, that he was only a convenient target, and that the major was responding to a perfect storm of the events of the day, that it represented a response to cumulative causes. We also came in for criticism about circumventing the major’s authority in dealing directly with the lieutenant leading our security detail.
After the major left our tent, we sat there looking at each other in disbelief, trying to make sense of everything. A few guys opened MREs but I had completely lost my appetite. Then, we heard shouting from a nearby tent, the one housing the Iraqi interpreters living on the base. Apparently, a soldier came to the tent brandishing his weapon, threatening to kill one of the interpreters, thinking that one of them had tipped off whoever had triggered the IED. Apparently the soldier had really become unhinged. When I talked with the interpreters later they told me how much they liked the soldier who had been killed, how he used to come by and visit with them and learn a little Arabic, and how they too grieve for the loss of his life. Several interpreters were genuinely afraid for their lives and were going to request transfers to other bases.
Walking around the base that afternoon the soldiers were somber. The sense of anger and frustration was palpable. The desire for vengeance was very strong, nerves were raw, and tensions high. I spent the afternoon in quiet introspection, thinking about the young man and how his family was going to respond to the news of his death. Until the Army notified his next-of-kin, the base commander imposed a communications blackout, an order that remained in effect for over two days, essentially cutting us off from the outside world.
On Saturday night (actually Sunday morning) around 2 AM, the major came running into our tent to assure us that everything was fine, that we had taken some incoming fire but it had landed outside the perimeter of the base. Every night while at the base we had been hearing outgoing mortar fire, sent at random intervals to deter attacks. I found it impossible to distinguish between outgoing and incoming fire so I had assumed that it was all outgoing and had slept through the “attack.” Apparently the incoming fire was part of an elaborate plan to draw out the QRF (quick reaction force) and then spring an ambush. Fortunately it did not succeed.
It seemed to me that the growl of fighter jets, a constant nighttime feature during my stay at FOB GarryOwen, was more intense that night. In the morning we saw two Apache helicopters circling slowly overhead, looking for a target.
All movements off the base were cancelled on Sunday so we had no choice but to stay put. The major stayed away from us and for the most part we kept to our tent. I could really see the look of frustration on the faces of the soldiers. They are trained to kill and they wanted vengeance on the enemy that had taken one of their brothers, but they know that this was not an enemy that can be fought conventionally. It’s this knowledge that they find so frustrating.
For my part, I was surprised at the intensity of my own reaction. Upon reflection I realized how close I’d become to these soldiers, especially the ones who’ve been guarding our lives and enabling us to do our work. They are often in the background, but I always know they are there and will act professionally to any situation; I never take them for granted. Although we have followed very different paths, we share a common purpose here, each doing different parts of the same mission, and we need each other (although they need us less than we need them). I believe this, at least in part, explains the depth of my feelings for the loss of these two young men within the last ten days.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Amarah
I'm writing this from FOB GarryOwen, a small camp in Maysan province near the main city of Amarah. Conditions here are very basic, in contrast to the large bases that have been our home in the past month. I'm staying in a 20-man tent (but it has a/c), sleeping on a camp cot, and showering in another tent that has water pumped from a bladder laying on the ground. The chow-hall (no DFAC) provides hot breakfast and dinner; lunch is MREs. The chow-hall is closed on Sundays, so it's MREs all day. Computer access is difficult, especially when there are a lot of soldiers on-line.
The camp started in June of this year so things remain in a state of flux. June is when the American presence began in this province. Literally this place has been passed by for much of the war. In part this was due to the presence of the British, who controlled the battle space, had some bitter battles with losses on both sides, and then pulled back to Basra. Earlier this spring, the Prime Minister launched an offensive to rid Basra of militias and criminal gangs. Many of them came to Amarah. A subsequent offensive by the Iraqi Army drove these militias out of Amarah. The Americans arrived on the heals of this offensive and are just now establishing a presence here.
This is the context for our work. Very little is known and very few contacts have been made. We are literally blazing the trail with the PRT and Civil Affairs Team. We've had a great couple of days of meetings, mostly to determine what we want to see and more importantly who we want to visit. As elsewhere in Iraq, there are great people here doing great work under difficult circumstances.
In some respects Maysan reminds me of Louisiana. First, this is where the Tigris River breaks apart into at least five branches, most spilling out into huge marshes, home of the Marsh Arabs, who have a culture that is as distinct as the Cajuns. The city of Amarah is located where three of these branches originate and, being a river city, reminds me of New Orleans. Obviously these are superficial similarities. However, we've been told that the Maysani's are considered the "red-headed stepchildren" of Iraq, having been ignored by the central government for decades. Bordering Iran, the people of this province suffered mightily during the Iran-Iraq war. Saddam also created a huge canal/dam to divert water around some big marshes in the south of the province, choking off the water supply, as a way to subjugate the Shia's there. The Maysanis were also part of the Shia uprising following the first Gulf War, which was brutally suppressed by Saddam. Despite all this, there is tremendous hope here (as we have seen elsewhere in Iraq) and one needs only to see the tremendous construction boom of small houses. Factories with tall smokestacks belching black smoke are churning our bright yellow bricks everywhere in southern Iraq.
