Since arriving here in mid-June it’s been day after day of cloudless blue sky and a blazing sun. There have been exceptions, including dust storms of varying severity, but the weather has been unrelentingly predictable. For the past few days the wind has been blowing from the east and the humidity has been elevated. The salts in the dry soil have attracted this moisture, making the soil wet and sticky where salt concentrations are high, which is to say most places around here.
Then, yesterday afternoon clouds appeared. These weren’t the wispy clouds that were occasionally apparent around sunrise but then quickly burned off in the heat of the day. These were bona fide clouds, big round packets of roiling moisture. The sky grew dark around mid-afternoon. Then, what was that? No, it wasn’t an outgoing artillery round, it was thunder! A bright flash of lightning, then another. The rain was coming! Sure enough, big fat drops began to fall, slowly at first. I held my breath. Soon the sky opened up and a nice steady rain fell for almost 45 minutes. Beautiful sweet rain.
We were thinking of the Bedouins camped in their tents in the desert on the outskirts of the base, wondering how they were celebrating the arrival of the rain, wondering too if their rough tents were leaking. We know that farmers everywhere that rain was falling were celebrating its arrival. The drought here has been multi-year and severe, perhaps felt most acutely by shepherds and herders, whose flocks and herds have been reduced to less than half of pre-drought levels. With the rain, I’m expecting to see wheat and barley sprouting in the fields shortly.
The rain has turned the base into a muddy mess. Drifts of dust collected on the roadsides and elsewhere have turned to slush. There are puddles! The mud is slippery and sticks to your shoes. The floor of the DFAC is strewn with tiny clods escaped from the lugs of boot soles and the Bengali workers are busy chasing them around with brooms, dustpans, and mops.
Why all the excitement and fuss over this rain? After all, it was just a shower. The point is that it has been a long time since rain has fallen here and ANY rain is a big deal. Also, working in agriculture, we know how important water is to the success of farming here (indeed, anywhere). The rain is a cause for celebration and for hoping that there’s more on the way.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Another Fallen Soldier
Our brief 10-day stay in Amarah is now finished and we have returned to COB Adder at Tallil Air Base near Nasariyah. I probably need a little more time to fully digest everything that occurred while working in Amarah but this represents an initial telling and interpretation of some of what happened while there. In the last post I set the scene of the small and new base where we stayed and a brief recent history of wartime events in the province.
Our team was really breaking new ground in terms of US involvement in provincial development. Unlike other provinces where we have worked, there had been very little pre-planning or knowledge of places to go and people to meet. Over time we have developed a template for this and it turned out to serve us well in Maysan.
Last Saturday we looked forward with anticipation to visits to the pump stations that served two of the three largest irrigation districts in the province. We got off to a rough start with some friction between the lieutenant who was in charge of our security detail and the major on the Civil Affairs team who was serving as a liaison between our team and the military. Once we got that worked out, we had some confusion around the link-up with some local leaders who were going to show us exactly where to go and then meet with us to discuss problems. Then, while on site, more and more people kept crowding into the main room of the pump station, making our Army security detail very nervous. At this point we were also far enough away that we were no longer in radio contact with the base so that if anything went wrong there was no way to call for help.
Once we finished our meetings at the pump stations, we made our way back toward base. When we finally came within radio contact, we learned that another soldier from the battalion, the second in about ten days, had been killed in an IED attack on the base commander’s convoy on a road heading south from Amarah, very near the same spot where the first soldier had been killed last week. Like the first soldier, this one was a gunner killed by an EFP directed upwards. Immediately, I could sense a change in the soldiers riding in my Humvee, their thoughts turned inward and a near complete lack of the normal radio chatter and good-natured ribbing.
When we arrived at the base I thanked the soldiers that took care of us as I usually do and told the lieutenant who led our security detail how sorry I was that he lost another comrade. He appreciated the gesture but I could tell that he was struggling to maintain his composure. I too got caught up in the moment, feeling a lump in my throat. A mental numbness washed over me.
