I went to a Patrol Base (PB) yesterday to talk to the soldiers and give them a quality of life survey. A PB is like a real small FOB, and is just a place for the soldiers to live, eat, and work out of. This one had TV, phones, internet, a weight room, a fountain in the front yard, and orange trees. I like to check in with them to see how they’re doing.
On the way to the PB, the convoy leader got confused and took us to the wrong PB, so we had to turn around and drive back across town. It wasn’t far so we weren’t too late, but we did get to go through the market in Kirkuk. Lots of tiny shops specializing in goods. I saw one shop that just sold plastic tricycles.
Interesting driving through Kirkuk. A few people waved, but certainly not a majority. On the other hand, I didn’t feel threatened. Saw some western clothing, lots of old fat women in full length black cloaks, and some young women, some with head scarves, some not.
We’re not supposed to look at the women, lest we offend their men, and most of the time that is not a difficult requirement to comply with. Last night, we pulled up next to a taxi, and I looked down through the two inch thick Hummv window into the taxi’s back seat, and saw a very pretty, and heavily made up, young Iraqi woman looking at me.
I’ve noticed that the women here really like to put a lot of makeup on their eyes. I suppose that in the strict areas where only the woman’s eyes are visible past the Burka, they like to make the eyes as captivating as possible.
At the PB, I climbed out on the flat roof of one of the three story buildings we are occupying (a former Bath Party building, I’m told, but who really knows). In the front yard of a house across the street, lights and music brightened a wedding party that was in full swing at sun down. We couldn’t see much, because of the trees. We could hear the music and the women making their traditional sound, kind of like “aye yi yi yi yi yi.” (Which is better than the traditional sound most of the women in my life make: “Where the hell you been?”)
I was looking down at the yard, and a corpulent man with a droopy mustaches wearing baggy brown pants stepped into the street and looked up at us. I waved at him. He smiled, bowed slightly, and swung both of his arms to his left, pointing flat-handed into the yard, inviting us to the wedding. I have no doubt it was a sincere invitation. Wish I could have gone.
2 comments:
I wish you could have gone too! Another lovely post. Do I see a book in your future--when you come home?
Thanks for the compliment. I'm not sure I could turn these posts into an interesting book. No narrative thread, no plot. I like the idea of writing a book, but not sure it will be based on the posts. I don't feel like enough interesting is happening to me over here to make a book.
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