Back to FOB GarryOwen. I am here with two others from Team Borlaug, a subset of our full team, which remains at FOB Adder at Tallil Air Base, near Nasariyah, and is now working in Muthanna province. We are here with about 200 other soldiers. The other day we took part in a memorial service for a 22-year old specialist who was killed by an EFP during a route clearance mission on the road between Amarah and the other major town in the province. We all gathered by the MWR and the young man was remembered by his commanders and fellow soldiers. I could see more than one soldier sniffling and wiping away tears. He received a 21-gun salute and "Taps" on a bugle. It was a very emotional scene.
It reminds me, as if I really needed reminding, that I'm still in a war zone. Given the newness of this camp and recent events, I have to admit to feeling a bit more anxiety about my presence here. It's not enough to deter me from our activities. We were told that the camp has been rocketed twice since June and were instructed on what to do if the rockets start falling while sleeping. ("Get down and suck plywood.") We hear outgoing fire, mostly mortars, every night to deter these attacks. Despite all this, I feel safe with the soldiers in our security detail, who continue to do a magnificent job that enables us to do our assessments and develop ideas for projects to improve Iraqi agriculture. My senses and level of awareness of my surroundings has become sharper and more finely attuned. It doesn't hurt that daytime temperatures have moderated and the weather has turned fine.
The camp started in June of this year so things remain in a state of flux. June is when the American presence began in this province. Literally this place has been passed by for much of the war. In part this was due to the presence of the British, who controlled the battle space, had some bitter battles with losses on both sides, and then pulled back to Basra. Earlier this spring, the Prime Minister launched an offensive to rid Basra of militias and criminal gangs. Many of them came to Amarah. A subsequent offensive by the Iraqi Army drove these militias out of Amarah. The Americans arrived on the heals of this offensive and are just now establishing a presence here.
This is the context for our work. Very little is known and very few contacts have been made. We are literally blazing the trail with the PRT and Civil Affairs Team. We've had a great couple of days of meetings, mostly to determine what we want to see and more importantly who we want to visit. As elsewhere in Iraq, there are great people here doing great work under difficult circumstances.
In some respects Maysan reminds me of Louisiana. First, this is where the Tigris River breaks apart into at least five branches, most spilling out into huge marshes, home of the Marsh Arabs, who have a culture that is as distinct as the Cajuns. The city of Amarah is located where three of these branches originate and, being a river city, reminds me of New Orleans. Obviously these are superficial similarities. However, we've been told that the Maysani's are considered the "red-headed stepchildren" of Iraq, having been ignored by the central government for decades. Bordering Iran, the people of this province suffered mightily during the Iran-Iraq war. Saddam also created a huge canal/dam to divert water around some big marshes in the south of the province, choking off the water supply, as a way to subjugate the Shia's there. The Maysanis were also part of the Shia uprising following the first Gulf War, which was brutally suppressed by Saddam. Despite all this, there is tremendous hope here (as we have seen elsewhere in Iraq) and one needs only to see the tremendous construction boom of small houses. Factories with tall smokestacks belching black smoke are churning our bright yellow bricks everywhere in southern Iraq.
Back to FOB GarryOwen. I am here with two others from Team Borlaug, a subset of our full team, which remains at FOB Adder at Tallil Air Base, near Nasariyah, and is now working in Muthanna province. We are here with about 200 other soldiers. The other day we took part in a memorial service for a 22-year old specialist who was killed by an EFP during a route clearance mission on the road between Amarah and the other major town in the province. We all gathered by the MWR and the young man was remembered by his commanders and fellow soldiers. I could see more than one soldier sniffling and wiping away tears. He received a 21-gun salute and "Taps" on a bugle. It was a very emotional scene.
It reminds me, as if I really needed reminding, that I'm still in a war zone. Given the newness of this camp and recent events, I have to admit to feeling a bit more anxiety about my presence here. It's not enough to deter me from our activities. We were told that the camp has been rocketed twice since June and were instructed on what to do if the rockets start falling while sleeping. ("Get down and suck plywood.") We hear outgoing fire, mostly mortars, every night to deter these attacks. Despite all this, I feel safe with the soldiers in our security detail, who continue to do a magnificent job that enables us to do our assessments and develop ideas for projects to improve Iraqi agriculture. My senses and level of awareness of my surroundings has become sharper and more finely attuned. It doesn't hurt that daytime temperatures have moderated and the weather has turned fine.
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