To all,
I had meant to write more about what life is like at my camp in Basra, and still intend to do that over the next few months, but I got a chance this weekend to get in a British convoy south to Kuwait. While I can’t tell you any details of how a convoy works, I can give you my impressions of the trip, both in what Basra province looks like, what Kuwait looks like and, lastly, what life is like at Camp Arifjan, the largest U.S. Army base in the region.
Out of the base, the terrain is still flat and sandy of course. A pale almost white dust covers the earth, broken by ridges of earth, churned up by wheels or tracks, and spotted by clumps of dry, yellow grass. Small wadis mark the land, dry rain channels that are marked green by thin vegetation, and a few mud hovels. I say hovel because they are not much bigger than a living room, are built of what looks like hand-made mud bricks and have canvas or brush wood roofs. Oddly, almost every one has a small satellite dish, powered by what are clearly do-it-yourself power lines tapping into the main electrical lines that pass overhead – I should say that the few houses I saw were all built along the power line routes.
Moving south, water became more prevalent, and at times I saw clumps of small trees and small patches of irrigated land. Goats and very shaggy sheep were common, mostly wandering free but some inside stick fences like an old British Empire movie or something. We pass some newly built schools, some better looking cinder-block houses and even some small factories.
We pass a lot of kids, tending gardens or watching animals, and without exception they all wave, prompting sheepish waves back by some of us. Their smiles are infectious. The waves brought back memories of waving to the rare Army vehicles that drove along I-87 in New York when I was a kid, trying to get the soldiers to wave back.
We also pass a lot of wrecked Iraqi equipment, mostly old stuff like BT-7 armored troop carriers and even one T-72, revealing several large holes between the rust and graffiti. We cross the border into Kuwait and get released from the convoy, checking in with a bored looking girl at a stopping point. She’s a KBR employee, getting $6,000 a month to work at the customs station, and she can’t wait to get to Iraq and make $10K a month. There are contractors who’ve been here for three years (I met two of them in Arifjan), and plan on retiring when they get home. A risky business, but it is clearly rewarding to those of the right mindset.
At the border I saw some wrecked HMVs waiting for transport back home for repair. Spooky. Those were matched by others, resting new and freshly painted atop flatbeds (I see Mammut trucking equipment everywhere, they must have the contract or something) for the haul north. Good example of the costs of war, both in attrition and the logistics necessary to wage a war on a global stage.
We also pass an outbound Italian convoy, full of Army and Police armored vehicles, with gunners swaying atop, .50-calibe machine guns pointed skyward. The gunners smile and wave, and with the open windows, the short sleeves and goggles it has the look of an Afrika Korps expedition. Certainly wouldn’t want to mess with them, thats’ for sure.
Away from the border the countryside looks like Wyoming or South Dakota, flat and yellow-green, like the dry Great Plains, only without the mountains. The highway is new and wide, and we cruise south to Kuwait City, passing pipelines, literally hundreds of electrical towers carrying power every which way and the occasional tree-lined walled compounds. There are ruins too, shells of buildings and smashed equipment, perhaps remnants of the Iraqi occupation 16 years ago. There are no billboards and not much garbage, so it looks even more like an American highway though there are no guard rails, so it seems a little naked.
As we near Kuwait city, the oil wealth becomes more clear, with acacia trees lining the roads and even huge swathes of grass lining the highway medians. Rest stops dot the roads and then we are suddenly at the outskirts of the city, with open parks to one side and 3-4 story housing blocks on the other. And calling them blocks does them a disservice, as they are more like Florida or southern California beachfront condominiums, all pastel-colored stucco and plaster, with green-tinted windows, roof pools and studded with satellite dishes and phone antennas.
Oddly, there are still groups of camels wandering about. It must be a remnant of the old Bedu days when the desert was communally owned, open for all (well, within your tribe of course) to use but none to exploit for commercial gain.
Then we arrive at Arifjan. Which seems like paradise, in that odd sort of way when you come across something unusually luxurious, like the time you got to stay in a five-star hotel on a business trip or got bumped up to first-class on a trans-Atlantic flight.
Not that its’ Miami Beach or anything (though with the heat and humidity, it does have that August-in-Florida feel), but on the drive in, past the HMVs, barbed wire, the sandbags and machine guns, we passed a running track, tennis courts, beach volleyball and, wonder of wonders, an outdoor pool (!). Not to mention a Starbucks. It seemed a bit like heaven after the British base, which in comparison feels like a seedy 7-11 in need of some paint, new lighting and a new food buyer. The galley (or DFAC, i.e. dining facility) was beautiful too, with real chairs, nicely cherry-stained wood tables, flatware and ceramic plates (no plastic here, there must be General’s about!). I think what really sold it to me, however, was when I walked into the head and saw the marble bathroom counter, tile floor and experienced unlimited water in the shower. You really appreciate unlimited water when normally you have to take “ship showers” – which is 30 seconds to get wet, turn water off, lather up, 30 seconds to rinse and that is it. Luxury is a ten-minute hot shower! I know, I know, I keep focusing on creature comforts, pretty pathetic how spoiled I’ve gotten.
Anyway, I’ve done some shopping (big backpack to carry my armor and helmet, iron, sheets, a rug, a ton of snacks and such), used the free internet in the library, napped all weekend and gone swimming every evening (500 yards a night), so I’m feeling a bit like I’m at Club Med (though without the bikini-clad women and rum drinks…).
I’ve enclosed a shot of the pool as an illustration of how darn nice it is here, like there isn’t even a war on up north.
Hope all is well with everyone.
Fair Winds and Following Seas!