Although it has been almost 10 days since Baghdad was hit with a series of car-bomb attacks on Easter Sunday, I have yet to write about it, perhaps because I did not have direct experience with the event at the time. Perhaps I did not want to elevate the magnitude of the event as a way to keep this particular bombing in perspective. Perhaps I did not want those who care about my safety to have additional cause for anxiety.
In any case, it turned out to be a close call all around. We left the compound in Mansour around 11 a.m. A mere 20 minutes later, two car bombs were detonated near the Iranian and German embassies in the area. After the fact I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps we drove right past one of the bombers, he on his mission, we on ours. Much of what I know about the event comes from those who experienced it directly. I’m glad that I did not experience this first hand.
After the first bomb, people in the compound dove for cover. Minutes later the second bomb, much closer, went off, shattering windows and blowing doors out of their frames. Pieces of shrapnel rained down on the compound, including one of the wheels of the car-bomb. One of the expat ag scientists at Inma recovered a piece of the door frame with the seat belt attached, leading to macabre jokes about buckling up before detonating. The shrapnel was mostly pieces of twisted, jagged metal. It’s amazing that new one was hurt in the compound. People in the immediate area of the bombing were not so lucky. Apparently one of the women who cleans houses lost her entire family. One of the guys on the security team told me that the head of a young boy landed at one of the entrances to our compound.
The magnitude of what happened was not driven home until we returned to Baghdad late last week. First, we needed almost an extra hour to get through the increased number of security checkpoints, which snarled traffic. The usual access route to the compound was blocked off completely, requiring us to make a wide, lengthy diversion.
The only comparison I can make to what I found upon returning based on my life experiences is the effects of a hurricane. Most of the glass and shrapnel had been cleaned up, but smaller secondary piles remained on the roadside. Windows and doors that had been blown out were covered by plastic sheeting. Workmen were already busy repairing the damage. Only one building sustained structural damage. I was lucky: there was only one pane of glass broken in my room, primarily because the windows faced away from the source of the blast.
The next morning I came out onto the street to walk down to our office. I saw a group of Iraqis come running down the street, carrying a man who appeared to be unconscious with blood soaking the front of his shirt. The security team sprang into action, grabbing their medic kits. It was a bit chaotic, but they laid the man down and I could see a deep cut across his neck, from ear to throat. They cleaned the rather deep wound and then loaded the man into a taxi for a trip to a nearby hospital. No doubt he’s going to have a noticeable scar there for the rest of his life but he’ll be fine. Apparently he was one of the glass workers and a piece of glass had fallen and sliced his neck. Never a dull moment at the Inma compound.
All week long the sound of hammers, saws, and breaking glass has filled the compound. Slowly but surely most of the almost 1000 broken windows have been replaced. This comes none too soon because Baghdad has been gripped by a gritty cloud of dust that has hung over the city for the last few days. Any room with an open window has become coated with a fine film and my throat has been scratchy.
I continue to be impressed how Iraqis continue to live their lives, striving for normality, in the context of what is clearly senseless violence. If anything, it has made everyone more committed to work hard to take charge of their own affairs. This was also the response to bombings that occurred during the recent elections. These events continue to shake people’s confidence in the army and police and their ability to maintain security. Nonetheless, people strive on.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Almost Babylon
Early last week we received an invitation to the grand opening of the new office of the Iraqi Society of Fish Producers in Al-Hillah. After the ribbon cutting and the speeches, lunch was to be served at a restaurant near the Babylon Ruins. I was excited about the prospect of visiting these famous ruins, having had the chance to visit the Great Ziggurat of Ur in 2008. Opportunities to be a tourist have been extremely rare, mainly because I've had a job to do.
We made yet another visit to the Euphrates Fish Farm, specifically to check the status of the pump station on the Euphrates River, prior to the ceremony. Given the time, we skipped the ceremony in downtown Al-Hillah and opted to proceed directly to the ruins for lunch. When we got there, passing by the palace built on "Saddam Hill," the parking lot was filled with buses and large numbers of mostly teenage boys were milling around. Clearly this is a popular spot for school field trips and the scene was mildly chaotic.
The leader of our security team was trying to find a way for us to get to the restaurant in a secure way. He finally decided that there would be no way for him to have control over our security and advised us to scratch the visit. My heart sank in disappointment. Of course, he probably made the right decision, and I realized how willing I was to risk my safety to see the ruins. I think everything would have been fine but it was not my call to make and it was the security team leader's responsibility to assure our safety.
My disappointment was short-lived because I know by direct experience that the best-laid plans can easily change when working in this kind of an environment. Flexibility and pateience are key attributes to success and happiness for Iraqi and ex-pat alike. I stewed in my juices a little while but then came around when we stopped off at the Middle-East Fisheries Company farm to check on the day's fish spawning and were treated to a "simple" lunch of kebab, roast vegetables, pickles, and bread. Nice.
I'm hoping the day will come when I can return to the Babylon Ruins and walk freely, soaking up the sweep of Mesopotamian history.
We made yet another visit to the Euphrates Fish Farm, specifically to check the status of the pump station on the Euphrates River, prior to the ceremony. Given the time, we skipped the ceremony in downtown Al-Hillah and opted to proceed directly to the ruins for lunch. When we got there, passing by the palace built on "Saddam Hill," the parking lot was filled with buses and large numbers of mostly teenage boys were milling around. Clearly this is a popular spot for school field trips and the scene was mildly chaotic.
The leader of our security team was trying to find a way for us to get to the restaurant in a secure way. He finally decided that there would be no way for him to have control over our security and advised us to scratch the visit. My heart sank in disappointment. Of course, he probably made the right decision, and I realized how willing I was to risk my safety to see the ruins. I think everything would have been fine but it was not my call to make and it was the security team leader's responsibility to assure our safety.
My disappointment was short-lived because I know by direct experience that the best-laid plans can easily change when working in this kind of an environment. Flexibility and pateience are key attributes to success and happiness for Iraqi and ex-pat alike. I stewed in my juices a little while but then came around when we stopped off at the Middle-East Fisheries Company farm to check on the day's fish spawning and were treated to a "simple" lunch of kebab, roast vegetables, pickles, and bread. Nice.
I'm hoping the day will come when I can return to the Babylon Ruins and walk freely, soaking up the sweep of Mesopotamian history.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Raining Mud
In my previous trips I have come to know Iraq as a desert country. I've been here in the summer, when the heat is brutal and relentless, the major grain crops have been harvested, and everything is dry, dusty, and brown. Since coming here about two weeks ago, the weather has been unsettled, with many cloudy days and a fair amount of blessed rain.
Yesterday was warm and sticky. Around 4:30 in the afternoon, the sky turned red-orange and became very dark. It looked like a dust storm was moving in. Lightning was flashing horizontally in the dust clouds. I was rushing to meet some people in the PRT but got caught out as it started to rain. When the rain dried on my clothes each drop was marked by a brown speck of dust.
It rained on and off for several hours, turning the army base into a muddy mess. The mud sticks to your shoes like any good southern gumbo clay, forming a heavy plate on the soles that gets bigger with every step. I'm going to resist the temptation to make a metaphor of the mud with the last seven years of US involvement here, but it's easy to do.
After seeing the effects of drought over the last couple of years, seeing beautiful fields of green wheat and abundant vegetable crops throughout Babil, I now understand the good mood of the people here. Despite the troubling bombings in the capital and the ongoing uncertainty about forming a new government, life goes on and good work is being done to improve security and people's livlihoods every day. Sadly, as is always the case, only the bad news is reported and the tiny daily incremental changes that improve people's lives here remain unseen and unknown to the wider world.
Yesterday was warm and sticky. Around 4:30 in the afternoon, the sky turned red-orange and became very dark. It looked like a dust storm was moving in. Lightning was flashing horizontally in the dust clouds. I was rushing to meet some people in the PRT but got caught out as it started to rain. When the rain dried on my clothes each drop was marked by a brown speck of dust.
It rained on and off for several hours, turning the army base into a muddy mess. The mud sticks to your shoes like any good southern gumbo clay, forming a heavy plate on the soles that gets bigger with every step. I'm going to resist the temptation to make a metaphor of the mud with the last seven years of US involvement here, but it's easy to do.
After seeing the effects of drought over the last couple of years, seeing beautiful fields of green wheat and abundant vegetable crops throughout Babil, I now understand the good mood of the people here. Despite the troubling bombings in the capital and the ongoing uncertainty about forming a new government, life goes on and good work is being done to improve security and people's livlihoods every day. Sadly, as is always the case, only the bad news is reported and the tiny daily incremental changes that improve people's lives here remain unseen and unknown to the wider world.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Making Babies
I finally got to do what I came here for. We drove down from Baghdad and made a quick stop at FOB Kalsu, the army base where we are now staying and where our team lived for a month in 2008. Then we drove over to the Middle East Fisheries farm, which is one of the two farms that has been keeping the new broodstock introduced from Hungary last May. As we pulled up I saw a man I recognized getting into his car to leave. It was Sheik Jafar, who Team Borlaug had visited on my very first day in the field two years ago. It had been a memorable visit at many levels, but Sheik Jafar's hospitality stood out, especially among the ruins of his village. I rushed out to extend my greetings before he could depart and his smile told me that he recalled our visit. His village is well on the way to recovery although the surrounding area remains restive.
After Sheik Jafar left, we sat around in the main office with the farm owner, Mr. Thamir, my colleague, Dr. Saleh, and several others drinking tea. We were waiting for a call from the hatchery to tell us the fish were ready to spawn. They had been injected the night before and spawning was imminent but delayed a little bit because the water temperature had dropped from the cloudy and rainy weather the preceding two days. We finally got the call and went to the hatchery for the action. I had made a point to get on the same page with Dr. Saleh about the crosses we wanted to make and simply let the hatchery crew, especially the experienced fish breeder, do what they know to do. The broodstock were separated by sex and origin in different tanks. One by one the females were lifted out of the water onto a foam pad, with a thumb placed quickly over the genital opening. The belly of the fish was wiped dry with a towel and a bowl was placed beneath the fish to catch the eggs. With well-practiced technique, the fish breeder then worked his hand along the abdoment, pushing eggs into the waiting bowl. This process was repeated for each female. The Hungarian females were a bit on the small side so we did not get many eggs from them. Then the breeder collected milt from the males into small glasses the size of a shot glass. When everything was collected we separated the eggs into the four groups we wanted to make and added the sperm from the males. We made these crosses (female x male): Iraq x Iraq, Iraq x Hungary, Hungary x Iraq, and Hungary x Hungary. Once the sperm was added the hatchery workers began stirring the contents together using feathers from the rather large cormorants that plague the production ponds. I found this supremely ironic. After a few minutes a fertilizer solution was added and the mixing continued. This went on for about a half hour. Several rinses of fertilizer solution followed. Then, to keep the eggs from sticking to each other, a tannin solution was added briefly. The tannin solution was made from the dried skin of pomegranates, which is sold in local markets as traditional medicine. After several rinses with fertilizer solution the eggs were ready to be placed in incubators called Zug or Zuger jars where they will gently roll around for the next few days.
