How We Roll, Ctd

RIP/TOA. This is the Army acronym for “Relief In Place / Transfer Of Authority.” It is shorthand for the transition process, when one unit comes in to replace another unit that is leaving. The incoming unit assumes the responsibilities of the outgoing unit, but there is a period of overlap when the new group is assisted in finding their bearings, learning how things are, what to do and what not to do. New units are said to be ripping in and old units are said to be ripping out. This week, we’ve fallen victim to a clumsy rip.

We had scheduled an ambitious mission with three stops in the Shatt al Arab district across the waterway from the base and the city. We intended to stop first at Shalamsha, the “port of entry” for goods coming into the province from Iran. We had made arrangements with the Iraqi Army general in charge of the border crossing to meet with him very early in the morning, when most of the deals are made to bring vegetables and fruit across the border.

We set out in our usual convoy of Humvees, meeting an Iraqi Army special forces unit at the front gate. There were a few sergeants from the movement team that we had been rolling with for the last few weeks sitting in with the new team, including one in “my” truck. To get across the waterway, we had to pass through a part of the city that had obviously seen some fierce fighting because it lay in ruins and finding the right way through to the other side was not obvious because of the lack of landmarks. We took several wrong turns, with the entire convoy having to turn around on narrow streets each time. Having been across the waterway a couple of times already, I more or less had a feel of how we needed to go. We were getting close to the bridge but then the lead vehicle veered away and headed toward downtown. I was puzzled but kept my mouth shut, took a deep breath and sighed in frustration. Now we were clearly headed in the wrong direction. I couldn’t figure out why the guys in the old unit hadn’t yanked the leash on the new team. After passing through the heart of downtown, grinding to a halt in heavy traffic, and going down yet another wrong way, I lost my cool. With authority that I did not have, I finally lost patience and yelled at the green lieutenant who was in “my” truck: “Stop right now! I need to talk with my teammates and you guys need to get your f****** act together!!” Amazingly they stopped and had a meeting in the middle of the neighborhood. Out team got together and we decided that it was getting too late to visit the border crossing and we would head to the second scheduled stop.

We finally made it to one of the waterway crossing points, a floating pontoon bridge that was put in place after the first Gulf War in the early ‘90s and not yet replaced with a permanent bridge. It’s narrow and rickety. One of the Humvees hit the side of the bridge during the crossing, gashing the tire. We limped through the crowded urban market area on the other side of the waterway and picked our way to the city outskirts, to a place where there weren’t big crowds and enough open space to set up a perimeter and change the tire. The tire change was actually rather entertaining, despite the frustration all of us were feeling. First, a Humvee tire has about a dozen lug nuts to wrench off, a task complicated by the lack of lubrication on the bolt threads, a characteristic aided by the dry dusty climate. The guys took turns horsing the lug wrench, with even some of the Iraqi Army guys getting in on the work of loosening the stubborn lugs and setting the jacks. We milled around, chatting with the Iraqi Army guys, passing time, trying not to get too worked up by how screwed up the day had become.

After 45 minutes or so, we finally resumed out mission, now late for our second appointment, a return trip to Moosawi’s farm, the place we had visited on my birthday, to discuss the location for a demonstration project we are putting together. Because of our late arrival, the sayed (cleric) and the Director of the Extension Service had left, but we spoke with some of the technical people working on the farm. They prepared a little snack for us, with lassi (yoghurt), bread, cheese, kebabs, dates, fruit, and tea. Very restorative. Definitely the attitude adjustment that I needed.

Our intended third visit was to an agricultural association. We had arranged to meet at a well-known checkpoint. Despite our best explanations to our security team, they went to the wrong place and we failed to meet our contact. At this point, someone made the decision that we needed to return to base. We had made only one of the three scheduled visits!

What a mess! So much went wrong, but s much worse could have happened. We were perhaps lucky not to have gotten ourselves into trouble in the heart of downtown Basra. Certainly that was a case where the presence of the Iraqi Army was or would have been helpful. The Iraqi Army did not lead because their role in these missions is to follow. To me the blame squarely lies with the sergeants from the old unit who are ripping out. They should have been more active in leading the mission and telling the lead vehicle when they were going astray.

