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The
other night I saw a Ukrainian officer sitting by
himself at dinner, so I sat down across from him. I
asked him what was going to happen with the
disputed presidential election they'd just had.
I
thought his answer was insightful. He said he
couldn't tell what would happen but that he wasn't
worried. The news made the situation seem chaotic,
but his take was that the protests were a welcome
departure from the quiet, orderly way things used
to be done. He said his country was new at
democracy, but they realize it involves a certain
amount of disagreement.
The
protests, to hear him tell it, are a sign of
democracy, not of its absence. He made another
point. "In the old days," he said, "The police and
the military would have gotten involved." He's
proud that hasn't happened. He's full of hope for
his country.
Maybe
that's why the Ukraine is one of our allies here in
Iraq. They are new enough at democracy to value it,
even to sacrifice for it, miles away from home.
***
Today
should be my last day of being stranded in Baghdad.
I'm
on the list for a flight to Ramadi. The big bird
will swoop down, I'll go running out, and off we'll
go. No sitting around on the pad with these guys.
I'll spend a day in Ramadi, coordinating with the
Marines there, then catch a quick hop back here,
and then I'll be on the first available C-130 back
to Qatar.
It'll
be good to be back to where nobody is lobbing
explosives at me, and where the muttering of
distant 50 caliber machine guns isn't the norm.
Still, I'll miss the people I've met here, and I'll
miss the freedom to explore that I've been
enjoying. I'm afraid that after this place, Qatar
won't be nearly so interesting. That could be good
though.
I'm
anxious to get back to painting, and maybe there
I'll be able to carve out some time for it.
I'm
spending part of my last day here (I probably
shouldn't call it my last day, given how many times
that label has proven false) going around with our
civil engineering troops who're trying to locate a
hot water pump for this building. We visit all the
Iraqi building equipment suppliers and I try to
translate. I don't know half the words I need for
this kind of transaction (For some reason, I just
never learned how to say "recirculating water pump"
in Arabic.) so I've been making up my own ways of
explaining what we're looking for. It seems to be
working, although we haven't found a pump yet. It
would be great if, as a parting gift, I could help
provide hot water for the folks who've been housing
me in this building.
I
have to include this photo of a little dog we came
across during our travels. We found him her in one
of the fenced-off collections of shipping
containers and equipment stockpiles we visited
today. These are distinguishable from junkyards
only in that many junkyards appear to be better
organized. As we bartered and argued and cajoled
(only to learn that the item for which we were
bargaining was not to be found) this dog strutted
around like the owner of the place. She deigned to
sniff my hand dubiously, then sauntered away when I
stooped to pet her.
Although
I've known exceptions (I once visited a bazaar in
Tunis dedicated exclusively to the sale of dogs)
Arabs are not usually fond of dogs. They consider
them unclean. This pampered pet though, was
probably cleaner than any of us. Her coat shone,
and appeared to have been recently
brushed.
***
In
honor of my last day, the Chief, the Lt Col, and
the First Sergeant took me for a drive to see any
sights I might have missed. We passed what's known
as Saddam's brothel palace. The name is inaccurate,
because it implies that the women who lived there
did so voluntarily, or for money.
The
palace is shaped like a mosque, in that its central
feature is a large dome, several stories tall. On
closer inspection, the mosque seems to have been
crossed with a Motel 6. It's comprised of room
after room, all accessed from the outside. All
locked from the outside. Whomever occupied those
rooms did not do so voluntarily. They could not
come and go as they pleased. Those locks, and the
monsters that who their keys made sure of that.
Near
the brothel palace is a strange assembly of
concrete poured over lumber frames and wire mesh.
The concrete forms caves and walkways and little
tunnels that run in all directions. They lead to
what used to be cozy restaurants, cafes, and
terraces. Little nooks, just big enough to
accommodate a table for two, overlook a lake where
cormorants chase fish through clear water. I
suppose this was where the privileged Baathists
took the girls who were imprisoned nearby. They
probably wined and dined them just enough to ensure
the girls will always feel complicit in their own
despoilment.
This
is conjecture on my part. Maybe it's way off line,
but standing in what used to be those cozy cafes -
in the shadow of a mosque dedicated to rape - you
would not feel that such conclusions were far off
the mark.
Thanks
for all your notes and prayers. I'll write again
when I can.
Steven
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