Ramadan begins today. Living in an Islamic country during holy days is fascinating. Restaurants close altogether, since there's nobody to buy food during the day -- everyone fasts. Among my coworkers are a large number of people who don't practice Islam (no prayers, no visits to the mosque, in several cases no belief whatsoever), but they all celebrate Ramadan. Celebrating only high holy days is obviously not limited to Muslims, but when it's such a huge commitment -- no food or drink during the day for an entire month! -- it seems particularly striking.
Because everyone at home is fasting, I am too. We'll eat two meals a day: a break-fast/dinner at 8 or so, then something light before we all fall into bed at 2:30 (or 3, or 4...). I don't really eat during the morning anyway, and if I'm running back and forth to different meetings I occasionally miss lunch, so I don't think this will be a huge problem. And no, it's not the first step to my conversion.
There is one definite problem, however. I'm leaving tomorrow night to go on a trip with the military for three days. Since I'm only fasting because everyone else is fasting, presumably I wouldn't do it around soldiers (it would be a bit awkward to say in the dining hall that I'm not Muslim but I am fasting for Ramadan). Additionally, soldiers work incredibly hard in still-brutal heat, so I think maybe I should not pass up opportunities for fuel -- and the idea of working outside all day without water sounds unappealing. On the other hand, plenty of Iraqis do the same thing...
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Sleep
I've been thinking recently about the war's effect on the simplest parts of life. Outdoor markets are frequent targets of car bombs, so shopping is very difficult. As I mentioned earlier, walking through the street -- a luxury that most people take for granted -- is dangerous, especially for a woman alone. But the biggest effect of the war on people's daily life might be the problems sleeping.
There are a few problems with sleeping in Baghdad. The first, and most common, is that it's often too hot to sleep at all without electricity. Even at night, the temperature in the summer hovers at or above 100 degrees. Making it worse, Baghdad residents are only getting about an hour of city-provided electricity a day, and for the vast majority of people who cannot afford to run generators (even an average-sized generator can only run for a few hours a day -- our house has three massive ones), the heat is unbearable at night.
Consequently, people flock to their roofs, hoping for some slightly cooler open air for long enough to get a few hours of sleep. But sleeping on the roof is a scary thing -- especially in some of the more dangerous neighborhoods, mortar rounds fly through the air regularly. Sleep can be difficult because of a more general fear of violence as well. Most Baghdad residents
have adapted to living with some degree of fear -- if you can't delude yourself that your bedroom is safe, you've got nothing left. But with helicopters flying low and loud every night and fairly regular sounds of gunshots and explosions in the distance, sleep doesn't always come easily.
This morning I mentioned in the newsroom that I was staring at my ceiling at about 4:30 in the morning, unable to sleep. "Me too," my American colleague said. "Me too," A added. "And me," D said. We realized that all four of us had been lying in adjacent rooms, wide awake in the pre-dawn hours. There was a pause, then all four of us laughed, slightly uneasily.
There are a few problems with sleeping in Baghdad. The first, and most common, is that it's often too hot to sleep at all without electricity. Even at night, the temperature in the summer hovers at or above 100 degrees. Making it worse, Baghdad residents are only getting about an hour of city-provided electricity a day, and for the vast majority of people who cannot afford to run generators (even an average-sized generator can only run for a few hours a day -- our house has three massive ones), the heat is unbearable at night.
Consequently, people flock to their roofs, hoping for some slightly cooler open air for long enough to get a few hours of sleep. But sleeping on the roof is a scary thing -- especially in some of the more dangerous neighborhoods, mortar rounds fly through the air regularly. Sleep can be difficult because of a more general fear of violence as well. Most Baghdad residents
have adapted to living with some degree of fear -- if you can't delude yourself that your bedroom is safe, you've got nothing left. But with helicopters flying low and loud every night and fairly regular sounds of gunshots and explosions in the distance, sleep doesn't always come easily.
This morning I mentioned in the newsroom that I was staring at my ceiling at about 4:30 in the morning, unable to sleep. "Me too," my American colleague said. "Me too," A added. "And me," D said. We realized that all four of us had been lying in adjacent rooms, wide awake in the pre-dawn hours. There was a pause, then all four of us laughed, slightly uneasily.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Dust storm
I actually can't believe that I'm writing two weather posts in one day, but this is just insane. As I acknowledged in the first post today, I've never spent time in a desert, so I didn't really understand what a sandstorm/duststorm/call it what you will was. Now I do, and it's both bizarre and disgusting.
Around 5 p.m. our time today, the sky turned brown. Not gray, as in to indicate a storm, brown. Khaki-colored, to be precise. I heard the wind whipping around and noticed a layer of sand on top of everything. Being the adventurous sort, I walked outside. Big mistake--by the time I came back in, I was covered in a very fine layer of dust. My hair had turned lighter, my navy blue shirt looked filthy, and my mouth tasted like sawdust. Very appealing, all of it.
A few minutes ago, M came back after taking a quick dip in the pool. The water on his body combined with the sand had made his entire body muddy. He proceeded to gleefully waddle around in a towel offering to hug everyone while we ran away and threatened him with pool cues.
