Home Sweet Home

The photos above show the inside of my "hooch," and the view from my front door. I'll take some better photos when I get the chance.

I knew that the relatively good life in Baghdad was not going to last, and I was right. After a little over two weeks in Baghdad, the powers that be finally decided I should probably get started on the work they hired me for, so I got on the helicopter and took off for Diyala. Where you ask? .... Exactly.

Diyala province is in the west of Iraq, north of Baghdad. It's western border is shared with Iran, and its southern border butts up against "Sadr City." They call it the last stronghold of al-Qaeda in Iraq, although that is probably over stating things. Mosul in the north probably wins that title by a nose.

As we approached FOB Warhorse, my new home for the next year, I took note of the obvious, no palace, no pool, no grass, no palm trees, lots of dust, on top of dust, on top of dust, on top of dust, you get the idea. (Its dusty).

My trailer is pretty basic. I have a bed, a nightstand, and a locker. (Actually, I have two of all of those things because I do not have roommate). I have a bit of a hike to the nearest shower and latrine over dust and gravel. Basically, by the time you walk back from the shower to the "hooch" (trailer), you need a shower again because of the dust that is now covering your body.

Without a TV, or radio, or any real entertainment to speak of, I have turned to this thing called "reading" to pass the time. I admit I would rather be in my beloved basement watching the Brewers on the flat screen (perhaps with a malted beverage or two), but I guess the reading has its advantages as well. (It puts me right to sleep).

I go to work in an "office" built of plywood. When you look down at the floor, between the cracks, you can see the earth underneath. Between the dust coming up through the cracks when the winds blows, and the dust being sucked in through the air conditioners, everything has grit on it and if it sits for more than a day, becomes covered in a fine layer of orange-ish powder which is impossible to get rid of.

It gets pitch dark here around 7 p.m.. I have no idea why. Someday I'll have to look at a globe and figure out the latitude and longitude, direction of the sun, location of the moon, etc. For now I just know that it gets dark fast. Anyway, for security reasons the FOB is under blackout conditions. It makes for an interesting walk back from dinner (or to the latrine). If you forget your flashlight, you can expect a tumble in many of the holes and random ditches that are all over the place here.

At night, I am constantly awakened to the beating of the helicopter rotors as they fly over my trailer every hour or so. More annoying is the constant buzzing of the drones which patrol the perimeter on a consistent basis.

That awesome laundry service in Baghdad is not exactly available here at Warhorse. You have a choice between the Army laundry which takes only a few hours before it can be picked up, or the KBR laundry which takes two days. If you have ever wondered why the Army wears drab colors (green, tan and gray), I have the answer. They wash all types of clothing together. My brand new white socks and T-shirts came back somewhere between battleship gray and dirty ivory. New rule, KBR for the whites, Army for everything else. The Army also uses industrial dryers. At this rate my clothes should disintegrate in a month or so.

All in all, it is actually better than I thought it would be. I had prepared myself for the absolute worst living conditions possible, and FOB Warhorse lands somewhere just above that.