We returned to our tent to try and make sense of the day’s events. The major came in and unleashed a brief and emotional tirade, directed largely at our BBA, who had been serving us well and diligently. I realized right away that the major’s anger and frustration was not really aimed at the BBA, that he was only a convenient target, and that the major was responding to a perfect storm of the events of the day, that it represented a response to cumulative causes. We also came in for criticism about circumventing the major’s authority in dealing directly with the lieutenant leading our security detail.
After the major left our tent, we sat there looking at each other in disbelief, trying to make sense of everything. A few guys opened MREs but I had completely lost my appetite. Then, we heard shouting from a nearby tent, the one housing the Iraqi interpreters living on the base. Apparently, a soldier came to the tent brandishing his weapon, threatening to kill one of the interpreters, thinking that one of them had tipped off whoever had triggered the IED. Apparently the soldier had really become unhinged. When I talked with the interpreters later they told me how much they liked the soldier who had been killed, how he used to come by and visit with them and learn a little Arabic, and how they too grieve for the loss of his life. Several interpreters were genuinely afraid for their lives and were going to request transfers to other bases.
Walking around the base that afternoon the soldiers were somber. The sense of anger and frustration was palpable. The desire for vengeance was very strong, nerves were raw, and tensions high. I spent the afternoon in quiet introspection, thinking about the young man and how his family was going to respond to the news of his death. Until the Army notified his next-of-kin, the base commander imposed a communications blackout, an order that remained in effect for over two days, essentially cutting us off from the outside world.
On Saturday night (actually Sunday morning) around 2 AM, the major came running into our tent to assure us that everything was fine, that we had taken some incoming fire but it had landed outside the perimeter of the base. Every night while at the base we had been hearing outgoing mortar fire, sent at random intervals to deter attacks. I found it impossible to distinguish between outgoing and incoming fire so I had assumed that it was all outgoing and had slept through the “attack.” Apparently the incoming fire was part of an elaborate plan to draw out the QRF (quick reaction force) and then spring an ambush. Fortunately it did not succeed.
It seemed to me that the growl of fighter jets, a constant nighttime feature during my stay at FOB GarryOwen, was more intense that night. In the morning we saw two Apache helicopters circling slowly overhead, looking for a target.
All movements off the base were cancelled on Sunday so we had no choice but to stay put. The major stayed away from us and for the most part we kept to our tent. I could really see the look of frustration on the faces of the soldiers. They are trained to kill and they wanted vengeance on the enemy that had taken one of their brothers, but they know that this was not an enemy that can be fought conventionally. It’s this knowledge that they find so frustrating.
For my part, I was surprised at the intensity of my own reaction. Upon reflection I realized how close I’d become to these soldiers, especially the ones who’ve been guarding our lives and enabling us to do our work. They are often in the background, but I always know they are there and will act professionally to any situation; I never take them for granted. Although we have followed very different paths, we share a common purpose here, each doing different parts of the same mission, and we need each other (although they need us less than we need them). I believe this, at least in part, explains the depth of my feelings for the loss of these two young men within the last ten days.
Our team was really breaking new ground in terms of US involvement in provincial development. Unlike other provinces where we have worked, there had been very little pre-planning or knowledge of places to go and people to meet. Over time we have developed a template for this and it turned out to serve us well in Maysan.
Last Saturday we looked forward with anticipation to visits to the pump stations that served two of the three largest irrigation districts in the province. We got off to a rough start with some friction between the lieutenant who was in charge of our security detail and the major on the Civil Affairs team who was serving as a liaison between our team and the military. Once we got that worked out, we had some confusion around the link-up with some local leaders who were going to show us exactly where to go and then meet with us to discuss problems. Then, while on site, more and more people kept crowding into the main room of the pump station, making our Army security detail very nervous. At this point we were also far enough away that we were no longer in radio contact with the base so that if anything went wrong there was no way to call for help.
Once we finished our meetings at the pump stations, we made our way back toward base. When we finally came within radio contact, we learned that another soldier from the battalion, the second in about ten days, had been killed in an IED attack on the base commander’s convoy on a road heading south from Amarah, very near the same spot where the first soldier had been killed last week. Like the first soldier, this one was a gunner killed by an EFP directed upwards. Immediately, I could sense a change in the soldiers riding in my Humvee, their thoughts turned inward and a near complete lack of the normal radio chatter and good-natured ribbing.