The worse part was breaking the appointments we had painstakingly set up with the Iraqi Army general at the border crossing, the director of the extension service, an important cleric-businessman, and the farmer-members of the local agricultural association. My sense is that the Iraqi people are rather unfazed by our breaking these appointments. Life has been so hard here and there has been so much disappointment, especially when it comes to promises made, that putting an additional spoonful of disappointment on that mountain doesn’t amount to much. Nonetheless, that’s not the way we on Team Borlaug like to roll and we have tried our best all along the way not to promise what we can’t deliver and to be honest and realistic in what we can do in partnership with our Iraqi colleagues.

Rocket Thursdays

I was settling down with a good book last night around 9 PM when I was startled by a loud explosion not too far away. I could feel the thump viscerally, like loud bass music, and the walls in my room rattled briefly, sending down a light shower of dust. Then, over the loudspeakers outside: “Incoming, incoming, incoming.” A few seconds later, the second rocket made impact, this time a bit farther away. The announcement then came for soldiers to don their body armor, for everyone to move to a hardened location, and for all nonessential movements to cease. My room is safe and secure, so I simply stayed put. After about an hour of periodic announcements about the ongoing threat level, the all clear was given. The incident was over.

For some odd reason, these recent rocket attacks seem to fall on Thursdays. I wrote in an earlier blog entry about the three soldiers who were killed in a rocket attack on the Thursday night before the Friday morning we arrived. There was another rocket attack the Thursday before last. And then the latest one last night. We’ve been speculating that, because Friday is the Muslim holy day, Thursday night might be like Saturday night to insurgents, equivalent to rowdy teenagers putting M80s in mailboxes and otherwise getting into weekend trouble.

I find these rocket attacks (or IDF, indirect fire, as it is described by the Army) to be not much more than a pesky annoyance. Last year, we experienced IDF when I was staying on bases in Wasit and Maysan, but it was a rare occurrence. Including the attack that occurred just before arriving here, this makes three events on this base alone since coming here. We’ve been told that the Iraqi Army has “rolled up” some of what the military calls “high-value targets” who are said to be responsible for these recent events, so I suppose we can take some solace from this.

I can rationalize the effect of IDF to my wakeful, conscious self and objectively conclude that such attacks represent a nominally small threat to my safety and well-being. They most assuredly do not induce fear or terror. However, the convictions of my unconscious self are less clear and firm. My sleep was fitful, almost feverish, last night, with a long dream that seemed never to reach resolution. In the dream, we were told that all civilians had to leave the base as a result of the rocket attack. I was very unhappy about a decision I believed to be drastic, unreasonable, and not at all commensurate with the nature of the attack. All of us complained to anyone who would listen that we didn’t want to leave. We were gathered to go, milling around with our bags packed, moving from one building to another, continuing to register our complaints, but never actually leaving. Perhaps my unconscious self was saying that I should get out of harms way, but this ran into conflict with my resolve to stay and my idealistic notions of trying to make some small difference here.

The bottom line is that I continue to stay safe. Job one.

Masqouf

Great article in today's NY Times Dining and Wine section on masqouf, the traditional roasted carp dish of Iraq. I've had occasion to eat this several times when lunches were graciously provided by our Iraqi hosts. While carp is not my most favorite fish to eat, slow roasting on an open fire gives it a nice smoky flavor.

On the second page of the on-line version of the story, there is a paragraph about the import of carp fingerlings from Hungary. Credit for the project was rightly attributed to the Inma Agribusiness Program, specifically my colleague Duane Stone. Not to blow my horn too loudly here, but I was the one to initiate the project at the suggestion of an Iraqi colleague, Dr. Khalil Saleh. Duane saw the project through to completion following my departure from Iraq last year. Credit also goes to Akos Horvath in Hungary, who helped arrange for the fish on that end.

