Chaos

So I've been terrible at posting this week. I apologize. It's my last week in town, and life is basically chaos. I'm trying to finish two different long-term assignments while following major developments this week. Our two best staff members quit this afternoon, a decision that may not stick but is not good for the office.

And then there's Blackwater. I just wrote that "Sunday's shooting has inflamed deep-seated frustrations with Blackwater among Iraqis, many of whom view the company’s contractors as highly paid bullies who fail to respect citizens or customs of the country where they work." This is probably an understatement. Iraqis hate Blackwater contractors, and it's hard to blame them. These guys are making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year (I think the average salary for a contractor in Iraq runs about half a million) to drive around like bad-asses in their SUVs with M-16s poking out from the sunroof. They are arrogant, disrespectful of Iraqis and somewhat thuggish. I hate to generalize about an entire 1,000-person operation, but I have never had a good experience with Blackwater. Essentially, Iraqis see Blackwater as epitomizing everything terrible about Americans.

It will be interesting to see whether the revocation of the company's license sticks and if the Blackwater guys are forced out of the country. It would be a huge turnaround, considering the prestige their contractors have carried for the last four years. Whatever happens, my American colleague had a point yesterday when he said "Damn, it's nice to see the Iraqi government sticking up for it's people."

Time marches on

I don't think I was under any delusion that life in the U.S. would stop altogether while I was gone. I accepted early on that people would keep going to work, eating and sleeping and ::sigh:: even having fun without me. But I don't remember giving people permission to keep having all these life events while I'm thousands of miles away. And yet, my small circle of loved ones seems to be having a tremendously eventful summer. In the past few weeks:

• A friend got engaged
• A family friend got married
• OFH started his senior year of college
• So did my baby sister -- yikes!
• A close friend moved to DC
• A friend left my company and moved back to NYC
• Another moved to a new apartment in NYC
• At least three friends got their first grown-up jobs
  
• One good friend had a painful breakup
• A friend was officially cured of cancer, six years after I sat in her hospital room
  
• THREE favorite people, including the best friend who was already too far away, moved from NYC to Boston so two of them can get Ph.Ds or some ridiculous thing
• I lost one intolerable coworker from my very small office and gained a wonderful one
  
• One good friend moved to NYC to start law school

Maybe that's the normal rate of life, but it sure feels like the world is on fast-forward back there, and it makes me feel left out! Gchat and phone calls are wonderful, but I would give anything to have been there for any one of these events or these people. Last night one of the new Boston residents was describing a hilarious scene involving four of them hauling stuff into a fourth-floor walkup because the movers weren't going to get it all done, and it actually made my heart ache. I've got all these people describing their new lives -- new homes, jobs, relationship statuses, etc. -- and I just want to be there to lug boxes or hang pictures or buy beers. I want to feel like I'm being a good friend to people who should have good friends around, and it's hard to do that from here. I'm having flashbacks to freshman year, when I had a huge fear of being left out by my older, cooler friends.

So I have a request: can you all start having more boring lives for a couple of weeks? I'll be back soon, and hopefully you'll all be willing to help me play catch-up in person. But honestly: no more moves, no more weddings/engagement/breakups, no more new anything. Just for three weeks, okay?

Love,
Briony

The haircut story

In one of the worst decisions I've ever made, I decided to get my hair cut yesterday. Without a translator around. I was desperate for a trim, and this lady who runs a salon downtown was in our living room with all her supplies.

I held my fingers slightly apart to indicate I wanted about an inch taken off. She nodded, repeated "beautiful hair" a few times in English, and took up her scissors. With one cut, I lost seven inches of hair from the left side of my head. At that point, I couldn't do a thing about it -- I had to let her keep cutting, as I watched in horror in my bedroom mirror.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but after the whole experience was over I ran out of the room and began to cry. This may sound totally silly, but I felt completely violated. I liked my hair. I know I gripe about how much I shed and how insanely thick my mane is, but I really liked it. And she took that away. I instantly experienced this profound sense of loss that I still haven't shaken. This happened less than a week after our compound got stormed and my car got shot at, and though that day prompted an anxious day, I never cried -- and a phone conversation with a very wise friend calmed me down. I've now talked to two other close friends about the hair debacle, and despite their best efforts neither of them made much progress trying to convince me that this was not a life-threatening crisis.

My hair is now about shoulder length at its longest point, with incredibly dramatic layers going up to nose-length bangs. Bangs. I haven't had bangs since third grade. The layers make my stick-straight hair look bizarrely curly, but only on the ends, and it does this weird Farrah Fawcett feathering thing. There are people who have this haircut, even people who look good in it, but I'm not one of them. Half of it is too short to be pulled up, and these stupid bangs fall in my eyes. I hate it.

I am pleased to say I managed to look in a mirror a few minutes ago without feeling like I was going to cry all over again. I really, truly hate this haircut, but it's not wild and crazy or even poorly executed -- it's just not me. There are many women who have this haircut, so it's not like I'll look like a freak walking down a city street. Most of my male friends probably wouldn't notice it.

Apparently the normal growth rate for hair (about half an inch a month) can be sped up slightly by limiting its exposure to chlorine and other chemicals and eating a protein-rich diet. I've resolved not to set foot in the pool again while I'm here and force down as much mystery meat as possible.

Oh, what a day

It's been one of those days when working in Iraq is an incredibly frustrating experience. When I woke up this morning, I had exactly two items on my agenda: a noon meeting and a 2 p.m. meeting, both in the Green Zone. I didn't make it to either one.

About half an hour before I was scheduled to leave for the first meeting, an explosion shook our building. We soon learned that the cause was a car bomb a few blocks from our house. We left the house shortly afterward, but as soon as we turned from our little side street onto the main road we were greeted by a mass of cars at a complete standstill. Police had immediately begun blocking roads after the bomb, so we were stuck. We had left an hour to get to the Green Zone, about five miles away, but we quickly realized we'd never make it, so we turned around and went home.

At 1 p.m., I donned my abaya and hijab again and set out for the 2 p.m. meeting. We got onto the main road with relatively little trouble this time and thought we were in the clear. But when we turned onto Abu Nuwas Street, the once-thriving strip of restaurants and shops along the Tigris, we found another complete traffic jam. We inched along for 45 minutes or so, decided we wouldn't make it to the Green Zone anywhere near 2, and turned around. In an hour of driving, we made it precisely 2.2 miles round-trip. To make matters worse, the car was threatening to overheat, so we rode without air conditioning.

And then there is the cell phone problem. For one reason or another, the entire Iraqi cell network has been out of service all day long. It makes it a bit difficult to do my job.

Here's to a better day tomorrow.

Argh

D and I were just told by our security chief that the main place we wanted to visit for a project we're working on is off-limits. M said that D could go, but it'd be too dangerous for an American.

We'll get the project done through other means, but it's still so frustrating to hear the list of things I'm not allowed to do. I'm clearly not going to fight M's decision--I'm not interested in risking my life more than necessary--but that doesn't make it any easier to accept. I came to Baghdad to see Baghdad, but without being in a military Humvee I get to see very little. I feel the same way I did when D and I left for their shopping trip the other day; like I'm a six-year-old who's not quite tall enough to ride the cool roller coaster or a 16-year-old who still has to sit at the kids' table. Rationally I get it, I really do--please don't post comments reassuring me that this is for the best. If you know me, you know I want to see and do everything for myself, and having that privilege taken away is difficult no matter what the circumstances.

Presumably I'll get used to this, but right now it sucks. And no, I don't really care that I sound like a petulant child.