When we arrived at the base I thanked the soldiers that took care of us as I usually do and told the lieutenant who led our security detail how sorry I was that he lost another comrade. He appreciated the gesture but I could tell that he was struggling to maintain his composure. I too got caught up in the moment, feeling a lump in my throat. A mental numbness washed over me.
We returned to our tent to try and make sense of the day’s events. The major came in and unleashed a brief and emotional tirade, directed largely at our BBA, who had been serving us well and diligently. I realized right away that the major’s anger and frustration was not really aimed at the BBA, that he was only a convenient target, and that the major was responding to a perfect storm of the events of the day, that it represented a response to cumulative causes. We also came in for criticism about circumventing the major’s authority in dealing directly with the lieutenant leading our security detail.
After the major left our tent, we sat there looking at each other in disbelief, trying to make sense of everything. A few guys opened MREs but I had completely lost my appetite. Then, we heard shouting from a nearby tent, the one housing the Iraqi interpreters living on the base. Apparently, a soldier came to the tent brandishing his weapon, threatening to kill one of the interpreters, thinking that one of them had tipped off whoever had triggered the IED. Apparently the soldier had really become unhinged. When I talked with the interpreters later they told me how much they liked the soldier who had been killed, how he used to come by and visit with them and learn a little Arabic, and how they too grieve for the loss of his life. Several interpreters were genuinely afraid for their lives and were going to request transfers to other bases.
Walking around the base that afternoon the soldiers were somber. The sense of anger and frustration was palpable. The desire for vengeance was very strong, nerves were raw, and tensions high. I spent the afternoon in quiet introspection, thinking about the young man and how his family was going to respond to the news of his death. Until the Army notified his next-of-kin, the base commander imposed a communications blackout, an order that remained in effect for over two days, essentially cutting us off from the outside world.
On Saturday night (actually Sunday morning) around 2 AM, the major came running into our tent to assure us that everything was fine, that we had taken some incoming fire but it had landed outside the perimeter of the base. Every night while at the base we had been hearing outgoing mortar fire, sent at random intervals to deter attacks. I found it impossible to distinguish between outgoing and incoming fire so I had assumed that it was all outgoing and had slept through the “attack.” Apparently the incoming fire was part of an elaborate plan to draw out the QRF (quick reaction force) and then spring an ambush. Fortunately it did not succeed.
It seemed to me that the growl of fighter jets, a constant nighttime feature during my stay at FOB GarryOwen, was more intense that night. In the morning we saw two Apache helicopters circling slowly overhead, looking for a target.
All movements off the base were cancelled on Sunday so we had no choice but to stay put. The major stayed away from us and for the most part we kept to our tent. I could really see the look of frustration on the faces of the soldiers. They are trained to kill and they wanted vengeance on the enemy that had taken one of their brothers, but they know that this was not an enemy that can be fought conventionally. It’s this knowledge that they find so frustrating.
For my part, I was surprised at the intensity of my own reaction. Upon reflection I realized how close I’d become to these soldiers, especially the ones who’ve been guarding our lives and enabling us to do our work. They are often in the background, but I always know they are there and will act professionally to any situation; I never take them for granted. Although we have followed very different paths, we share a common purpose here, each doing different parts of the same mission, and we need each other (although they need us less than we need them). I believe this, at least in part, explains the depth of my feelings for the loss of these two young men within the last ten days.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Amarah
I'm writing this from FOB GarryOwen, a small camp in Maysan province near the main city of Amarah. Conditions here are very basic, in contrast to the large bases that have been our home in the past month. I'm staying in a 20-man tent (but it has a/c), sleeping on a camp cot, and showering in another tent that has water pumped from a bladder laying on the ground. The chow-hall (no DFAC) provides hot breakfast and dinner; lunch is MREs. The chow-hall is closed on Sundays, so it's MREs all day. Computer access is difficult, especially when there are a lot of soldiers on-line.