The hatchery was a hive of activity. In addition to the hatchery workers, Dr. Saleh has three students working on the project. They will help each other but one will work at one hatchery and the other will work at the other hatchery. The third student is a young woman who is interested in working on genetic analysis of the fish using DNA markers. She doesn't have a lot of experience but appears to be motivated and capable. I mocked the students a little bit because I didn't see them taking any notes. The smiled and laughed but did nothing. Some time later they saw me taking notes on what was happening and finally got the picture. A big notebook came out and the data collection began.
We are repeating the whole operation at the Euphrates Fish Farm so the evaluation of the four crosses will occur at two farms. We will also repeat the study late in the spawning season (after I depart) to evaluate the effect of the two temperature regimes.
Results to follow in due course.
After Sheik Jafar left, we sat around in the main office with the farm owner, Mr. Thamir, my colleague, Dr. Saleh, and several others drinking tea. We were waiting for a call from the hatchery to tell us the fish were ready to spawn. They had been injected the night before and spawning was imminent but delayed a little bit because the water temperature had dropped from the cloudy and rainy weather the preceding two days. We finally got the call and went to the hatchery for the action. I had made a point to get on the same page with Dr. Saleh about the crosses we wanted to make and simply let the hatchery crew, especially the experienced fish breeder, do what they know to do. The broodstock were separated by sex and origin in different tanks. One by one the females were lifted out of the water onto a foam pad, with a thumb placed quickly over the genital opening. The belly of the fish was wiped dry with a towel and a bowl was placed beneath the fish to catch the eggs. With well-practiced technique, the fish breeder then worked his hand along the abdoment, pushing eggs into the waiting bowl. This process was repeated for each female. The Hungarian females were a bit on the small side so we did not get many eggs from them. Then the breeder collected milt from the males into small glasses the size of a shot glass. When everything was collected we separated the eggs into the four groups we wanted to make and added the sperm from the males. We made these crosses (female x male): Iraq x Iraq, Iraq x Hungary, Hungary x Iraq, and Hungary x Hungary. Once the sperm was added the hatchery workers began stirring the contents together using feathers from the rather large cormorants that plague the production ponds. I found this supremely ironic. After a few minutes a fertilizer solution was added and the mixing continued. This went on for about a half hour. Several rinses of fertilizer solution followed. Then, to keep the eggs from sticking to each other, a tannin solution was added briefly. The tannin solution was made from the dried skin of pomegranates, which is sold in local markets as traditional medicine. After several rinses with fertilizer solution the eggs were ready to be placed in incubators called Zug or Zuger jars where they will gently roll around for the next few days.
The hatchery was a hive of activity. In addition to the hatchery workers, Dr. Saleh has three students working on the project. They will help each other but one will work at one hatchery and the other will work at the other hatchery. The third student is a young woman who is interested in working on genetic analysis of the fish using DNA markers. She doesn't have a lot of experience but appears to be motivated and capable. I mocked the students a little bit because I didn't see them taking any notes. The smiled and laughed but did nothing. Some time later they saw me taking notes on what was happening and finally got the picture. A big notebook came out and the data collection began.
We are repeating the whole operation at the Euphrates Fish Farm so the evaluation of the four crosses will occur at two farms. We will also repeat the study late in the spawning season (after I depart) to evaluate the effect of the two temperature regimes.
Results to follow in due course.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
First Days, Latest Visit
I was awoken this morning by the sound of the muzzein making the call to prayer around 4:30. Once the call faded I heard the buzz of an unmanned drone followed shortly after by the thrum of a pair of Blackhawk's flying by. I could hear all this because the generator was not going, which meant that the compound had power from the utility. These are some of the sounds of life at the Inma compound in the Mansoor district of Baghdad.
Things seem to be different here, definitely "better" based on a limited and perhaps superficial view. First, the weather is lovely, with pleasant temperatures and even some overcast skies. Having come here in mid-summer over the last couple of years, this has been a welcome difference. Second, I've never seen Iraq so green. Partly this is a function of the time I've arrived, corresponding to ripening wheat and barley crops and abundant winter vegetables. Apparently there has been quite a bit of rain over the winter, so Mesopotamia looks lush. Third, people seem to be in a good mood. There were jokes and laughter among the passengers headed to Baghdad from Amman. We saw numerous wedding parties in crowded mini-vans, with everyone inside clapping and singing in unison, as we drove back to Baghdad yesterday. It also seems to me that there are fewer check-points, especially on the main north-south highway, known as Route Tampa to the military. In their place I saw numerous roadside restaurants, surely a sign of good progress. I've seen very little sign of the US military, with the Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police firmly in control of all the major check-points. This place is still highly militarized and tightly controlled.
We've taken two excursions since coming here this week. On Tuesday we went to the National Fish Hatchery in Suwayra. This was a place I tried to visit in 2008 but was thwarted in part by a rather tenuous security situation in the area. Typical of many government facilities, there were way more workers than actually needed but there were some dedicated and skilled workers who anchored the hatchery and made the place functional. Carp spawning season is well underway so we saw the hatchery with incubators filled with eggs and ripe broodfish nosing their tank-mates with nervous energy. We also saw the results of attempts by the UN's Food and Agriculture Organization to "help." There were beautifully tiled Chinese-style spawning tanks, sitting dry. There was a recirculating aquaculture systems with expensive biofiltration equipment, including stainless steel microscreen particle filters and a pressure-swing oxygen generator, that was severely overdesigned based on potential fish loads. Apparently the system includes monitoring equipment that allows remote control through the web from Germany. There were also pontoons, floats, and walkways for a cage culture system that may never be installed.
When we first proposed the introduction of the new carp broodstock from Hungary, our intention was to include the National Fish Hatchery in the distribution, but this proposal was rejected by some political considerations at the level of the Ministry of Agriculture or Ministry of Fisheries. We are going to push to get them some of the hybrid broodstock that we will be making this spawning season.
One of the most amazing things I saw during this visit occurred on the way there. While driving on the main highway extending east from Baghdad, we saw two lycra-clad cyclists hammering away on their road bikes. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Another sign that things are changing to be sure.
Yesterday we visited the two hatcheries where we will be doing most of our work during the time I'm here. It was a scoping visit to view facilities and talk with the farm owners and hatchery workers and my friend and colleague Dr. Khalil Saleh, who will be my indispensible partner in our work. It was a great visit, capped off by a wonderful lunch with lamb, roast chicken, and roasted carp (masgouf), complete with all the trimmings (rice, pickles, bean soup, salad, and more). I'm anxious to get to work and, after yesterday's trip, we now have a basic plan to move forward. We should make our first hybrids on Sunday or Monday. More once we make our first babies.
Things seem to be different here, definitely "better" based on a limited and perhaps superficial view. First, the weather is lovely, with pleasant temperatures and even some overcast skies. Having come here in mid-summer over the last couple of years, this has been a welcome difference. Second, I've never seen Iraq so green. Partly this is a function of the time I've arrived, corresponding to ripening wheat and barley crops and abundant winter vegetables. Apparently there has been quite a bit of rain over the winter, so Mesopotamia looks lush. Third, people seem to be in a good mood. There were jokes and laughter among the passengers headed to Baghdad from Amman. We saw numerous wedding parties in crowded mini-vans, with everyone inside clapping and singing in unison, as we drove back to Baghdad yesterday. It also seems to me that there are fewer check-points, especially on the main north-south highway, known as Route Tampa to the military. In their place I saw numerous roadside restaurants, surely a sign of good progress. I've seen very little sign of the US military, with the Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police firmly in control of all the major check-points. This place is still highly militarized and tightly controlled.
We've taken two excursions since coming here this week. On Tuesday we went to the National Fish Hatchery in Suwayra. This was a place I tried to visit in 2008 but was thwarted in part by a rather tenuous security situation in the area. Typical of many government facilities, there were way more workers than actually needed but there were some dedicated and skilled workers who anchored the hatchery and made the place functional. Carp spawning season is well underway so we saw the hatchery with incubators filled with eggs and ripe broodfish nosing their tank-mates with nervous energy. We also saw the results of attempts by the UN's Food and Agriculture Organization to "help." There were beautifully tiled Chinese-style spawning tanks, sitting dry. There was a recirculating aquaculture systems with expensive biofiltration equipment, including stainless steel microscreen particle filters and a pressure-swing oxygen generator, that was severely overdesigned based on potential fish loads. Apparently the system includes monitoring equipment that allows remote control through the web from Germany. There were also pontoons, floats, and walkways for a cage culture system that may never be installed.
When we first proposed the introduction of the new carp broodstock from Hungary, our intention was to include the National Fish Hatchery in the distribution, but this proposal was rejected by some political considerations at the level of the Ministry of Agriculture or Ministry of Fisheries. We are going to push to get them some of the hybrid broodstock that we will be making this spawning season.
One of the most amazing things I saw during this visit occurred on the way there. While driving on the main highway extending east from Baghdad, we saw two lycra-clad cyclists hammering away on their road bikes. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Another sign that things are changing to be sure.
Yesterday we visited the two hatcheries where we will be doing most of our work during the time I'm here. It was a scoping visit to view facilities and talk with the farm owners and hatchery workers and my friend and colleague Dr. Khalil Saleh, who will be my indispensible partner in our work. It was a great visit, capped off by a wonderful lunch with lamb, roast chicken, and roasted carp (masgouf), complete with all the trimmings (rice, pickles, bean soup, salad, and more). I'm anxious to get to work and, after yesterday's trip, we now have a basic plan to move forward. We should make our first hybrids on Sunday or Monday. More once we make our first babies.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Telling Our Story
In the previous blog entry I talked about the lead-up to our presentations and here I’ll describe how things went. First, however, I need to call attention to the death of Norman Borlaug, the father of the Green Revolution and the namesake of the institute at Texas A&M that we’ve been working for in Iraq since last June. Even at 95, he was alert and engaged; he was aware and supportive of our team’s work in Iraq. Last night we had a little ceremony to present some certificates and other mementos, including a replica of the 1970 Nobel Peace Prize medal, that was given to the Deputy Leader of the PRT. Our team leader spoke of Norman and mentioned that he was still alive. Little did we know that he was only hours from passing away. At the ceremony last night we were given US flags that were flown over the PRT a few days ago, on 9/11, a special gift and remembrance of our time here.
