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.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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.
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