The camp started in June of this year so things remain in a state of flux. June is when the American presence began in this province. Literally this place has been passed by for much of the war. In part this was due to the presence of the British, who controlled the battle space, had some bitter battles with losses on both sides, and then pulled back to Basra. Earlier this spring, the Prime Minister launched an offensive to rid Basra of militias and criminal gangs. Many of them came to Amarah. A subsequent offensive by the Iraqi Army drove these militias out of Amarah. The Americans arrived on the heals of this offensive and are just now establishing a presence here.
This is the context for our work. Very little is known and very few contacts have been made. We are literally blazing the trail with the PRT and Civil Affairs Team. We've had a great couple of days of meetings, mostly to determine what we want to see and more importantly who we want to visit. As elsewhere in Iraq, there are great people here doing great work under difficult circumstances.
In some respects Maysan reminds me of Louisiana. First, this is where the Tigris River breaks apart into at least five branches, most spilling out into huge marshes, home of the Marsh Arabs, who have a culture that is as distinct as the Cajuns. The city of Amarah is located where three of these branches originate and, being a river city, reminds me of New Orleans. Obviously these are superficial similarities. However, we've been told that the Maysani's are considered the "red-headed stepchildren" of Iraq, having been ignored by the central government for decades. Bordering Iran, the people of this province suffered mightily during the Iran-Iraq war. Saddam also created a huge canal/dam to divert water around some big marshes in the south of the province, choking off the water supply, as a way to subjugate the Shia's there. The Maysanis were also part of the Shia uprising following the first Gulf War, which was brutally suppressed by Saddam. Despite all this, there is tremendous hope here (as we have seen elsewhere in Iraq) and one needs only to see the tremendous construction boom of small houses. Factories with tall smokestacks belching black smoke are churning our bright yellow bricks everywhere in southern Iraq.
Back to FOB GarryOwen. I am here with two others from Team Borlaug, a subset of our full team, which remains at FOB Adder at Tallil Air Base, near Nasariyah, and is now working in Muthanna province. We are here with about 200 other soldiers. The other day we took part in a memorial service for a 22-year old specialist who was killed by an EFP during a route clearance mission on the road between Amarah and the other major town in the province. We all gathered by the MWR and the young man was remembered by his commanders and fellow soldiers. I could see more than one soldier sniffling and wiping away tears. He received a 21-gun salute and "Taps" on a bugle. It was a very emotional scene.
It reminds me, as if I really needed reminding, that I'm still in a war zone. Given the newness of this camp and recent events, I have to admit to feeling a bit more anxiety about my presence here. It's not enough to deter me from our activities. We were told that the camp has been rocketed twice since June and were instructed on what to do if the rockets start falling while sleeping. ("Get down and suck plywood.") We hear outgoing fire, mostly mortars, every night to deter these attacks. Despite all this, I feel safe with the soldiers in our security detail, who continue to do a magnificent job that enables us to do our assessments and develop ideas for projects to improve Iraqi agriculture. My senses and level of awareness of my surroundings has become sharper and more finely attuned. It doesn't hurt that daytime temperatures have moderated and the weather has turned fine.
The camp started in June of this year so things remain in a state of flux. June is when the American presence began in this province. Literally this place has been passed by for much of the war. In part this was due to the presence of the British, who controlled the battle space, had some bitter battles with losses on both sides, and then pulled back to Basra. Earlier this spring, the Prime Minister launched an offensive to rid Basra of militias and criminal gangs. Many of them came to Amarah. A subsequent offensive by the Iraqi Army drove these militias out of Amarah. The Americans arrived on the heals of this offensive and are just now establishing a presence here.
This is the context for our work. Very little is known and very few contacts have been made. We are literally blazing the trail with the PRT and Civil Affairs Team. We've had a great couple of days of meetings, mostly to determine what we want to see and more importantly who we want to visit. As elsewhere in Iraq, there are great people here doing great work under difficult circumstances.