OK, rewinding to this past Tuesday, the day of our meeting with the governor. Unfortunately the governor had double-booked our meeting time so we were made to wait. Finally we were escorted through a room into another room and through yet another room before reaching the governor’s office, a true inner sanctum. We recognized a few government agricultural officials and were disappointed, but not unexpectedly so, that more people who we wanted to hear what we had to say weren’t present. After a too-long and rambling “introduction” by the governor, our team leader Mark began our presentation. We had discussed strategy going in and decided to lay out the key message—about collaboration and capacity building—right up front, and then go into detail to build the case. While this is going on, the governor is sitting at his desk, signing papers and passing notes to his minions, clearly giving us only half of his attention at most. At one point he handed our BBA a note saying that we needed to wrap things up. We were less than half-way through! We had not choice but to end. In any case, we gave the governor an Arabic translation of our full presentation, so he had the details in hand. We were also able to secure a commitment from him to follow up on the distribution of some tractors that had been given to a farmer’s association in Um Qasr, but were being held by the municipal authorities. So, it wasn’t a total loss. We were able to get our main points across and realized in hindsight that we should have just focused on the big picture and left the details for others. When we returned to base, we decided to modify the presentation for the next meeting, our agriculture “summit.”
The summit took place two days later, on Thursday, at the airport adjacent to the base. We had about 60 farmers, agricultural association leaders, government agricultural officials, extension agents, university professors, and agri-businessmen, most of the people we’ve met over the last couple of months. The meeting was a big success and our presentation was well-received. It was obvious that this was the first time that all the “players” in agriculture in the province had ever gathered in one room. Perhaps this meeting served as an ice-breaker to raise the comfort level of the participants so that they can deal with each other and engage in meaningful dialogue. We sensed some trepidation on the part of the government officials, fearing that they would be verbally attacked by the farmers. When one sheik, quite a curmudgeon, started ranting about how useless the Ministry of Agriculture is to farmers, the other farmers in the room grumbled, recognizing that it was important to look forward to move ahead. The DG of Agriculture, much to our surprise, stood up and addressed the group forthrightly and a good discussion ensued. The group got the message that any projects funded by the PRT will be for demonstration of best practices and will require groups to work together. We received several phone calls later that day thanking us for organizing the meeting and for the work we’ve done on behalf of the farmers of Basrah. It was very gratifying.
Our final briefing took place yesterday, Saturday, on base to the command and the PRT. We met in a conference room at Division headquarters, outfitted with plush seats and video screens facing every possible direction. The meeting was attended by the commanding general of the division, Brigadier General Lang, who had flown with us in his helicopters when we did our aerial tour of the province. We had good rapport with him during and after that flight and this carried over into our presentation. We also had a full-bird colonel, a handful of lieutenant colonels, some majors, a few NCOs, and various other civilians, some representing the division (all of southern Iraq), others representing the battalion now stationed here, responsible for the province. We were given two hours and we used nearly all of it to lay out, in the first part, the big picture which applies to the larger context of all agriculture in Iraq and, in the second part, the details of our assessment and project recommendations for Basrah in particular. The general interrupted numerous times to ask questions, which were pointed and on the mark. It was a good presentation and the general spoke sincerely of his appreciation of our team’s efforts since June of last year. We were gratified and relieved, but also felt tired from the effort we’ve put in over these last eight weeks.
Today we’ve been tying up loose ends and beginning the process of leave taking. Tomorrow we fly to Jordan. I’m going to take a couple of days of sightseeing before heading back home on Thursday. Once I get back, I’ll write a final entry with some reflections on the overall mission and what it’s meant to me and the people I’ve met along the way of this most fascinating and once-in-a-lifetime journey.
OK, rewinding to this past Tuesday, the day of our meeting with the governor. Unfortunately the governor had double-booked our meeting time so we were made to wait. Finally we were escorted through a room into another room and through yet another room before reaching the governor’s office, a true inner sanctum. We recognized a few government agricultural officials and were disappointed, but not unexpectedly so, that more people who we wanted to hear what we had to say weren’t present. After a too-long and rambling “introduction” by the governor, our team leader Mark began our presentation. We had discussed strategy going in and decided to lay out the key message—about collaboration and capacity building—right up front, and then go into detail to build the case. While this is going on, the governor is sitting at his desk, signing papers and passing notes to his minions, clearly giving us only half of his attention at most. At one point he handed our BBA a note saying that we needed to wrap things up. We were less than half-way through! We had not choice but to end. In any case, we gave the governor an Arabic translation of our full presentation, so he had the details in hand. We were also able to secure a commitment from him to follow up on the distribution of some tractors that had been given to a farmer’s association in Um Qasr, but were being held by the municipal authorities. So, it wasn’t a total loss. We were able to get our main points across and realized in hindsight that we should have just focused on the big picture and left the details for others. When we returned to base, we decided to modify the presentation for the next meeting, our agriculture “summit.”
The summit took place two days later, on Thursday, at the airport adjacent to the base. We had about 60 farmers, agricultural association leaders, government agricultural officials, extension agents, university professors, and agri-businessmen, most of the people we’ve met over the last couple of months. The meeting was a big success and our presentation was well-received. It was obvious that this was the first time that all the “players” in agriculture in the province had ever gathered in one room. Perhaps this meeting served as an ice-breaker to raise the comfort level of the participants so that they can deal with each other and engage in meaningful dialogue. We sensed some trepidation on the part of the government officials, fearing that they would be verbally attacked by the farmers. When one sheik, quite a curmudgeon, started ranting about how useless the Ministry of Agriculture is to farmers, the other farmers in the room grumbled, recognizing that it was important to look forward to move ahead. The DG of Agriculture, much to our surprise, stood up and addressed the group forthrightly and a good discussion ensued. The group got the message that any projects funded by the PRT will be for demonstration of best practices and will require groups to work together. We received several phone calls later that day thanking us for organizing the meeting and for the work we’ve done on behalf of the farmers of Basrah. It was very gratifying.
Our final briefing took place yesterday, Saturday, on base to the command and the PRT. We met in a conference room at Division headquarters, outfitted with plush seats and video screens facing every possible direction. The meeting was attended by the commanding general of the division, Brigadier General Lang, who had flown with us in his helicopters when we did our aerial tour of the province. We had good rapport with him during and after that flight and this carried over into our presentation. We also had a full-bird colonel, a handful of lieutenant colonels, some majors, a few NCOs, and various other civilians, some representing the division (all of southern Iraq), others representing the battalion now stationed here, responsible for the province. We were given two hours and we used nearly all of it to lay out, in the first part, the big picture which applies to the larger context of all agriculture in Iraq and, in the second part, the details of our assessment and project recommendations for Basrah in particular. The general interrupted numerous times to ask questions, which were pointed and on the mark. It was a good presentation and the general spoke sincerely of his appreciation of our team’s efforts since June of last year. We were gratified and relieved, but also felt tired from the effort we’ve put in over these last eight weeks.
Today we’ve been tying up loose ends and beginning the process of leave taking. Tomorrow we fly to Jordan. I’m going to take a couple of days of sightseeing before heading back home on Thursday. Once I get back, I’ll write a final entry with some reflections on the overall mission and what it’s meant to me and the people I’ve met along the way of this most fascinating and once-in-a-lifetime journey.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Managing Expectations
Part of the reason I haven’t written an update in awhile is that the central subject of what I had intended to write about—our final presentation to the governor—has been delayed now for the third time. Our original intention in delivering our findings and recommendations to the governor was to include all the agricultural association farmer-leaders and agri-businessmen that we have met during our two months here. First, the governor’s agricultural advisor asked to see a copy of our presentation, presumably to see if there were any unacceptable findings or recommendations. We complied and also sent him a list of names of people we wanted to invite to the presentation. After a couple of days he said that no farmers would be invited to the meeting with the governor, which would only be attended by government people. The reasons for his delaying tactics and agenda were transparent. He was trying to manipulate the process to exclude the farmers and to ensure that any projects that might flow from our recommendations would be run through the government, which is the last thing we are ever going to do because they bring nothing to the table. They perceive that we represent a “gravy train” of big infrastructure projects, but we made it clear from the beginning that our focus was on small demonstration projects and others focused on building capacity of the agricultural associations for self-sufficiency.
As a point of background, when we arrived here we became involved in trying to resolve some problems associated with the distribution of tractors to some farmers associations by the British army, who left here in June. The governor’s ag advisor and the Director General (DG) of Agriculture for the province felt left out of the process (and they were, deliberately so). The tractors were given directly to the ag associations to avoid any potential malfeasance on the part of the government. We were helping to resolve some of the issues around registering the tractors and helping the ag associations develop a process for fair distribution. This is the time of year when tractors need to be in the field to prepare the land for the upcoming growing season. So, this is the backdrop for the govenor’s ag advisor and the DG for Agriculture’s behavior toward us.
On top of the obstructions placed before us by the government ag peoples, a couple of the BBAs (bi-lingual, bi-cultural advisors) on the PRT were advising us not to invite the farmers to the meeting at the governor’s office. They said simply: “You can’t invite uneducated farmers to the governor’s office.” They also said that giving projects to ag associations is like “giving computers to first-graders.” It was amazing the extent to which these guys were trying to promote what has been a dysfunctional government when it comes to helping farmers. They even (half)-joked with us that we should be sure to invite Moqtada al Sadr to the briefing because all the farmers are reputed to be Sadrists. Foolishly I took the bait and said, “So, should people have to pass a political litmus test before they receive the benefit of any projects?” They just twisted the knife further basically saying that I was playing into the hands of the enemy. It was all a bit too much for me because these guys are supposedly on our side and are supposed to be giving principled advice, not directly manipulating the process. It was also clear that they were speaking from a point-of-view that reflected contact primarily with government officials and almost never with the farmers that we have been meeting almost daily.
