Out of Iraq

I flew out of Baghdad this afternoon and landed in Amman a couple of hours ago. I'm excited to spend a couple of days here going to Petra and the Dead Sea, getting a massage at the luxurious Four Seasons and doing a bit of shopping.

That said, I'm really sad about leaving Baghdad. Our crazy frat house had become my home, and the guys had become my brothers. And as war-torn as the city itself may be, I feel like it's my war-torn city. Saying goodbye was really hard -- everybody came outside to wave me off, and I wanted to cry. J, my American coworker, is one of my favorite people in the world, and I hate that I won't get to see him every day anymore. I think it's going to be very strange to go back to living alone.

Fortunately, A is in Amman at the moment as well, so I don't have to totally divorce myself from Baghdad quite yet. We're going out on the town tonight and to Petra tomorrow, so hopefully it'll take my mind off of being sad.

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."

Dress to impress

The more time I spend with other western women here, the more I realize how much the question of what to wear starts to dominate our lives. At home, unless I'm going to work I basically exist in jeans and t-shirts. I am not the fussiest person about clothes, to put it mildly, so in Iraq I'm forced to put WAY more thought into these choices than I'm used to.

As I've explained here before, my goal in moving around Baghdad is to blend in as a normal Iraqi woman. This means wearing a hijab and either an abaya or Iraqi-looking shirt. I own two shirts that I bought here, neither of which I would wear in the U.S. (suffice it to say they both have a significant number of sequins). So, when I'm going to an interview in Baghdad, I generally wear one of the shirts with jeans and sequined flip-flops -- there are a lot of sequins in my life. If we're going to a conservative neighborhood where an insurgent group dominates, I wear the full abaya, but I try to avoid that if at all possible.

Of course, I have an entirely different costume for trip out with the military. Besides the flak jacket and helmet, I'm also required to wear a long-sleeved shirt on the helicopters, and wearing a trendy Iraqi shirt would just be weird. I generally opt for a button-down collared shirt and khakis, plus hiking boots (which have saved me from spraining an ankle several times already).
The problem occurs when I have a need for both sets of clothing -- whenever I need to travel through Baghdad to meet the military (i.e. every time I go out with them). Often, I can get away with my button-down shirt and a hijab for the short drive to the military pick-up point, but today that wasn't the case. I went to lunch at Camp Victory, a military base at the airport -- a lengthy drive from the office, on the most dangerous road in the city. The REI shirt wasn't going to cut it.

The solution was slightly complicated, but it worked. Abaya and hijab to the airport (where I was attending a lunch meeting with Lt. Gen. Ray Odierno, the three-star general that is second in command to Gen. Petraeus), stash both in the car in exchange for body armor and helmet for the short helicopter ride to Odierno's home. On the way out, throw the body armor and helmet in the trunk, abaya and hijab back on. As I was adjusting my hijab for the drive home, I realized how crazy this all was, and yet how accustomed to it I've become. Tomorrow I have no appointments, and I'm going to be perfectly happy to sit home in my jeans and t-shirt.

Stress

I officially committed to staying in Baghdad until Sept. 23 last night, which will bring my total time in country to 11 weeks (instead of the eight I initially committed to). If this decision had come just two hours earlier, I might have been mostly excited about it. As it was, this came an hour after gunmen had attacked the guards that man the entrance to our compound, so I wasn't feeling too thrilled about the whole Iraq concept.

Tensions have been running high around here since the incident last night. For a few of us, the stress was compounded by another scary incident this morning. On our way to a meeting at the Green Zone, we attempted to drive down the road that hundreds of Shiite pilgrims were using to return for an aborted religious festival in the southern city of Karbala. People were packed into buses and trucks, with many riding on the roofs of each vehicle because there was not enough room inside. There were lots of guns as well. At one point, somebody shot twice directly at our car. It would have been tough for them to figure out I was an American, since I was dressed like an Iraqi, so it was probably because they assumed our armored car was carrying a VIP. An AK-47 bullet won't go through armor, so we were never in any real danger, but combined with last night's violence it was too close for comfort.