In some respects Maysan reminds me of Louisiana. First, this is where the Tigris River breaks apart into at least five branches, most spilling out into huge marshes, home of the Marsh Arabs, who have a culture that is as distinct as the Cajuns. The city of Amarah is located where three of these branches originate and, being a river city, reminds me of New Orleans. Obviously these are superficial similarities. However, we've been told that the Maysani's are considered the "red-headed stepchildren" of Iraq, having been ignored by the central government for decades. Bordering Iran, the people of this province suffered mightily during the Iran-Iraq war. Saddam also created a huge canal/dam to divert water around some big marshes in the south of the province, choking off the water supply, as a way to subjugate the Shia's there. The Maysanis were also part of the Shia uprising following the first Gulf War, which was brutally suppressed by Saddam. Despite all this, there is tremendous hope here (as we have seen elsewhere in Iraq) and one needs only to see the tremendous construction boom of small houses. Factories with tall smokestacks belching black smoke are churning our bright yellow bricks everywhere in southern Iraq.
Back to FOB GarryOwen. I am here with two others from Team Borlaug, a subset of our full team, which remains at FOB Adder at Tallil Air Base, near Nasariyah, and is now working in Muthanna province. We are here with about 200 other soldiers. The other day we took part in a memorial service for a 22-year old specialist who was killed by an EFP during a route clearance mission on the road between Amarah and the other major town in the province. We all gathered by the MWR and the young man was remembered by his commanders and fellow soldiers. I could see more than one soldier sniffling and wiping away tears. He received a 21-gun salute and "Taps" on a bugle. It was a very emotional scene.
It reminds me, as if I really needed reminding, that I'm still in a war zone. Given the newness of this camp and recent events, I have to admit to feeling a bit more anxiety about my presence here. It's not enough to deter me from our activities. We were told that the camp has been rocketed twice since June and were instructed on what to do if the rockets start falling while sleeping. ("Get down and suck plywood.") We hear outgoing fire, mostly mortars, every night to deter these attacks. Despite all this, I feel safe with the soldiers in our security detail, who continue to do a magnificent job that enables us to do our assessments and develop ideas for projects to improve Iraqi agriculture. My senses and level of awareness of my surroundings has become sharper and more finely attuned. It doesn't hurt that daytime temperatures have moderated and the weather has turned fine.
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.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Good Days and Bad Days
Today we are in the grip of yet another dust storm. It's getting to be as bad as the one back in early July when I was staying at FOB Kalsu. Visibility is down to less than a half mile, the air is still and heavy, and the sun is completely obscured. The light is a strange orange color. Once outside for awhile, your eyes adjust to make the light seem "normal," but when you come inside, the transition is jarring. It's been getting worse over the last couple of days and in fact caused us to have to cancel an air movement to a town in the northwest corner of the province. I was looking forward to going there because I had seen some large and well-developed fish pond complexes during our helicopter overflight tour. Apparently the area near the big pond complexes is a "no go" zone for us anyway, but there are other smaller farms that we would have been able to visit. Too bad.
We've had mostly good days since coming to Wasit. One of the better days started with a visit to one of three new agricultural extension centers here (altogether, 17 are planned). We arrived early in the morning and found a group of about 25-30 men gathered to greet us. They were farmers, extension agents, and leaders of local agricultural unions. They had arranged plastic chairs in an open rectangle on a lawn shaded by date palms next to the center. Of course, they had us sit at the head and the Iraqis arrayed themselves along the side. The morning was very pleasant, maybe the coolest for that time of day since arriving here. Everyone introduced themselves, with our team leader explaining our mission in Iraq and describing a little bit about Norman Borlaug. Then, much to my surprise, the assembled Iraqis got down to business, talking about upcoming programs to improve fertility and birth rates in the highly regarded local sheep. We were only observers at this point, watching how the extension scientists explained their program to the farmers and agricultural unions. Clearly this is a great model for introducing new ideas and technologies to farmers and it was great to see the Iraqi people working out ways to help each other. The agricultural union leadership is the critical link because these farmers tend to be innovators and can encourage the farmers in their union to adopt improved practices by their own example. The only missing link we see is the participation of the research community, for which there is none in Wasit. It is something we are going to try and elevate to the provincial leadership in our final report.