After finally resolving the issue of the invitation list by essentially capitulating to the requirements of the government ag officials, we had our next date scheduled. The governor was actually here at the PRT for a meeting and we managed to confirm the meeting with him personally. Then, the day before our meeting, we received news that a prominent Shiite politician, Abdul Aziz Al-Hakim, had died while receiving treatment for lung cancer in Tehran. We were told that the plan was to bring his body to Basrah airport, where it would be received by pilgrims and carried on foot to Najaf for burial there. In the absence of the PRT leader and deputy leader, the senior military officer in charge made the command decision to cancel all movements for four days until the situation played out. In the end, Mr. Hakim’s body went first to Baghdad before going to Karbala and then Najaf, never even coming to Basrah. This was a frustrating time for us because we were anxious to meet with the governor and, in any case, we like to get “outside the wire” as much as we can. Our team leader likened us to “thoroughbreds in the barn.” We like to get out and run!
After re-setting the meeting date yet again, we received word that the governor was in Baghdad and would not be available on the date scheduled. We were not too upset this time because we knew that the governor was visiting with Prime Minister Maliki to lobby on behalf of an important water infrastructure project. Iraq has been experiencing a severe drought for the last three years. One of the results has been the intrusion of seawater from the Persian Gulf (here in Iraq known as the Arabian Gulf) into the Shatt al Arab waterway. The Shatt is used as a source of irrigation water, cooling water for power plants and petrochemical factories, and in some places for drinking water. All of these uses have been severely impacted by the increase in salinity of the Shatt. There is a humanitarian crisis with the availability of drinking water for the residents of Fao, at the very end of the Shatt. The problem is complicated because the reasons for the lack of freshwater reaching Basrah are related to transboundary water issues (primarily with Turkey, but also Syria and Iran), the inefficient water use by farmers in Iraq, and the drought. The proposed “solution” is to construct a barrier across the Shatt al Arab at a point south of Basrah city to prevent seawater from moving upstream. The freshwater would be diverted to a canal that would run parallel to the Shatt and empty into the Gulf. That freshwater could be used for domestic supplies, crop irrigation, and industrial cooling water. The governor’s visit to Baghdad was apparently successful because we received word that the prime minister has committed US$1 billion to this barrier/diversion project. This is good news!
Well, the date for the meeting has now been set for tomorrow. In the past, we have given one final presentation, occasionally two. In this case, we are likely going to end up giving three final presentations. The first will be for the governor and government agricultural officials in the province (tomorrow). The second will be for all the agricultural association leaders, agri-businessmen, extension agents, university agricultural scientists, AND government agricultural officials. This will be more of an “agricultural summit” than exclusively a presentation of our findings. The final outbriefing will be for the PRT and the military command, especially because this base is now division headquarters for all of southern Iraq.
Our main message is that the primary way that agriculture can advance and the farmers can improve their situation is for the agricultural associations, government extension agents, and university research scientists to work together on demonstration projects of model farms or best practices. The other message is that farmers should seek ways to develop a capacity for self-sufficiency because the level of support that farmers received before 2003 when the country was isolated will never appear again. The funding for these demonstration projects and organizational capacity building will come from you.
As a point of background, when we arrived here we became involved in trying to resolve some problems associated with the distribution of tractors to some farmers associations by the British army, who left here in June. The governor’s ag advisor and the Director General (DG) of Agriculture for the province felt left out of the process (and they were, deliberately so). The tractors were given directly to the ag associations to avoid any potential malfeasance on the part of the government. We were helping to resolve some of the issues around registering the tractors and helping the ag associations develop a process for fair distribution. This is the time of year when tractors need to be in the field to prepare the land for the upcoming growing season. So, this is the backdrop for the govenor’s ag advisor and the DG for Agriculture’s behavior toward us.
On top of the obstructions placed before us by the government ag peoples, a couple of the BBAs (bi-lingual, bi-cultural advisors) on the PRT were advising us not to invite the farmers to the meeting at the governor’s office. They said simply: “You can’t invite uneducated farmers to the governor’s office.” They also said that giving projects to ag associations is like “giving computers to first-graders.” It was amazing the extent to which these guys were trying to promote what has been a dysfunctional government when it comes to helping farmers. They even (half)-joked with us that we should be sure to invite Moqtada al Sadr to the briefing because all the farmers are reputed to be Sadrists. Foolishly I took the bait and said, “So, should people have to pass a political litmus test before they receive the benefit of any projects?” They just twisted the knife further basically saying that I was playing into the hands of the enemy. It was all a bit too much for me because these guys are supposedly on our side and are supposed to be giving principled advice, not directly manipulating the process. It was also clear that they were speaking from a point-of-view that reflected contact primarily with government officials and almost never with the farmers that we have been meeting almost daily.
After finally resolving the issue of the invitation list by essentially capitulating to the requirements of the government ag officials, we had our next date scheduled. The governor was actually here at the PRT for a meeting and we managed to confirm the meeting with him personally. Then, the day before our meeting, we received news that a prominent Shiite politician, Abdul Aziz Al-Hakim, had died while receiving treatment for lung cancer in Tehran. We were told that the plan was to bring his body to Basrah airport, where it would be received by pilgrims and carried on foot to Najaf for burial there. In the absence of the PRT leader and deputy leader, the senior military officer in charge made the command decision to cancel all movements for four days until the situation played out. In the end, Mr. Hakim’s body went first to Baghdad before going to Karbala and then Najaf, never even coming to Basrah. This was a frustrating time for us because we were anxious to meet with the governor and, in any case, we like to get “outside the wire” as much as we can. Our team leader likened us to “thoroughbreds in the barn.” We like to get out and run!
After re-setting the meeting date yet again, we received word that the governor was in Baghdad and would not be available on the date scheduled. We were not too upset this time because we knew that the governor was visiting with Prime Minister Maliki to lobby on behalf of an important water infrastructure project. Iraq has been experiencing a severe drought for the last three years. One of the results has been the intrusion of seawater from the Persian Gulf (here in Iraq known as the Arabian Gulf) into the Shatt al Arab waterway. The Shatt is used as a source of irrigation water, cooling water for power plants and petrochemical factories, and in some places for drinking water. All of these uses have been severely impacted by the increase in salinity of the Shatt. There is a humanitarian crisis with the availability of drinking water for the residents of Fao, at the very end of the Shatt. The problem is complicated because the reasons for the lack of freshwater reaching Basrah are related to transboundary water issues (primarily with Turkey, but also Syria and Iran), the inefficient water use by farmers in Iraq, and the drought. The proposed “solution” is to construct a barrier across the Shatt al Arab at a point south of Basrah city to prevent seawater from moving upstream. The freshwater would be diverted to a canal that would run parallel to the Shatt and empty into the Gulf. That freshwater could be used for domestic supplies, crop irrigation, and industrial cooling water. The governor’s visit to Baghdad was apparently successful because we received word that the prime minister has committed US$1 billion to this barrier/diversion project. This is good news!
Well, the date for the meeting has now been set for tomorrow. In the past, we have given one final presentation, occasionally two. In this case, we are likely going to end up giving three final presentations. The first will be for the governor and government agricultural officials in the province (tomorrow). The second will be for all the agricultural association leaders, agri-businessmen, extension agents, university agricultural scientists, AND government agricultural officials. This will be more of an “agricultural summit” than exclusively a presentation of our findings. The final outbriefing will be for the PRT and the military command, especially because this base is now division headquarters for all of southern Iraq.
Our main message is that the primary way that agriculture can advance and the farmers can improve their situation is for the agricultural associations, government extension agents, and university research scientists to work together on demonstration projects of model farms or best practices. The other message is that farmers should seek ways to develop a capacity for self-sufficiency because the level of support that farmers received before 2003 when the country was isolated will never appear again. The funding for these demonstration projects and organizational capacity building will come from you.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, August 7, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Birthday in Basra
My 50th birthday last year was a noteworthy one and I wanted to mark the occasion by celebrating with family and friends. This year it was not a big deal so I didn’t mind being here. Nonetheless my birthday turned out to be one of the best days I’ve had in Iraq, including the time I was here last year; the day turned out to be something special.
We were scheduled to meet our host for the day, Sayed Al-Moosawi, at his farmhouse for breakfast. Our team has had many occasions to enjoy sumptuous mid-day feasts but this was the first time I had the opportunity to experience an Iraqi breakfast. After customary greetings and handshakes all around, we were led to a table laid out with food, set in the shade outside the farmhouse. The table was set with platters of flatbread, different soft white cheeses, hard-boiled eggs, black olives, walnuts, tomato and cucumber, mixed greens, jam, hot milk, and tea. We sat and ate and talked and swatted flies. Very relaxing.
Our host is a very interesting, influential, and obviously powerful man. I have met many sheiks in Iraq but this was the first time that I had occasion to meet a cleric. He had an appearance that many Americans would consider stereotypical: bearded with glasses, rather portly, wearing a black turban, a collarless white shirt buttoned to his neck, with a long flowing gray robe that he would gather around him, and matching gray shoes. Clerics, of course, are religious leaders, but Mr. Moosawi is so much more than this. He is also a very successful businessman, with interests in a private hospital, oil services, telecommunications, trading, transportation, and security services among many others.
As we soon learned, he is also an innovator with respect to agriculture. The innovations we saw that day included large sprinkler irrigation systems, tissue culture of dates, artificial insemination of cattle using cryopreserved sperm, drip irrigation of date trees, and using manufactured feed in his fish ponds. He owns a date factory. He has emus and Thompson’s gazelles. He owns a couple of beautiful Arabian horses.
I was so impressed with his hospitality and his leadership that I let slip at breakfast that this day was my birthday and that I was very happy to be spending this day with him. He was very excited to be hosting me on my birthday. After spending about an hour at his fish ponds, we climbed back into the Humvee’s for a drive to the next stop, a riverboat moored in the Shatt al-Arab waterway right in downtown Basra. It is Mr. Moosawi’s intention to use this boat to offer two-hour river cruises. We sat in an air-conditioned lounge on the top deck for a mid-morning snack of soft drinks, fruit, dates, and cappuccinos prepared at the snack bar on board. Life is good!
Our next stop was the tissue culture laboratory and date factory. The date factory was not very busy because this is the slow time of year. During the height of the season, the factory employs about 60 people, nearly all women, some of whom are war widows, others with some disability. This was another characteristic of our host that emerged as a theme: social responsibility. Like many of the sheiks we have met, Mr. Moosawi acknowledges that true leadership means being generous and compassionate. He provides not only religious leadership but also provides for the material welfare of the people who follow him. He was very explicit in saying this.
