Monday, July 14, 2008
Barbecue and Far-Away America
Today was the penultimate day of our "Death by PowerPoint" sentence. The presentations are dry, mandated by the omniscient Higher Authorities but made palatable by the presenters' wit and experience. But this isn't about the training.
This is about coming back on the bus and getting a whiff of barbecue. This is about a bit of Americana in Baghdad. As soon as I stepped off the bus in front of the plywood gym's porch, I smelled America.
Camp Klecker has a lot of transients (including moi) but it's home to a lot more Americans. Periodically, people try to bring a bit of home to this place. Today the air was a mixture of Baghdad's hot, dusty atmosphere scented with grilled steaks. Amid casual-dress folks poking at a steak on plastic dishes, sliding around the Army-provided golf-ball-sized gravel in their flip-flops, their bare legs tipped this way and that below non-regulation shorts. Some people wore their Sunday-best sunglasses, others just the issued baseball hats. But everyone worked the floor in their own way. An alcohol-free Lowenbrau and crispy ribs puncutated discussions of work, of assignments, of this or that FOB (Forward Operating Base) and the work there. Sometimes you heard bits of conversation regarding plans for a vacation or how long it took to get somewhere from here via Blackhawk helicopter.
You couldn't get away from the endemic heat. The gal who poked the steaks over the coals had company. And she was casual about her beer bottle in one hand while the other flipped the well-done steaks. And there were more than just Americans around. Some South Africans are part of the cadre, so they were there, too. Maybe American culture is spreading world-wide. These folks were participating in what was essentially and quintessentially an American rite.
Though the inside of the MWR (an acronym for where you can sit in a comfy chair and watch TV in an air-conditioned trailer) was just a step away, these hardy folks chose to sit outside and make the best of a too-hot situation. Steak, non-beer, and soft drinks out of a cooler were the afternoon's importance.
The occasional staccato burst of automatic weapons from the neighboring Iraqi compound and the times when conversation comes to a stop while the helicopters fly overhead are the woof and warp of this life's fabric.
And just to underline the casualness of the event, many people chose to be elsewhere. No one took offense at the ones who didn't make an appearance. This is overseas and almost a forced casualness pervades like the oppressive heat- attendance is purely voluntary. It's so casual, it's *not* forced. You can't see this aspect, but it's there.
In some ways, I'm a million miles from home; this afternoon's camaraderie and barbecue made me realize- we bring America to wherever we are. One day, we'll all be somewhere else. But we'll always have this moment as part of our collective life far away.
I don't know if Baghdad will ever be universally Americanized. But that doesn't matter. For us, this afternoon, Baghdad didn't need to be more than it is- a hot, dusty, far-away place where lots of Americans collectively create something unique- clinking bottles amid steak-laden aromas, dusty feet below tanned legs and memories to bring back home.
This is about coming back on the bus and getting a whiff of barbecue. This is about a bit of Americana in Baghdad. As soon as I stepped off the bus in front of the plywood gym's porch, I smelled America.
Camp Klecker has a lot of transients (including moi) but it's home to a lot more Americans. Periodically, people try to bring a bit of home to this place. Today the air was a mixture of Baghdad's hot, dusty atmosphere scented with grilled steaks. Amid casual-dress folks poking at a steak on plastic dishes, sliding around the Army-provided golf-ball-sized gravel in their flip-flops, their bare legs tipped this way and that below non-regulation shorts. Some people wore their Sunday-best sunglasses, others just the issued baseball hats. But everyone worked the floor in their own way. An alcohol-free Lowenbrau and crispy ribs puncutated discussions of work, of assignments, of this or that FOB (Forward Operating Base) and the work there. Sometimes you heard bits of conversation regarding plans for a vacation or how long it took to get somewhere from here via Blackhawk helicopter.
You couldn't get away from the endemic heat. The gal who poked the steaks over the coals had company. And she was casual about her beer bottle in one hand while the other flipped the well-done steaks. And there were more than just Americans around. Some South Africans are part of the cadre, so they were there, too. Maybe American culture is spreading world-wide. These folks were participating in what was essentially and quintessentially an American rite.
Though the inside of the MWR (an acronym for where you can sit in a comfy chair and watch TV in an air-conditioned trailer) was just a step away, these hardy folks chose to sit outside and make the best of a too-hot situation. Steak, non-beer, and soft drinks out of a cooler were the afternoon's importance.
The occasional staccato burst of automatic weapons from the neighboring Iraqi compound and the times when conversation comes to a stop while the helicopters fly overhead are the woof and warp of this life's fabric.
And just to underline the casualness of the event, many people chose to be elsewhere. No one took offense at the ones who didn't make an appearance. This is overseas and almost a forced casualness pervades like the oppressive heat- attendance is purely voluntary. It's so casual, it's *not* forced. You can't see this aspect, but it's there.
In some ways, I'm a million miles from home; this afternoon's camaraderie and barbecue made me realize- we bring America to wherever we are. One day, we'll all be somewhere else. But we'll always have this moment as part of our collective life far away.
I don't know if Baghdad will ever be universally Americanized. But that doesn't matter. For us, this afternoon, Baghdad didn't need to be more than it is- a hot, dusty, far-away place where lots of Americans collectively create something unique- clinking bottles amid steak-laden aromas, dusty feet below tanned legs and memories to bring back home.
# posted by rich @ 9:36 AM 