After leaving the extension center we visited two farms that represent two contrasting forms of agriculture in the country. The first was an extended family farm with diverse crops. There were eight families farming about 120 acres. They had wheat, rice, vegetables, a date palm orchard, fish ponds, sheep, cattle, and turkeys. This farm supported the livlihood of about 160 people. The other farm was about 1800 acres of wheat, barley, and corn that was owned by an Iraqi parlimentarian and managed by his son-in-law. The manager wore western-style dress (unlike the "man-dress" dishdashas worn by the other farmers), was educated in an agricultural high school, and was computer literate. Two contrasting farming operations, both functional models. Good day.
We've had our bad days too. The other day we were scheduled to meet with a local sheikh who has curried favor with the coalition by ridding his area of insurgents. We were also scheduled to meet with a local religious leader who is also seen as a powerful local figure, but one who is apolitical. Our convoy had just left the FOB when we lurched to a halt. A sharp-eyed gunner had spotted wires protruding from a hole on the roadside from which an IED had been previously removed. We had to idle on the road for about an hour before some specialized vehicles arrived to make a way for us to pass around safely. Later, we found out that it was only the wires, no bomb. One of the lieutenants told me that the insurgents sometimes like to build the bomb in stages over several nights. It is thought that these are the same guys who shot four rockets into our base about a week ago, two brothers who are being actively pursued by the Iraqi army and police.
This incident put us off schedule but we kept our appointment with the sheikh anyway, meeting him at a water pump station on the Tigris River. He proceeded to tell us how valuable he was to the improvement of security in the area and how he thought that we should help him by providing him with pumps and motors. Our original schedule had us moving from the pump station back along water supply canals to view his fields of wheat, barley, and vegetables. Instead, we ended up driving a long, long way--almost to Babil Province--past fields and fields of fallow, desolate farmland. We pulled up next to a decrepit pump station on a dry water supply canal. He wanted to show us this place to ask that we provide him with a new diesel engine and water pump so that he could once again irrigate the surrounding fields. The pump station had one mostly disassembled and rusty diesel engine that was partially buried in the ground. Another one was on it's skid, but also partially disassembled and nonfunctional. The pump itself also appeared not to work. It was a kind of ecological succession of pump motors! It was rather off-putting to hear this sheikh continually press the point of trying to get something out of us. We try to tell people that our main mission is assessment, although we have been developing projects to improve the capacity of Iraqi agriculture, especially in developing the necessary human capacity to increase productivity. He really thought he was owed something from us. This may be a legacy of Saddam and how the command economy built a mindset and an expectation that things would flow from the center of power outwards. It will take a generational shift to get past this, although we do see signs of exceptional individuals seizing the opportunities presented by the fall of Saddam to take the initiative and move their personal situation and their country forward. While at this remote spot, the religious leader we were scheduled to meet arrived, along with a member of the Wasit provincial council, wearing a suit and tie in the broiling sun. He said one thing that I thought was very insightful. He said that "We need to focus agricultural development at the village level. After the village level, we should work at the sub-district and then district leve." In other words, a bottom-up, farmer-first approach. In the context of a history of the top-down systems of patronage, this was a striking comment, bordering on revolutionary in my view. He also told me that he had received formal training from the U.S. in mediation and conflict resolution and seemed to take pride in this qualification. I told him as we left that I admired his courage.
As I finish writing this I now realize that what started out as a bad day actually turned out to be quite a good one after all.