After our tour of the date factory it was time for lunch. Once again, an elaborate feast was prepared in our honor. There was the usual huge platter of aromatic rice with lamb, but there were also several kinds of wonderfully prepared fish, including pomfret and some kind of sea bream. I’ve become a big fan of Iraqi pickles. My favorites at this meal were the pickled eggplant stuffed with walnuts and the mango with chiles. There were a couple of soups, including a sublime okra and tomato soup. We ate all this at a long table set in the shade outside with fans serving only to push the hot air around. After eating our fill and continuing our conversations, Mr. Moosawi invited us inside to the relief of his air-conditioned office. Tea was ordered and then a large cake was brought into the room. Apparently after I mentioned my birthday to him in the morning, he had sent for a cake! Mr. Moosawi himself took a small knife and trimmed some of a red frosting rose on the cake and painted the number “51” on the white frosting. I was extremely moved. Of course at this point I was filled to bursting, as we had seemingly been eating all day, so I could only eat a token piece of cake.
You may be trying to read between the lines and ask “What is he after?” or “What is he trying to get out of you?” These are fair questions and I’m not sure I know the answer but I have no doubt that his friendliness and generosity are genuine. I think he is cultivating his friendships, especially with the lieutenant colonel who has been accompanying us on our missions and who is in a position to make strategic investments that may benefit Mr. Moosawi. But we look at people like Mr. Moosawi as being in a position to influence other farmers to adopt new technologies and practices, which can make better use of increasingly precious resources like water. Thus, investing in projects with Mr. Moosawi, especially simple, low-cost field demonstrations, can accelerate the diffusion of innovations to other farmers because Mr. Moosawi has their respect. These have the potential to increase agricultural output and raise the standard of living for the many Iraqis who continue to struggle to better their lives.
We were scheduled to meet our host for the day, Sayed Al-Moosawi, at his farmhouse for breakfast. Our team has had many occasions to enjoy sumptuous mid-day feasts but this was the first time I had the opportunity to experience an Iraqi breakfast. After customary greetings and handshakes all around, we were led to a table laid out with food, set in the shade outside the farmhouse. The table was set with platters of flatbread, different soft white cheeses, hard-boiled eggs, black olives, walnuts, tomato and cucumber, mixed greens, jam, hot milk, and tea. We sat and ate and talked and swatted flies. Very relaxing.
Our host is a very interesting, influential, and obviously powerful man. I have met many sheiks in Iraq but this was the first time that I had occasion to meet a cleric. He had an appearance that many Americans would consider stereotypical: bearded with glasses, rather portly, wearing a black turban, a collarless white shirt buttoned to his neck, with a long flowing gray robe that he would gather around him, and matching gray shoes. Clerics, of course, are religious leaders, but Mr. Moosawi is so much more than this. He is also a very successful businessman, with interests in a private hospital, oil services, telecommunications, trading, transportation, and security services among many others.
As we soon learned, he is also an innovator with respect to agriculture. The innovations we saw that day included large sprinkler irrigation systems, tissue culture of dates, artificial insemination of cattle using cryopreserved sperm, drip irrigation of date trees, and using manufactured feed in his fish ponds. He owns a date factory. He has emus and Thompson’s gazelles. He owns a couple of beautiful Arabian horses.
I was so impressed with his hospitality and his leadership that I let slip at breakfast that this day was my birthday and that I was very happy to be spending this day with him. He was very excited to be hosting me on my birthday. After spending about an hour at his fish ponds, we climbed back into the Humvee’s for a drive to the next stop, a riverboat moored in the Shatt al-Arab waterway right in downtown Basra. It is Mr. Moosawi’s intention to use this boat to offer two-hour river cruises. We sat in an air-conditioned lounge on the top deck for a mid-morning snack of soft drinks, fruit, dates, and cappuccinos prepared at the snack bar on board. Life is good!
Our next stop was the tissue culture laboratory and date factory. The date factory was not very busy because this is the slow time of year. During the height of the season, the factory employs about 60 people, nearly all women, some of whom are war widows, others with some disability. This was another characteristic of our host that emerged as a theme: social responsibility. Like many of the sheiks we have met, Mr. Moosawi acknowledges that true leadership means being generous and compassionate. He provides not only religious leadership but also provides for the material welfare of the people who follow him. He was very explicit in saying this.
After our tour of the date factory it was time for lunch. Once again, an elaborate feast was prepared in our honor. There was the usual huge platter of aromatic rice with lamb, but there were also several kinds of wonderfully prepared fish, including pomfret and some kind of sea bream. I’ve become a big fan of Iraqi pickles. My favorites at this meal were the pickled eggplant stuffed with walnuts and the mango with chiles. There were a couple of soups, including a sublime okra and tomato soup. We ate all this at a long table set in the shade outside with fans serving only to push the hot air around. After eating our fill and continuing our conversations, Mr. Moosawi invited us inside to the relief of his air-conditioned office. Tea was ordered and then a large cake was brought into the room. Apparently after I mentioned my birthday to him in the morning, he had sent for a cake! Mr. Moosawi himself took a small knife and trimmed some of a red frosting rose on the cake and painted the number “51” on the white frosting. I was extremely moved. Of course at this point I was filled to bursting, as we had seemingly been eating all day, so I could only eat a token piece of cake.
You may be trying to read between the lines and ask “What is he after?” or “What is he trying to get out of you?” These are fair questions and I’m not sure I know the answer but I have no doubt that his friendliness and generosity are genuine. I think he is cultivating his friendships, especially with the lieutenant colonel who has been accompanying us on our missions and who is in a position to make strategic investments that may benefit Mr. Moosawi. But we look at people like Mr. Moosawi as being in a position to influence other farmers to adopt new technologies and practices, which can make better use of increasingly precious resources like water. Thus, investing in projects with Mr. Moosawi, especially simple, low-cost field demonstrations, can accelerate the diffusion of innovations to other farmers because Mr. Moosawi has their respect. These have the potential to increase agricultural output and raise the standard of living for the many Iraqis who continue to struggle to better their lives.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Basra – Settling In
We’ve been here for five days now and finally tomorrow we will have our first excursion outside the wire. We flew here through Amman, Jordan, spending the night in the “transit hotel” near the airport. The approach into Amman was beautiful, flying right over Tel Aviv, getting a tremendous view of the sweep of the Mediterranean coast of Israel, taking in nearly the entire country in one view. Then we passed over the northern end of the Dead Sea before landing in Amman. Very comfortable temps there, especially compared to Basra, where it’s been 110 every day.
After a night in Amman, we flew directly into Basra, passing over the remote western deserts of Anbar Province, Lake Razzaza near Karbala, and then an unmistakably familiar landmark, the Euphrates Fish Farm, then Diwaniya, Wasit, Maysan, and Dhi Qar provinces, all places I came to know last year. Upon arrival at the Basra airport, we were greeted at the door of the terminal by masked and gloved medical technicians screening passengers for swine flu. The ear of each passenger was probed by a thermometer to check for fever. Then, with some amusing confusion, we passed through immigration. For the first of my three trips to Iraq over the last year, I have officially entered the country, with a stamp in my passport to prove it. When we emerged into the main hall of the airport, seemingly spooked by our arrival, a group of fifty or so Shia women, probably pilgrims on their way to Baghdad, suddenly rose from their seats and moved off like a flock of birds, their head-to-toe black abayas flowing as they went. We walked with the Army lieutenant who met us and passed a Shiite cleric sipping tea with his retinue and giving us a wary glance as we passed by.
We drove to the base, which is immediately adjacent to the airport. The base, recently “inherited” from the British, is really a collection of smaller compounds that are scattered across the sand. We are staying at the PRT compound. Nobody says Provincial Reconstruction Team; everyone says “pee-are-tee.” Every province has one. It’s the U.S. State Department entity that works on nation building. The focus of this unit is rule of law, governance, economics, and essential service. We are working with the economics team. The PRT is a combination of civilian and military people.
Our compound, especially our living quarters, is quite comfortable, with everything within a very short walk. The biggest surprise is the accommodations. I have a private “room,” which is half of a shipping container that has been modified for living. The biggest surprise is that it is “wet,” with a toilet and shower. It also has a TV (that includes Al Jazeera along with Fox News, CNN, BBC, and a number of entertainment channels from Dubai and Qatar). Five star digs!!! For security purposes, there’s another shipping container stacked on top, with four inches of concrete poured into the bottom, so I feel safe. The compound also a recreation center with all the exercise machines and free weights anyone could want to work out.
There’s a small DFAC (dining facility) run by KBR. The demographics of the DFAC are illustrative. The main observation is that there are probably three or four support personnel, mostly private contractors, for every individual working for the PRT. There are the KBR workers, including Bosnians, African-Americans, and working-class white Americans. There are the private security contractors, mostly former soldiers, who take PRT personnel out on movements in their armored SUVs. There are the Ugandan guards who work for Triple Canopy and provide security for our compound. Finally there are a smattering of service personnel, most working directly with the PRT in varying capacities. Interesting group all in all.
My fellow teammate and I have spent the last several days struggling to get past the jet lag, acclimating to the heat, and planning our course of action. The deputy leader of the PRT, a lieutenant colonel, has been very helpful and plans to accompany us on our movements. I’m optimistic that we will be able to accomplish a focused assessment fairly quickly and then move into developing projects that can be managed by the PRT once we depart. We’re off to a good start.
I’m going to end this post on a rather somber note. On the Thursday night before the Friday morning we arrived here, mortars were fired on the base, killing three young soldiers. (You can read about it here). These random attacks are never specifically targeted, but occasionally they find their mark. I was saddened (and more than a little angry at the bad guys) to arrive to this news, but it has only strengthened my resolve to do the best I can to improve the situation on the ground so that such events will become vanishingly rare.
After a night in Amman, we flew directly into Basra, passing over the remote western deserts of Anbar Province, Lake Razzaza near Karbala, and then an unmistakably familiar landmark, the Euphrates Fish Farm, then Diwaniya, Wasit, Maysan, and Dhi Qar provinces, all places I came to know last year. Upon arrival at the Basra airport, we were greeted at the door of the terminal by masked and gloved medical technicians screening passengers for swine flu. The ear of each passenger was probed by a thermometer to check for fever. Then, with some amusing confusion, we passed through immigration. For the first of my three trips to Iraq over the last year, I have officially entered the country, with a stamp in my passport to prove it. When we emerged into the main hall of the airport, seemingly spooked by our arrival, a group of fifty or so Shia women, probably pilgrims on their way to Baghdad, suddenly rose from their seats and moved off like a flock of birds, their head-to-toe black abayas flowing as they went. We walked with the Army lieutenant who met us and passed a Shiite cleric sipping tea with his retinue and giving us a wary glance as we passed by.