So now when my glorious little weather widget (thanks again, MMS) says there's a duststorm, you know to avoid this place in July.
Around 5 p.m. our time today, the sky turned brown. Not gray, as in to indicate a storm, brown. Khaki-colored, to be precise. I heard the wind whipping around and noticed a layer of sand on top of everything. Being the adventurous sort, I walked outside. Big mistake--by the time I came back in, I was covered in a very fine layer of dust. My hair had turned lighter, my navy blue shirt looked filthy, and my mouth tasted like sawdust. Very appealing, all of it.
A few minutes ago, M came back after taking a quick dip in the pool. The water on his body combined with the sand had made his entire body muddy. He proceeded to gleefully waddle around in a towel offering to hug everyone while we ran away and threatened him with pool cues.
So now when my glorious little weather widget (thanks again, MMS) says there's a duststorm, you know to avoid this place in July.
Welcome to the desert
If I were technologically savvy, I would insert some sort of little plug-in to this blog page that automatically displayed the current temperature in Baghdad (it occurs to me that I have friends, some of whom may even be reading this blog, who are technologically savvy. Just sayin'.) In layman's term's it's really freaking hot.
Now, I knew before I got into this that Iraq is a hot place. It's the desert, after all, and deserts are typically warm. But I guess I thought hot meant D.C.-in-August temperatures--100, maybe a little over on a bad day. And then I found this web site. There I learned that the average high temperature in July is 110 degrees. Yikes. A couple of weeks before I left, I looked at a huge worldwide weather map in USA Today and noticed that Baghdad was the hottest place in the entire world. This heat doesn't mess around.
Fortunately our house is air-conditioned, with the exception of the hallways and the bathrooms. I don't spend much time hanging out in the hall, but walking from the cool sanctuary of my bedroom to go take a shower is a rough transition. Even while taking a cold shower I can feel the hot air.
On Saturday, when I had to wait outside while the Green Zone's identification staff took an extended lunch break, I learned what 114 degrees feels like. People keep telling me that it's a dry heat, that it's so much more manageable than the humidity of D.C. Well, they're wrong. 114 is not manageable. 114 is brutal, cruel, inhumane. Especially in an abaya and hijab.
UPDATE: MMS wins the geeky friend prize, and I now have a weather display. Awesome.
Now, I knew before I got into this that Iraq is a hot place. It's the desert, after all, and deserts are typically warm. But I guess I thought hot meant D.C.-in-August temperatures--100, maybe a little over on a bad day. And then I found this web site. There I learned that the average high temperature in July is 110 degrees. Yikes. A couple of weeks before I left, I looked at a huge worldwide weather map in USA Today and noticed that Baghdad was the hottest place in the entire world. This heat doesn't mess around.
Fortunately our house is air-conditioned, with the exception of the hallways and the bathrooms. I don't spend much time hanging out in the hall, but walking from the cool sanctuary of my bedroom to go take a shower is a rough transition. Even while taking a cold shower I can feel the hot air.
On Saturday, when I had to wait outside while the Green Zone's identification staff took an extended lunch break, I learned what 114 degrees feels like. People keep telling me that it's a dry heat, that it's so much more manageable than the humidity of D.C. Well, they're wrong. 114 is not manageable. 114 is brutal, cruel, inhumane. Especially in an abaya and hijab.
UPDATE: MMS wins the geeky friend prize, and I now have a weather display. Awesome.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Heat stroke
Strasburg, Va. gets fairly hot in late June. This can have negative effects on one's body. Today, I learned this the hard way.
We were in the early stages of an obstacle course when I first developed a headache. After a few more times diving to the ground because of incoming rifle shots or grenades, I was feeling completely dizzy. The course leader radioed for one of the other teachers to come pick me up in the SUV, which he did within a few minutes. I don't like giving up, and I was not pleased to come off the course, especially before the mortar bombs went off, but I went.
For the next couple of hours, I was feeling dizzy and nauseous, but after half a dozen bottles of water and some Advil, I seem to have recovered nicely. Several of the course leaders asked me if I had been drinking heavily last night (um, no.), but they eventually concluded that sometimes these things just happen. If it happens in Baghdad I'm not going to be happy.
On deck tomorrow: handling mass casualties, dealing with checkpoints and dressing chest wounds. My goal is to stay in the shade.
We were in the early stages of an obstacle course when I first developed a headache. After a few more times diving to the ground because of incoming rifle shots or grenades, I was feeling completely dizzy. The course leader radioed for one of the other teachers to come pick me up in the SUV, which he did within a few minutes. I don't like giving up, and I was not pleased to come off the course, especially before the mortar bombs went off, but I went.
For the next couple of hours, I was feeling dizzy and nauseous, but after half a dozen bottles of water and some Advil, I seem to have recovered nicely. Several of the course leaders asked me if I had been drinking heavily last night (um, no.), but they eventually concluded that sometimes these things just happen. If it happens in Baghdad I'm not going to be happy.
On deck tomorrow: handling mass casualties, dealing with checkpoints and dressing chest wounds. My goal is to stay in the shade.
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