Be sure to check out the pictures.

How We Roll

When I was here last year, moving around was very straightforward. We simply mounted up and moved out. Last June, in Babil Province, the U.S. Army was in control of “the battle-space” and the military moved wherever and whenever it wanted. It made moving around quite easy, although arguably more perilous. When we moved to Najaf Province last July, our movements were slightly more restricted. Najaf, and other provinces where we subsequently worked, was a so-called PIC province, or “province in Iraqi control.” That meant that the Army had to call up the Iraqi’s to tell them where and when we were going. There were certain no-go zones, such as the area around the holy shrines in downtown Najaf, but for the most part there were few impediments to movement.

I knew that things would be different this year. Between my leaving Iraq last November and the end of June this year the situation has changed markedly. With the new Status of Forces Agreement in place, most troops have now withdrawn from the cities and are now concentrated on fewer but larger bases on urban outskirts. As of the end of June, the Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police have taken control of security for the country. This is as it should be, but it’s made moving around a bit more difficult.

Now, when we go out on a mission, our convoy of Humvees goes to the main gate of the base to link up, inshallah, with a platoon of Iraqi Army soldiers in their Humvees. Then, if all goes well, the blended convoy moves out, with alternating Iraqi and U.S. Army Humvees rolling down the road. Since coming here, the Iraqi Army has showed up most but not every time. If they are not at the main gate, we will wait, but if we are not going through Basra city, we won’t wait long. If we are going through the city, we have to wait.

Some of the Iraqi Army units look pretty capable; others less so. To describe what they wear as a “uniform” is a bit of a stretch. There are all sorts of desert cammo in use. Some guys wear helmets and body armor, others wear red berets cocked at odd angles and no other protection. They are friendly enough and the rapport between the U.S. Army “green-suiters” and the IA is good. However, there is definitely a stark contrast in professionalism between the two forces. I keep saying to any of my stateside friends that we should be proud of the professionalism our young men and women service personnel. The lack of discipline and the loosey-goosey way of doing business by the IA (let alone the endemic corruption) couldn’t be more different. (By the way, on a related point, I find it difficult to disagree with a lot of what is said by Colonel Reese of the U.S. Army here.)

The other day we made a visit to Basra University, which has well-established programs in agriculture, veterinary science, fisheries, and marine science. Bringing the U.S. Army onto any university campus in Iraq is problematic. Last fall, we had to scrub a planned trip to Qadasiya University in Diwaniya because the U.S. Army was not allowed to be there for our security. The plan for the Basra University visit was for us to drive to the main gate, where we would be met by a mini-bus that would be accompanied by Iraqi Army troops for security. A small group of U.S. Army troops carrying only side-arms would be there too. When we got to the gate, there was no mini-bus, something that was supposed to have been arranged by the Iraqi Army. After sitting in our convoy for another half-hour, the mini-bus finally arrived and we loaded up. The leader of the Iraqi Army unit was unwilling to have the American troops with us and insisted that they be disarmed. One of the translators accompanying us called General Aziz, the commanding Iraqi Army general in the area, whose phone number he had stored on his cell phone, and passed the phone to the Iraqi Army platoon leader. After a short conversation we were allowed to proceed. The American soldiers hid their pistols inside their body armor so, when the IA platoon leader came on to the mini-bus to check out the American soldiers, they would not appeared armed. The American lieutenant with us said, “See, we’re only carrying radios.” After this delay, our visit proceeded without problem or incident. It probably helped matters that the university is out of session for the summer and there were only a few students on campus.

I’m not saying the new situation is excessively difficult. It’s just different, occasionally frustrating and frequently amusing. I knew when I was here last year that I was in Iraq during a unique window of opportunity. It was a time when the country was becoming increasingly stable but the U.S. Army could move around with ease, enabling our work. Now, the Iraqi’s have finally taken responsibility for their own security and we are guests (perhaps unwanted, but most definitely guests) of our Iraqi hosts, so we have to roll by their rules.