We drove to the base, which is immediately adjacent to the airport. The base, recently “inherited” from the British, is really a collection of smaller compounds that are scattered across the sand. We are staying at the PRT compound. Nobody says Provincial Reconstruction Team; everyone says “pee-are-tee.” Every province has one. It’s the U.S. State Department entity that works on nation building. The focus of this unit is rule of law, governance, economics, and essential service. We are working with the economics team. The PRT is a combination of civilian and military people.
Our compound, especially our living quarters, is quite comfortable, with everything within a very short walk. The biggest surprise is the accommodations. I have a private “room,” which is half of a shipping container that has been modified for living. The biggest surprise is that it is “wet,” with a toilet and shower. It also has a TV (that includes Al Jazeera along with Fox News, CNN, BBC, and a number of entertainment channels from Dubai and Qatar). Five star digs!!! For security purposes, there’s another shipping container stacked on top, with four inches of concrete poured into the bottom, so I feel safe. The compound also a recreation center with all the exercise machines and free weights anyone could want to work out.
There’s a small DFAC (dining facility) run by KBR. The demographics of the DFAC are illustrative. The main observation is that there are probably three or four support personnel, mostly private contractors, for every individual working for the PRT. There are the KBR workers, including Bosnians, African-Americans, and working-class white Americans. There are the private security contractors, mostly former soldiers, who take PRT personnel out on movements in their armored SUVs. There are the Ugandan guards who work for Triple Canopy and provide security for our compound. Finally there are a smattering of service personnel, most working directly with the PRT in varying capacities. Interesting group all in all.
My fellow teammate and I have spent the last several days struggling to get past the jet lag, acclimating to the heat, and planning our course of action. The deputy leader of the PRT, a lieutenant colonel, has been very helpful and plans to accompany us on our movements. I’m optimistic that we will be able to accomplish a focused assessment fairly quickly and then move into developing projects that can be managed by the PRT once we depart. We’re off to a good start.
I’m going to end this post on a rather somber note. On the Thursday night before the Friday morning we arrived here, mortars were fired on the base, killing three young soldiers. (You can read about it here). These random attacks are never specifically targeted, but occasionally they find their mark. I was saddened (and more than a little angry at the bad guys) to arrive to this news, but it has only strengthened my resolve to do the best I can to improve the situation on the ground so that such events will become vanishingly rare.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Diwo
Our team has been in Diwaniyah Province for the last two weeks. We are staying at FOB Echo, a relatively small and pleasant base located just on the edge of the eponymous provincial capital. Compared to the large and sprawling bases that have been our homes for the last couple of months, FOB Echo has been a joy. There are eucalyptus trees all around and the birds that call them home. Our hooches, the DFAC, and our office space are within a short walk of each other. The weather has been very pleasant, crisp in the morning but a comfortable mid-70s during mid-day.
The pattern of our provincial assessments has been to cover each province in one month. Last month we covered three provinces and this month we are covering Diwaniyah in about three weeks. As a consequence, we’ve been pushing hard to go out every day and we’ve been largely successful, aided by the capable leadership of Lieutenant Garcia, who commands our personal security detail. Garcia graduated from Texas A&M in 2006 and so has taken a personal interest in helping us out. He’s been great.
Diwaniyah is steeped in the history of civilization. This is the location of Nippur, an ancient Sumerian city over 4,000 years old. The land also shows signs of a long history of use. There are many places where the soil is now too salty to grow crops. Some farmers have scraped the top layer of soil into long mounds on the sides of fields as one way to address the problem, although it usually makes a bad situation worse in the long run. Nonetheless, a lot of wheat and barley are grown here. The western part of the province is a rich rice-growing area, contiguous with the rice-growing area in Najaf that we visited back in July. The rice is now ripe and being harvested. There are also fish ponds here, although not nearly as many as in Babylon.
Diwaniyah city is rather attractive and, although this is a relative description, much cleaner city than many others we’ve visited in southern Iraq. The city has many graceful blue-tipped minarets. The downtown is lively with rotisserie chickens and gyros for sale on the sidewalk, barbershops, tea houses and snack shops, fruit and vegetable stands, and other stalls for hardware and car parts. We convinced LT Garcia to take us into the main market area to interview some fruit and vegetable wholesalers, although only if we went in there with a smaller group. I was fortunate to have been chosen to go into the market. We went in a tight security bubble but I never felt threatened. Of course, I don’t know anything about security, so what do I know of the real threat? Of course, our little entourage attracted quite a crowd, mostly of kids who hang around the market.
The kids can be pesky and aggressive but mostly they are just curious about us and want to see what the American soldiers are doing. When driving through the streets of the city, we are viewed with a mixture of suspicion and mild anxiety (what one soldier described to me as “the stink-eye”), although as soon as they see my hand waving from the back seat of a Humvee, they break into a broad grin and return the wave. The transformation is startling but nearly universal. In the countryside, without exception, the kids come running towards our convoy, waving exuberantly. With school now in session, invariably we encounter kids on their way home from school—smiling, laughing, waving, and jumping up and down.
Early on here we were made aware of the backdrop of our work in Diwo. Apparently, Americans have been here only recently. Last year, the province was under the nominal control of Polish forces. Together with an American general, a deal was struck to provide farmers with fertilizer and tractors. The farmers—mostly sheikhs perceived to be helpful to American forces—received the fertilizer but not the tractors. The governor, in learning about the giveaway, became angry and seized the tractors. The governor is a Badrist. The Badr Brigade was formed during the Iran-Iraq War, consisting of Shiites who fought on the side of Iran in that war. After the fall of Saddam, the governor returned to Iraq after a long exile in Iran. He’s been somewhat of a thorn in the side of the coalition forces and the central government.
Shortly after our arrival here we received a visit from some Special Forces soldiers based here at FOB Echo. They gave us a list of sheikhs that we might consider visiting. Not having scheduled anything to that point, we started working down the list. Each one told us the same story about the tractors and appealed to us to intervene on their behalf. Recognizing that this was a political hot potato, we’ve opted to remain neutral about it. On the one hand we recognize the legitimacy of the governor’s position, that he is the leader of this province and he would have to inherit responsibility (given the government’s traditional role and heavy hand in supporting agriculture) for supporting fuel and maintenance on the tractors. On the other hand, we also recognize that farmers are in desperate need for machinery to work the land to plant more wheat so that people can eat. It seems that the governor is using the withholding of tractors (and allocations of water) as ammunition against people who are not in his favor or who have been working with coalition forces.
This has been the “elephant in the room” with all our work here. Nonetheless, we’ve had a great stay here in Diwo. After nearly six months of doing this, as you might imagine, we are getting pretty good at getting to the core issues quickly. This has allowed us to drill deeper in our assessments and make more meaningful and specific recommendations. Although there are huge needs for big-ticket items like renovation of the irrigation and drainage system, we have focused on building human capacity for problem-solving and technical knowledge. In the long-run, I think this is where Team Borlaug can really make a difference once projects begin to be implemented.
The pattern of our provincial assessments has been to cover each province in one month. Last month we covered three provinces and this month we are covering Diwaniyah in about three weeks. As a consequence, we’ve been pushing hard to go out every day and we’ve been largely successful, aided by the capable leadership of Lieutenant Garcia, who commands our personal security detail. Garcia graduated from Texas A&M in 2006 and so has taken a personal interest in helping us out. He’s been great.
Diwaniyah is steeped in the history of civilization. This is the location of Nippur, an ancient Sumerian city over 4,000 years old. The land also shows signs of a long history of use. There are many places where the soil is now too salty to grow crops. Some farmers have scraped the top layer of soil into long mounds on the sides of fields as one way to address the problem, although it usually makes a bad situation worse in the long run. Nonetheless, a lot of wheat and barley are grown here. The western part of the province is a rich rice-growing area, contiguous with the rice-growing area in Najaf that we visited back in July. The rice is now ripe and being harvested. There are also fish ponds here, although not nearly as many as in Babylon.
Diwaniyah city is rather attractive and, although this is a relative description, much cleaner city than many others we’ve visited in southern Iraq. The city has many graceful blue-tipped minarets. The downtown is lively with rotisserie chickens and gyros for sale on the sidewalk, barbershops, tea houses and snack shops, fruit and vegetable stands, and other stalls for hardware and car parts. We convinced LT Garcia to take us into the main market area to interview some fruit and vegetable wholesalers, although only if we went in there with a smaller group. I was fortunate to have been chosen to go into the market. We went in a tight security bubble but I never felt threatened. Of course, I don’t know anything about security, so what do I know of the real threat? Of course, our little entourage attracted quite a crowd, mostly of kids who hang around the market.
The kids can be pesky and aggressive but mostly they are just curious about us and want to see what the American soldiers are doing. When driving through the streets of the city, we are viewed with a mixture of suspicion and mild anxiety (what one soldier described to me as “the stink-eye”), although as soon as they see my hand waving from the back seat of a Humvee, they break into a broad grin and return the wave. The transformation is startling but nearly universal. In the countryside, without exception, the kids come running towards our convoy, waving exuberantly. With school now in session, invariably we encounter kids on their way home from school—smiling, laughing, waving, and jumping up and down.
Early on here we were made aware of the backdrop of our work in Diwo. Apparently, Americans have been here only recently. Last year, the province was under the nominal control of Polish forces. Together with an American general, a deal was struck to provide farmers with fertilizer and tractors. The farmers—mostly sheikhs perceived to be helpful to American forces—received the fertilizer but not the tractors. The governor, in learning about the giveaway, became angry and seized the tractors. The governor is a Badrist. The Badr Brigade was formed during the Iran-Iraq War, consisting of Shiites who fought on the side of Iran in that war. After the fall of Saddam, the governor returned to Iraq after a long exile in Iran. He’s been somewhat of a thorn in the side of the coalition forces and the central government.
Shortly after our arrival here we received a visit from some Special Forces soldiers based here at FOB Echo. They gave us a list of sheikhs that we might consider visiting. Not having scheduled anything to that point, we started working down the list. Each one told us the same story about the tractors and appealed to us to intervene on their behalf. Recognizing that this was a political hot potato, we’ve opted to remain neutral about it. On the one hand we recognize the legitimacy of the governor’s position, that he is the leader of this province and he would have to inherit responsibility (given the government’s traditional role and heavy hand in supporting agriculture) for supporting fuel and maintenance on the tractors. On the other hand, we also recognize that farmers are in desperate need for machinery to work the land to plant more wheat so that people can eat. It seems that the governor is using the withholding of tractors (and allocations of water) as ammunition against people who are not in his favor or who have been working with coalition forces.