By the time we made it past all the pilgrims, we heard that the road we needed to take was closed, so we turned around to head back. By then, they had also closed the road leading back to the office, so we were stuck in the middle of a scene that seems to have all the necessary characteristics to prompt a riot. We were contemplating leaving the cars and walking back to the office, but one of our drivers managed to bribe a soldier to let us through a barricade. Traffic jams are so, so scary in Baghdad because they are the perfect setting in which to set off a car bomb. We made it back to the office just fine, but the sequence of events has made me a bit uneasy.

Walking

Tonight I walked over to the hotel across the street for a glass of wine with a bunch of other westerners. On the way over, one of our guards escorted me, brandishing his AK-47 the whole way. This hotel couldn't be more than 100 steps from our front door, but in order to go anywhere I need an escort.

Still, even our security guards aren't obsessive enough to sit and wait for me to come out, so I got to make the long walk home by myself. I didn't think anything of it when I set out, but while I was walking down the block I realized how nice it was to just walk at night by myself and look up at the sky. It was the most relaxing moment I've had since I've been here, and although it didn't last long it was fairly refreshing. Most people take for granted the ability to walk down a silent street late at night, but I think I had forgotten how wonderful those moments can be.

Hey what else can we do now
Except roll down the window
And let the wind blow back your hair
Well the night's busting open
These two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back
Heaven's waiting on down the tracks
Oh oh come take my hand
Riding out tonight to case the promised land
Oh oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road
oh Thunder Road

...

Well I got this guitar
And I learned how to make it talk
And my car's out back
If you're ready to take that long walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free
And I know you're lonely
For words that I ain't spoken
But tonight we'll be free
All the promises'll be broken

Gen. Petraeus

I met David Petraeus, the top U.S. military commander in Iraq, for the first time today. Actually, I spent a very long, very hot, very dusty day following him around Taji and the surrounding area. The already brutal day was made more so by a couple of particularly hellish helicopter landings. Most notably, our pilot noticed an IED on the road we were about to touch own onto, so we hit the ground for a split second and shot straight back up. It was especially unpleasant for those of us with weak stomachs.

I attended a briefing with Petraeus, who has pulled off the unbelievable feat of being wildly popular while being in charge of a wildly unpopular war. I have to admit, I see the appeal. He's relatively young and very charismatic -- the kind of guy who manages to convince everyone that he is their best friend. He's clearly pretty brilliant, too -- 10th in his class at West Point and a master's and Ph.D from Princeton, and it shows.

I watched Petraeus take questions from a handful of reporters, which was an interesting experience. Most military officials (or politicians, or CEOs) will assure reporters immediately that everything is rosy and any tiny little problems are far overshadowed by the successes. But like I say, Petraeus is brilliant, so he realizes cynical reporter types will see right through that. So instead, he starts with the problems. He says things like "I'm not going to tell you everything is perfect, because it's not. We've got problems x, y and z." By the end of his spiel today, he had still talked far more about the successes than the problems, but the reporters were less inclined to totally dismiss everything he said because he lured them in with a tiny bit of what they wanted to hear. Smart move.

All in all, a totally fascinating guy I would like to know more about. I can highly recommend this article about him, by a guy who ended up writing his biography.

Helicopter photos

I can't turn down a request from my favorite photojournalist, so here are some photos from my helicopter ride to Baquba. The quality isn't great -- the combination of a point-and-shoot camera, a fast-moving helicopter, a fairly restrictive seatbelt and a non-photojournalist shooting -- but they're kind of fun to look at. There are also photos of me in my helmet and body armor, which I will not post here but will put on Facebook (and e-mail to my mother, who is banned from creating a Facebook profile).

Actually, the photo layout options in Blogger are terrible for multiple photos, so just go here.

Oh man

I didn't bring nearly enough Carmex to Baghdad. This is a problem of epic proportions for an admitted junkie. My lips may fall off.