We've had mostly good days since coming to Wasit. One of the better days started with a visit to one of three new agricultural extension centers here (altogether, 17 are planned). We arrived early in the morning and found a group of about 25-30 men gathered to greet us. They were farmers, extension agents, and leaders of local agricultural unions. They had arranged plastic chairs in an open rectangle on a lawn shaded by date palms next to the center. Of course, they had us sit at the head and the Iraqis arrayed themselves along the side. The morning was very pleasant, maybe the coolest for that time of day since arriving here. Everyone introduced themselves, with our team leader explaining our mission in Iraq and describing a little bit about Norman Borlaug. Then, much to my surprise, the assembled Iraqis got down to business, talking about upcoming programs to improve fertility and birth rates in the highly regarded local sheep. We were only observers at this point, watching how the extension scientists explained their program to the farmers and agricultural unions. Clearly this is a great model for introducing new ideas and technologies to farmers and it was great to see the Iraqi people working out ways to help each other. The agricultural union leadership is the critical link because these farmers tend to be innovators and can encourage the farmers in their union to adopt improved practices by their own example. The only missing link we see is the participation of the research community, for which there is none in Wasit. It is something we are going to try and elevate to the provincial leadership in our final report.
After leaving the extension center we visited two farms that represent two contrasting forms of agriculture in the country. The first was an extended family farm with diverse crops. There were eight families farming about 120 acres. They had wheat, rice, vegetables, a date palm orchard, fish ponds, sheep, cattle, and turkeys. This farm supported the livlihood of about 160 people. The other farm was about 1800 acres of wheat, barley, and corn that was owned by an Iraqi parlimentarian and managed by his son-in-law. The manager wore western-style dress (unlike the "man-dress" dishdashas worn by the other farmers), was educated in an agricultural high school, and was computer literate. Two contrasting farming operations, both functional models. Good day.
We've had our bad days too. The other day we were scheduled to meet with a local sheikh who has curried favor with the coalition by ridding his area of insurgents. We were also scheduled to meet with a local religious leader who is also seen as a powerful local figure, but one who is apolitical. Our convoy had just left the FOB when we lurched to a halt. A sharp-eyed gunner had spotted wires protruding from a hole on the roadside from which an IED had been previously removed. We had to idle on the road for about an hour before some specialized vehicles arrived to make a way for us to pass around safely. Later, we found out that it was only the wires, no bomb. One of the lieutenants told me that the insurgents sometimes like to build the bomb in stages over several nights. It is thought that these are the same guys who shot four rockets into our base about a week ago, two brothers who are being actively pursued by the Iraqi army and police.
This incident put us off schedule but we kept our appointment with the sheikh anyway, meeting him at a water pump station on the Tigris River. He proceeded to tell us how valuable he was to the improvement of security in the area and how he thought that we should help him by providing him with pumps and motors. Our original schedule had us moving from the pump station back along water supply canals to view his fields of wheat, barley, and vegetables. Instead, we ended up driving a long, long way--almost to Babil Province--past fields and fields of fallow, desolate farmland. We pulled up next to a decrepit pump station on a dry water supply canal. He wanted to show us this place to ask that we provide him with a new diesel engine and water pump so that he could once again irrigate the surrounding fields. The pump station had one mostly disassembled and rusty diesel engine that was partially buried in the ground. Another one was on it's skid, but also partially disassembled and nonfunctional. The pump itself also appeared not to work. It was a kind of ecological succession of pump motors! It was rather off-putting to hear this sheikh continually press the point of trying to get something out of us. We try to tell people that our main mission is assessment, although we have been developing projects to improve the capacity of Iraqi agriculture, especially in developing the necessary human capacity to increase productivity. He really thought he was owed something from us. This may be a legacy of Saddam and how the command economy built a mindset and an expectation that things would flow from the center of power outwards. It will take a generational shift to get past this, although we do see signs of exceptional individuals seizing the opportunities presented by the fall of Saddam to take the initiative and move their personal situation and their country forward. While at this remote spot, the religious leader we were scheduled to meet arrived, along with a member of the Wasit provincial council, wearing a suit and tie in the broiling sun. He said one thing that I thought was very insightful. He said that "We need to focus agricultural development at the village level. After the village level, we should work at the sub-district and then district leve." In other words, a bottom-up, farmer-first approach. In the context of a history of the top-down systems of patronage, this was a striking comment, bordering on revolutionary in my view. He also told me that he had received formal training from the U.S. in mediation and conflict resolution and seemed to take pride in this qualification. I told him as we left that I admired his courage.
As I finish writing this I now realize that what started out as a bad day actually turned out to be quite a good one after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)