This has been the “elephant in the room” with all our work here. Nonetheless, we’ve had a great stay here in Diwo. After nearly six months of doing this, as you might imagine, we are getting pretty good at getting to the core issues quickly. This has allowed us to drill deeper in our assessments and make more meaningful and specific recommendations. Although there are huge needs for big-ticket items like renovation of the irrigation and drainage system, we have focused on building human capacity for problem-solving and technical knowledge. In the long-run, I think this is where Team Borlaug can really make a difference once projects begin to be implemented.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Lightning! Thunder! RAIN!!!
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
The Al Kut Livestock Market
Over the last several weeks as we've passed through the outskirts of Al Kut on our way to scheduled stops out in the province we noticed a bustle of activity that piqued our interest. We found out that it was the Al Kut livestock market, where sheep and cows are traded. After a bit of reluctance on the part of the Army based on security concerns, we were told we could go.
First, it is necessary to understand how important sheep and other livestock are to Iraqi farmers. One of my colleagues describes them as "biological bank accounts." Simply put, in the absence of a properly functioning banking system, it is a way for people to accumulate equity. This equity can be easily liquidated to provide cash to maintain daily living or for critical expenses that may emerge suddenly. The "interest" from this livestock -- the milk, lambs, and calves -- also provides a source of income.
Second, at least here in Wasit, the extensive irrigation system is not functioning properly and there are large tracts of land (75-80% of the arable land here by some reports) where the salt concentration in the soil is too high to grow crops. As a result, there are vast areas of fallow land that are unproductive and only scrubby vegetation grows. In the absence of crop production, the only alternative for these farmers is to graze livestock. With the ongoing drought, even once productive farmland has become rangeland that has been given over to grazing.
Without a doubt, sheep are most important. Iraqi sheep are widely esteemed in the region and the locally adapted breeds appear robust and hardy (and tasty I might add). Most flocks we have seen are about 100 animals, with some goats and a few cows mixed in. We have also seen water buffalo and even a few herds of camels!
So, back to the livestock market....
The market is located in an area with rough crumbling houses, the hulks of wrecked cars, drifts of wind-blown trash, and puddles of oily-black water. Despite the obvious poverty of the neighborhood, nearly every house had a small satellite dish, sprouting like mushrooms after a spring rain from the mud-brick houses.
Our army escorts were concerned about our safety in the area and we were careful to plan our movements there. First, we approached with our vehicles from a back entrance and parked well away from the center of activity. Then one of our BBA/translators went with a couple of soldiers to engage a few of the people in the market to gauge the situation. Once it was determined that our presence would not be too disruptive we dismounted and stayed close together as a group and move along the market periphery. Of course, the Iraqis were curious about our presence, were not deterred by armed US soldiers and came right up to us to find out what we were looking for.
We attracted quite a crowd, including some rather rambunctious kids who appeared to be living some kind of marginal existence from the crumbs that fell from the table of market transactions. Our security detail formed a tight bubble around us facing outward, with us and those Iraqis curious enough to come inside. It was a rather chaotic scene and we did not stay too long, but we did feel comfortable enough to move around and talk with livestock sellers, buyers, and butchers.
Some of the livestock was not in very good condition, an obvious manifestation of the drought. Several sellers repeated the phrase "Alef maku! Alef maku!" (No feed! No feed!), complaining bitterly about government subsidies that have dried up along with their grazing lands. Another hoarse-voiced man came up to me and asked if I could help him fix his throat. I could only turn up my hands in helplessness.
Just before leaving, as I watched bargaining come to completion and cash exchange hands in one transaction, I felt as though I was being transported back in time, that this was a scene dating back 50, 100, 500, maybe 1,000 years. I could feel the sweep of the long history of this region writ small through the seemingly endless repetition of this market scene. It was a dizzying moment of near vertigo that quickly passed when a soldier tapped me on the shoulder and told me that it was time to go.
First, it is necessary to understand how important sheep and other livestock are to Iraqi farmers. One of my colleagues describes them as "biological bank accounts." Simply put, in the absence of a properly functioning banking system, it is a way for people to accumulate equity. This equity can be easily liquidated to provide cash to maintain daily living or for critical expenses that may emerge suddenly. The "interest" from this livestock -- the milk, lambs, and calves -- also provides a source of income.
Second, at least here in Wasit, the extensive irrigation system is not functioning properly and there are large tracts of land (75-80% of the arable land here by some reports) where the salt concentration in the soil is too high to grow crops. As a result, there are vast areas of fallow land that are unproductive and only scrubby vegetation grows. In the absence of crop production, the only alternative for these farmers is to graze livestock. With the ongoing drought, even once productive farmland has become rangeland that has been given over to grazing.
Without a doubt, sheep are most important. Iraqi sheep are widely esteemed in the region and the locally adapted breeds appear robust and hardy (and tasty I might add). Most flocks we have seen are about 100 animals, with some goats and a few cows mixed in. We have also seen water buffalo and even a few herds of camels!
So, back to the livestock market....
The market is located in an area with rough crumbling houses, the hulks of wrecked cars, drifts of wind-blown trash, and puddles of oily-black water. Despite the obvious poverty of the neighborhood, nearly every house had a small satellite dish, sprouting like mushrooms after a spring rain from the mud-brick houses.
Our army escorts were concerned about our safety in the area and we were careful to plan our movements there. First, we approached with our vehicles from a back entrance and parked well away from the center of activity. Then one of our BBA/translators went with a couple of soldiers to engage a few of the people in the market to gauge the situation. Once it was determined that our presence would not be too disruptive we dismounted and stayed close together as a group and move along the market periphery. Of course, the Iraqis were curious about our presence, were not deterred by armed US soldiers and came right up to us to find out what we were looking for.
We attracted quite a crowd, including some rather rambunctious kids who appeared to be living some kind of marginal existence from the crumbs that fell from the table of market transactions. Our security detail formed a tight bubble around us facing outward, with us and those Iraqis curious enough to come inside. It was a rather chaotic scene and we did not stay too long, but we did feel comfortable enough to move around and talk with livestock sellers, buyers, and butchers.
Some of the livestock was not in very good condition, an obvious manifestation of the drought. Several sellers repeated the phrase "Alef maku! Alef maku!" (No feed! No feed!), complaining bitterly about government subsidies that have dried up along with their grazing lands. Another hoarse-voiced man came up to me and asked if I could help him fix his throat. I could only turn up my hands in helplessness.
Just before leaving, as I watched bargaining come to completion and cash exchange hands in one transaction, I felt as though I was being transported back in time, that this was a scene dating back 50, 100, 500, maybe 1,000 years. I could feel the sweep of the long history of this region writ small through the seemingly endless repetition of this market scene. It was a dizzying moment of near vertigo that quickly passed when a soldier tapped me on the shoulder and told me that it was time to go.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
On the Border
Writing this from Camp Shocker, a small U.S. Army base about 5 km from the border with Iran, near a town called Badrah. From here we can look to the east and see some impressive mountains in the haze. That's Iran. This area reminds me a bit of southern California, particularly the Chocolate Mountains area near the Salton Sea.
Yesterday we went up to the "POE," or point-of-entry, a sprawling confusion of fences, T-walls, check points, milling people, and lines of parked trucks. We climbed an observation tower to get an overview. Looking over into Iran there was a fleet of parked trucks, filled with watermelons and canteloupes, that had arrived during the night. Below the tower was a line of empty trucks from Iraq, waiting to enter a neutral zone to receive the loads of Iranian cargo. We met some produce brokers who were walking over to the Iranian trucks to begin bidding, auction style, on the loads of produce. Once a deal is struck, the Iranian trucks move into the neutral zone and the cargo is loaded onto the Iraqi trucks. Depending on the time of year, lots of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, as well as building materials and all manner of consumer goods are passed across the border.
The POE has three "corridors," one each for cargo, people, and fuel. Iraq allows 2,000 people to cross the POE from Iran every day. Most are religious pilgrims headed for the holy Shiite cities of Karbala and Najaf. It takes about 45-90 minutes to cross the border. Every military-age male is processed by both American and Iraqi authorities. They are photographed, fingerprinted, and given a retinal scan. Waiting for the pilgrims on the Iraqi side is a fleet of large air-conditioned buses and small mini-vans. The flow of fuel across the POE is in one direction only, from Iran to Iraq. Tanker trucks carrying refined fuels (diesel, gasoline, kerosene, and propane) represent a critical lifeline because the refinery capacity in Iraq comes nowhere near meeting demand. The lines at gas stations are really impressive and no doubt try the patience of even the most stout-hearted Iraqi motorist.
Next we visited the mayor of Zurbatia, a small, tidy town, with broad clean streets, a pleasant but quiet place. He told us a story we've heard a lot in this area, that the Iranians have constructed a series of dams that restrict the flow of water into this part of Iraq. Most of the farmers in this area would like to grow crops of wheat and barley, and try to do that the best they can most years, but the main crop here is sheep, which are grazed on sparse range land dotted with clumps of thorny plants. Unlike other parts of this province and many other parts of Iraq with a long history of irrigation, the land here is good and the soil isn't too salty to grow crops. We heard about the need for dam projects, well projects, a big project that brings water here from the Tigris River. One or more of these are needed for farmers here to realize the agricultural potential of this area.
We have visited two small villages since coming here a couple of days ago, and we'll visit another one tomorrow morning. We heard from villagers about how the Iraqi army destroyed one village during the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, with most of the surrounding grazing land turned into a battlefield. We heard how Saddam cut down local date-palm orchards to punish local villagers because they were thought to be Iranian sympathizers. The determined villagers returned in 1988 to rebuild their community. Now they struggle to be farmers, facing the effects of an extended drought and with next to no government subsidies or other support. They are so determined and optimistic that they will sell sheep in order to buy seeds when needed if those that are promised by the Ministry of Agriculture arrive too late to plant at the proper time.
