Blather

Last night Gunny L asked if I wanted to go to the port today, so I said "Yes." Today we went in three vehicles- the BATS marines and a few terps, the Major, the Intel Captain and the CWO2. I helped carry the BATS equipment inside, then they set up. After a bit, the Major wanted to go see the Port Director and I asked if I could meet him, too. I think this was a bit of a surprise to the Major, but he graciously let me go along. We walked the 200 yards or so across the yard to his office. When we got there, Major Malik said his boss, the General, was out inspecting the Syrian gate but he would be happy to talk with us. We filled up his office with the five of us- Leo the terp, the Major, the two other officers and me. But we had a good visit. After a while, General Fouad came in and we went to his office, a much larger, more nicely furnished one. We visited for about an hour and I asked some questions. I didn't want to upstage anyone else, but the conversation went towards the proposed Free Trade Zone and the Syrians' lack of effort in making such an entity happen. It was a very good meeting. Then the Major wanted some alone time with him, so the two officers and I went to the lobby. We chatted a bit until the Major came out. We did the polite hand-shaking thing all around with the General and his Major, then we left.

Back in the admin building where the BATS were having a very slow day, we went to the break room and found some food. I ate a 28 gram MRE cracker with some peanut butter and drank a diet Pepsi. (Gotta watch those carbs.) The Major and I talked about a Free Trade Zone. I explained how a FTZ works- you physically have merchandise in a country without paying duty on it until you 1) import it or 2) re-export it, giving him some practical examples. He confirmed that the FTZ is supposed to go in the old Gannon location. I think that's an excellent choice for a location. I told him that physical security of the site is paramount. And given the local Customs' tendency towards corruption, security and accountability are extremely important.
I left the Major to see if my friend the Civil Customs guy was around. He wasn't, but his deputy was there, so Stephan and I chatted a long time with him and another customs guy. I wasn't trying to accomplish any specific task, but merely to get acquainted and compare Customs stories. We did that for well over an hour. I think it all went well. During our talk, we lost power twice- each time for only a few minutes, but this seemed so normal that no one got very excited.
Around three in the afternoon, the port was getting ready to close. Stephan and I went back to see how the BATS were doing- two of the three stations were packed up, and the one working one had two customers waiting. The processing took a few more minutes, then we geared up and left. The drive back was through the town of Husiabah, and I got some photos of houses and a couple of residents. (If I ever get back to blogging, I may put those photos up along with this text.)

When we returned, I helped the marines lug some ammo from the humvee to the armory. Then I changed clothes, putting on the gym shorts that SSGT R gave me. Yes, my T-shirt was still funky, but I wanted to do something active. I jogged one lap around the camp. Took me five minutes, since this isn't a very large camp. But I was all done by the time I finished one lap. I sat in the smoke pit and rested, chatting with a few marines and terps. After I'd rested, it was after five PM and time for chow.

Chow- crab legs and pork chops. I had hoped for steak, so I passed on the pork chops. The chow hall was packed, so I carried my tray back to our smoke pit and ate. A few of Iraq'a more tenacious flies kept me from eating too quickly- it's very difficult to eat and flap your hands at the flies. And they don't mind landing on your hand while you're doing the flapping, either. In my "can't we all just get along on this planet" mode, I put a piece of crabshell on the table so they could land on that and leave my tray alone, but they called a lot of their friends and did both, swarming the crabshell and landing on my plate. Stephan saw me trying to deal with the flies and said to either let them have my food or take my food inside to the MWR. I didn't want to be defeated by mere insects. I smashed a few of them with my boonie hat while I was eating, hoping that the dead flies would discourage the rest. But such was not to be. The pesky critters ate the dead flies as well as landing on my tray.

After eating, I took a shower. I stopped by the laundry to see if I had a chance of doing a wash. The laundry was deserted! I couldn't believe my luck, so I opened each washer and yes, there were no clothes in any of them. And the dryers were silent, too. This was too good to be true! I lifted the lever on the sink's faucet and there was no water. That explained the dearth of people doing laundry. So I puffed up my confidence and tried the shower. There was water and that was enough for me. I took my shower, shaved and brushed my teeth. Since I'd forgotten to bring pants, I put on my last pair of clean underwear and slipped the funky gym shorts on over. Yes, my personal standards of hygiene have slipped since I've been here. I'm not as fussy about what touches me as I used to be. I came back, checked the list of who was going out tomorrow and saw that my name was absent. This disappointed me because I had a good day at the port and would like to have another. But I can't change what's written there.

I saw the Major and asked how our internet was going. He said we had it. And the guy who fixed it was sleeping in Rick's bed. We needed the router's password from the CWO2 whose router we were using. The Major and I caught him in the COC and he said he'd give the password first to the POETT Marines (mainly the senior NCOs and the officers), then to the CBP and DHS guys, then to the BATS marines and lastly to the terps. If the router got too slow, he'd change the password and limit who could use the wireless. This disappointment seemed a bit arbitrary, but the router belongs to him personally, so asking him to make exceptions seems difficult. I went back to the MWR and saw that the other computers there were working fine. They were fine because they were all being used. I endured some bad TV hoping for some time on the internet, but no one got up.

I took myself outside and sat on the dusty, not-too-broken couch for a minute, looking up at the sky through the hole in the cammo netting and decided that I wanted to see the entire sky, so I walked across the dusty road and sat on the single humvee seat that someone left on the ground next to the storage container. I wanted a cigar, but I have only one left, and my chances of getting more in the next 11 days before the PX truck appears are slim.

Tonight was different, the moon was hiding and peeking out behind clouds. We saw lightening over Husaibah. The wooden sidewalk was wet. But the few raindrops might not have been measurable. As I sat in my humvee seat, I noticed that it was damp. I didn't get up because I didn't care if my butt got damp, I wanted to watch the sky awhile. I did.

The clouds hid the moon but the moon lit them up, shaping them like Africa. Or maybe like a big huge question mark whose irony went over my earthbound head. The moon's light lit up the clouds from behind, making white streaks across the sky. Only a few of the brighter stars were visible through the cloud cover, but they sure seemed bright. I waited for the mosque's singing, but I guess I was too late, so tonight, my Iraq was just about clouds and the moon and the stillness of the night.

As I sat in my damp humvee seat, two different people came out with the Iridium phone. I had an impulse to sign up for it myself, but that would have ended my gazing at the sky. The stillness wasn't quite complete, either. The generators, too loud for conversation when you're next to them, were pretty muffled by distance and the swahuts of the POETT. Though you could hear the generators faintly, the stillness was there. Some marines came and smoked cigarettes but I stayed where I was. The need to be near someone was not as strong as my desire to just look at the stars and let my mind think about other things, like going home for vacation. I wanted the peace to think. I'd had some good times with everyone already, so I didn't think I was being too much of a loner or a hermit. But, upon reflection, I think I was: the others did congregate for a smoke or a visit and I stayed by myself across the road in my damp humvee seat.
It's 23:30, later than I've stayed awake for a long time. Writing seems more than a compulsion, it's a way to get my thoughts straight and had its own intrinsic therapeutic value for me. Not sure why, but writing seems to compliment star-gazing.