The Fertile Crescent...Smells Like Poo

Wednesday, November 7th, 2007- 11:03pmThe Fertile Crescent...Smells Like Poo...or What A Wonderful New Smell You Discovered... or 10 kilometers and Waist Deep

But first - Something Completely Different....My feet are disgusting. The toes look positively ruined, scratched and bruised, dried-up blisters growing over older dried-up blisters (and those likely covering even older dried up blisters). And my ankle is swollen uncomfortably - although at least not painfully.

My back - my back is a mess, muscles knotted and sore, far worse than any back I've ever rubbed. Oh, and how I would pay for a good back rub right now. The pain's centered in my right shoulder and in my middle back.

No matter how I adjust my gear, it's never really pain free for too long on our little hikes.
But, honestly, I regret nothing when it comes to these walks. Dismounted patrols are the highlight of my days here. Typically we head out early in the mornings, sometimes with the IA (Iraqi Army) accompanying us, sometimes not (and we always have to wait outside their compound for them to get ready). The CO (Commanding officer), our Captain, likes to accompany the platoons every time they're walking, so I trudge along with him and the rest of his entourage approximately every 2-3 days. And everytime, without fail, I smile my ridiculous smile as we head out the gate, my body armor and radio gear weighing me down, but I smile none the less, happy to be walking on a sunny day.

And I'm still smiling as I greet the locals in Arabic as we pass on by them - young and old alike. Most, if not traveling from one place to another, will stop what they're doing - watching as as our foot patrol moves along. The children usually wave first, as will some adults. And most everyone - young and old alike - will return our waves and smiles, they'll respond to our greetings (although some days it seems greetings are slower and colder than usual).

Sometimes children will even walk thru our patrol - as two did today - hurrying on their way back from school. While I wish I could say that I remembered their names, I can at least remember that they were 13 and 14. And they both smiled at my attempts to use my limited Arabic, unlike the gaptoothed old-man on a moped we saw earlier from across a canal. He I greeted with a hearty as-salam alaykum (peace be with you) and shloanik (how are you?). And before I could even blink he was chattering away in rapid-fire Arabic while the CO laughed at me - "Oh, you've done it now, Munoz!" Realizing that I had no real idea what the old-codger was saying, I apologized for my limited Arabic and bid him a good day and continued on my way. That's what I get for my complexion and mustache and even limited Arabic, I suppose.It's the little encounters, no matter how small, that make it worthwhile for me. The people, for the most part, seem generally appreciative of our presence, warm and friendly in their greetings. And it's quite a treat for me trying to talk to them, even if briefly. Most seem poor, their clothes shabby and dirty. Those that work, usual work either as farmers or now in the Concerned Local Citizens groups that have grown up since the Awakening that began in Anbar Province. The vast majority here are Sunni. And while I've yet to discuss religion with any of the locals, judging from the colorful headscarves and clothes - pinks, oranges, and even sequins shining in the sun - worn by at least half of the younger women (although most of the older wear entirely black), it can't be the most conservative of areas.

Our small slice of Iraq is not the classic chunk of desert. Although the dust will kick up in numerous places (moondust we call it because of the way it billows underfoot, clouds forming when we step or drive thru it). Instead, our bit of Iraq is green and moist, well-irrigated by canals and their murky water (which none of us for even a second consider clean). Along each of these canals - the bigger ones properly dug and lined with concrete, the majority nothing more than long lines dug into the dirt and then filled with water - are nigh-endless walls of reeds that often grow above the tallest soldier's head. Rumor has it that unless pulled by the roots, they'll grow back in mere days - even after facing a flame-thrower.

The canals serve to support and divide the surrounding farmland - a mix of smallish green plots, some of which grow crops unknown to me, many of which serve as grazing land for numerous skinny cows and flocks of dirty sheep. The animals are the reason the area smells not unlike a dirty zoo - the uncomfortable odor of manure baking in the summer heat (because our day-time always seems to feel like summer). The fertile crescent does, indeed, smell of cow poop. The canals also often serve as borders between tribes and sheikhs. It was at once such canal - which separated the Karboli from the Jaburi, if memory serves - that we encountered today's major obstacle. The canal was a long water-filled dirt trench, with steep sides too wide apart to be jumped. Unfortunately, it was directly in our path. So, after surveying our immediate options - including the CO's hilarious attempt to jump over (video to be attached - I'm in the background) - we resigned ourselves to fording it as best we could.

Now, me, I'm not the tallest of people. So upon entering the water, I suddenly found myself waist-deep wading thru reeds that seemed twice my height, my M4 held above my head as I hoped that my packback and it's radio wouldn't get completely soaked. And upon reaching the other - steeper - side, I, luckily, had 3 or 4 IA soldiers to help pull me up and out of the muck to the relative dryness above. So, after watching the rest of the platoon similarly cross, we were all finally over and able to resume our patrol, our water-logged boots squelching with every step. And there were many steps yet to take. Our gear all the heavier now that we were wet. And the farm-scent now seemed all the stronger, lingering upon the mud that caked our clothes and equipment.

Luckily, most of us are good-natured and try to keep a sense of humor throughout everything. My favorite line came from my pal Hoagland, a cynical 20-something that needs to move to NYC after he escapes the Army. After we all waded thru the less than pure canal water, he quipped "Yeah, took a Hep test. Did pretty good. Got an A. Two B's. And a C." And I suppose it seemed extra funny because of the heat and the exhaustion - similar to how everything seems funnier when you're still awake at four in the morning.

Speaking of still being awake in the morning - it's almost 1am (got interrupted by 2nd platoon knocking on our door for emergency commo help earlier. don't worry, I squared them away), so it's bedtime for me.

But to summarize: It's farmy, wet, and smelly. We walk alot thru the heat and the mud and the gear is heavy. But despite all that, I love the walk because I get to chit-chat, at least a little, with the locals and see what the area and the people are like.