Just before leaving the village that we visited early this morning, several farmers produced pieces of paper that indicated that they were being fined for planting vegetables, which had been forbidden by the area water resources director general (DG) because the crop required too much scarce water. The way the story was told and translated, we left with the impression that the farmers had been done a grave and unreasonable injustice. After all, the farmers were just growing vegetables for their own consumption. We promised to take the matter up with local agricultural and water resource officials we had scheduled to meet later in the morning. At the meeting, the water resource DG grew animated and indignant when we raised the subject. First of all, the water resources DG was a woman, wrapped in the traditional abaya, but she was assertive and outspoken, and had the ear of the Badrah mayor and was deferred to by the other assembled ag and water DGs. She claimed that the farmers had been warned prior to being fined and that she was, for the first time in the area, attempting to uphold local regulations about water use. She said that the farmers did not realize that what they were doing was affecting the availability of water for the commercially valuable date palm orchards. As the meeting broke up, she and one of our translator/BBAs really got into it, none of it personal, but this woman is obviously passionate about her work. Because she can see the big picture of all the pressures on water resources in the area, she has to make tough decisions that result in fines and that are unpopular with villagers who are used to using water without regard to other users. This is classic "Tragedy of the Commons" stuff.
So, in the morning we had promised to return to the village for lunch. Although we were tired and hot from a long morning of meetings, we headed back to the village. The village farmers were off tending to business elsewhere, but the village sheikh was there and hosted a fabulous lunch of barbecued and boiled lamb, chunks of lamb liver and fat from the tail of the sheep, bowls of cucumber salad and pickles, fresh loaves of pita bread, laban (yogurt), watermelon, and dates. The sheikh was obviously not keeping fast during Ramadan and in fact spoke openly of his large appetites for food and sex. We told him of our meeting with the water resources DG and admitted that the arguments of his fellow farmers did not have much merit. So, we brought the complaint full circle. It would have been nice to talk with the farmers that originally brought this up. It is clear that we did not get the full story from them when we spoke about it this morning.
Another thing that keeps coming up is the expectations that people have of us. Whether farmers at the village level, agriculture and water resource leaders, members of provincial councils, and even governors we have met, all have high expectations of us. We try our best to listen to their concerns and hopefully through the reports we write, the recommendations we make, and some of the projects we start, we will be able to make some small difference in the lives of the people here. At the very least, we know that we have fostered goodwill and created a positive impression. The people we have met are all positive about our engagment with them.
Yesterday we went up to the "POE," or point-of-entry, a sprawling confusion of fences, T-walls, check points, milling people, and lines of parked trucks. We climbed an observation tower to get an overview. Looking over into Iran there was a fleet of parked trucks, filled with watermelons and canteloupes, that had arrived during the night. Below the tower was a line of empty trucks from Iraq, waiting to enter a neutral zone to receive the loads of Iranian cargo. We met some produce brokers who were walking over to the Iranian trucks to begin bidding, auction style, on the loads of produce. Once a deal is struck, the Iranian trucks move into the neutral zone and the cargo is loaded onto the Iraqi trucks. Depending on the time of year, lots of onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, as well as building materials and all manner of consumer goods are passed across the border.
The POE has three "corridors," one each for cargo, people, and fuel. Iraq allows 2,000 people to cross the POE from Iran every day. Most are religious pilgrims headed for the holy Shiite cities of Karbala and Najaf. It takes about 45-90 minutes to cross the border. Every military-age male is processed by both American and Iraqi authorities. They are photographed, fingerprinted, and given a retinal scan. Waiting for the pilgrims on the Iraqi side is a fleet of large air-conditioned buses and small mini-vans. The flow of fuel across the POE is in one direction only, from Iran to Iraq. Tanker trucks carrying refined fuels (diesel, gasoline, kerosene, and propane) represent a critical lifeline because the refinery capacity in Iraq comes nowhere near meeting demand. The lines at gas stations are really impressive and no doubt try the patience of even the most stout-hearted Iraqi motorist.
Next we visited the mayor of Zurbatia, a small, tidy town, with broad clean streets, a pleasant but quiet place. He told us a story we've heard a lot in this area, that the Iranians have constructed a series of dams that restrict the flow of water into this part of Iraq. Most of the farmers in this area would like to grow crops of wheat and barley, and try to do that the best they can most years, but the main crop here is sheep, which are grazed on sparse range land dotted with clumps of thorny plants. Unlike other parts of this province and many other parts of Iraq with a long history of irrigation, the land here is good and the soil isn't too salty to grow crops. We heard about the need for dam projects, well projects, a big project that brings water here from the Tigris River. One or more of these are needed for farmers here to realize the agricultural potential of this area.
We have visited two small villages since coming here a couple of days ago, and we'll visit another one tomorrow morning. We heard from villagers about how the Iraqi army destroyed one village during the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, with most of the surrounding grazing land turned into a battlefield. We heard how Saddam cut down local date-palm orchards to punish local villagers because they were thought to be Iranian sympathizers. The determined villagers returned in 1988 to rebuild their community. Now they struggle to be farmers, facing the effects of an extended drought and with next to no government subsidies or other support. They are so determined and optimistic that they will sell sheep in order to buy seeds when needed if those that are promised by the Ministry of Agriculture arrive too late to plant at the proper time.
Just before leaving the village that we visited early this morning, several farmers produced pieces of paper that indicated that they were being fined for planting vegetables, which had been forbidden by the area water resources director general (DG) because the crop required too much scarce water. The way the story was told and translated, we left with the impression that the farmers had been done a grave and unreasonable injustice. After all, the farmers were just growing vegetables for their own consumption. We promised to take the matter up with local agricultural and water resource officials we had scheduled to meet later in the morning. At the meeting, the water resource DG grew animated and indignant when we raised the subject. First of all, the water resources DG was a woman, wrapped in the traditional abaya, but she was assertive and outspoken, and had the ear of the Badrah mayor and was deferred to by the other assembled ag and water DGs. She claimed that the farmers had been warned prior to being fined and that she was, for the first time in the area, attempting to uphold local regulations about water use. She said that the farmers did not realize that what they were doing was affecting the availability of water for the commercially valuable date palm orchards. As the meeting broke up, she and one of our translator/BBAs really got into it, none of it personal, but this woman is obviously passionate about her work. Because she can see the big picture of all the pressures on water resources in the area, she has to make tough decisions that result in fines and that are unpopular with villagers who are used to using water without regard to other users. This is classic "Tragedy of the Commons" stuff.
So, in the morning we had promised to return to the village for lunch. Although we were tired and hot from a long morning of meetings, we headed back to the village. The village farmers were off tending to business elsewhere, but the village sheikh was there and hosted a fabulous lunch of barbecued and boiled lamb, chunks of lamb liver and fat from the tail of the sheep, bowls of cucumber salad and pickles, fresh loaves of pita bread, laban (yogurt), watermelon, and dates. The sheikh was obviously not keeping fast during Ramadan and in fact spoke openly of his large appetites for food and sex. We told him of our meeting with the water resources DG and admitted that the arguments of his fellow farmers did not have much merit. So, we brought the complaint full circle. It would have been nice to talk with the farmers that originally brought this up. It is clear that we did not get the full story from them when we spoke about it this morning.
Another thing that keeps coming up is the expectations that people have of us. Whether farmers at the village level, agriculture and water resource leaders, members of provincial councils, and even governors we have met, all have high expectations of us. We try our best to listen to their concerns and hopefully through the reports we write, the recommendations we make, and some of the projects we start, we will be able to make some small difference in the lives of the people here. At the very least, we know that we have fostered goodwill and created a positive impression. The people we have met are all positive about our engagment with them.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Men Talk, Women Work
Today we visited a small rural village of about 2,000 people about 10 km from Al Kut. The 30 families that live there farm around 400 acres of land, mostly wheat, barley, corn, and vegetables (eggplant, cucumber, watermelon). We were greeted by the village leaders and taken to a large carpeted meeting room where we sat cross-legged and talked with the village sheiks and others about agriculture and their needs. The original settlers of this land came from Maysan Province to the south in the 1960s. Maysan, also known as Amarah, is known as the poorest province in Iraq. (It is also where the team will go next month.) Many people from Amarah moved to the northeast corner of Baghdad, the sprawling slum of Sadr City. The people from this village, and apparently others from Amarah, have been passed by even when times were good. The village was a rough place, although they have electricity when it is supplied (abour 4-6 hours daily). The lack of electricity also limits the capacity to pump water from the nearby Tigris River. The lack of diesel fuel (we have seen LONG lines at gas stations) means that auxiliary diesel-powered water pumps are not operating as well.
Anway, I digress a little bit. The main point of this entry, as suggested in the title, is the obvious sexual division of labor. Of course, this is not unique to Iraq. I have just taken notice of it recently. We meet with men, mostly older but also some younger men and boys, and never women. When we meet, we talk, we take notes, we nod our head in understanding. But in the background, out working in the fields, invariably we see women and young girls working, doing the actual farming. We see them transplanting vegetable seedlings, weeding fields, tending sheep, cutting and carrying bulging sacks of alfalfa as fodder for cows and sheep, gathering fallen dates, building cookstoves, and making dung patties. Of course, women are also doing domestic work such as hauling water, cleaning house, doing laundry, and taking care of children. Sadly their voice is not heard in our conversations but we know that they are there. We have taken note of extension programs directed toward women (mostly "sewing" programs) and especially those directed toward war widows. It's really a shame that we can't talk with them. Men are very protective of their women and do not allow us to talk with them. Having said that, we do encounter women in professional roles and we have engaged them when and where the opportunity presents itself. We just have to keep in mind that the people in Iraq would not be able to feed themselves if it were not for women's work, not just men's talk.
Anway, I digress a little bit. The main point of this entry, as suggested in the title, is the obvious sexual division of labor. Of course, this is not unique to Iraq. I have just taken notice of it recently. We meet with men, mostly older but also some younger men and boys, and never women. When we meet, we talk, we take notes, we nod our head in understanding. But in the background, out working in the fields, invariably we see women and young girls working, doing the actual farming. We see them transplanting vegetable seedlings, weeding fields, tending sheep, cutting and carrying bulging sacks of alfalfa as fodder for cows and sheep, gathering fallen dates, building cookstoves, and making dung patties. Of course, women are also doing domestic work such as hauling water, cleaning house, doing laundry, and taking care of children. Sadly their voice is not heard in our conversations but we know that they are there. We have taken note of extension programs directed toward women (mostly "sewing" programs) and especially those directed toward war widows. It's really a shame that we can't talk with them. Men are very protective of their women and do not allow us to talk with them. Having said that, we do encounter women in professional roles and we have engaged them when and where the opportunity presents itself. We just have to keep in mind that the people in Iraq would not be able to feed themselves if it were not for women's work, not just men's talk.
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