The main reason for this sentiment at this particular moment in time is that today I had my first helicopter ride. When it is hot outside, troops leave the sliding doors on both sides of the helicopter open. For the person in the front row of back seats, this causes a constant blast of hot air directly in your face.

I had been warned about this before leaving on my trip to Baquba (zoom out for some context) and advised not to sit in the two seats by the doors. On the way in I successfully avoided it, landing in a (closed) window seat in the back row. On the way back to Baghdad, I got unlucky -- last person to the chopper gets the tornado seat! I think the dust is permanently embedded in my face (this is after a shower and a copious amount of moisturizer), and my lips... oh man.

On a related note, wearing 30 pounds of body armor and a five-pound helmet when it's 130 degrees outside is not so pleasant. I felt like I was about to fall over all day long.

All that being said, though, the helicopter ride was pretty cool. Maybe when I'm less tired I will post photos taken from the sky. They mostly show desert, which is kind of a boring thing to photograph, but I had fun doing it. There's a whole lot of open desert here.

What do we think are the chances of Baghdad-produced lip balm satisfying a Carmex addict?

Parliament's recess

The issue of the Iraqi parliament's August recess has become hugely controversial in the U.S. (much more so than in Iraq, it seems). Most recently, I came across this Mitch Albom column arguing that the month-long vacation is ridiculous as the war is going on. Tony Snow certainly didn't help the legislators' case with his glib comment that "it's 130 degrees in Baghdad in August" since, um, there are American troops there with 80 pounds of gear on (and the rest of us are still working here too!). This seems to be the one Iraq-related topic that people across the political spectrum are riled up about. It seems to me that the outrage on the right is motivated by frustrations that there won't be any political progress made by the Sept. 15 deadline for a progress report -- and with waning Congressional support for the war, that report will be important for Bush. I tend to think that line of argument against the recess is more valid than the left's, which seems to me to be driven by some childish glee every time something goes wrong in Iraq.

All that said, I think all the criticism is misguided. First of all, as lawmakers have pointed out in numerous media accounts, the recess is constitutionally-mandated. Parliament is supposed to be in session for two four-month sessions each year, with a two-month break between each session. The two breaks can be shortened to one month at the request of the Prime Minister, but the way I read the constitution it can't be any shorter than a month.

Sure, critics say, but if they were really dedicated they would pass emergency legislation to change the statute and stick around. But let's keep in mind that many, if not most lawmakers have moved their families out of Baghdad because they could be targeted here. Without a break, parliament members would have the choice between leaving their families in Baghdad -- where members of the government and their families would be good targets for many insurgent groups -- or not seeing their spouses, children, etc. at all. Since it's not their fault that Baghdad is unsafe, punishing them like that seems unfair.

We should also remember that legislators generally work seven days a week when they are in session (and I mean holding sessions every day, not typing a few e-mails from home). The reason for the breaks is because they aren't getting time off during the rest of the year, which would seem slightly cruel.

A column (subscription only) in The New York Times a couple of weeks ago summed up one other important point nicely. I don't mean this as a political statement, or even as a criticism of Congress, just some context:

"It is also mildly bizarre to see our lawmakers castigate the Iraqis for taking a summer recess when they themselves have just taken a break (the ''spring district work period''), which occurred even as work on a bill to provide money for our troops went uncompleted. And that's not the end of it. They are also preparing to take another siesta in August (the ''summer district work period'').

Some have argued that it's far more important for the Iraqis to meet, because they're in the middle of a war. But lest we forget, there are American men and women fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq right now. We're in the middle of a war, too."

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.

A brief respite

Just a quick update, since I'm completely wiped and am about to fall into my plush Four Seasons bed. I'm now on a later flight to Baghdad tomorrow, which is the best news I've heard in days. My original flight was at 9, which would require leaving the hotel at 6:30--not welcome news for someone who's been traveling for 36 hours. I definitely need a full night's sleep tonight, and now I'll get it. My plane leaves Amman at 2 and gets into Baghdad at 4:30. It'll take a couple of hours to get through customs and get to our house, but I promise to post something here as soon as I'm back--should be around 7 or so (11 a.m. EDT).