So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Slan Agat, Ciao, Adios, Goodbye ...

Well, the time has come. I realize that I have not written much in a long time, but you try filling up a year with insightful commentary. I finally got off of FOB Warhorse after three days of sitting in the PAX (passenger) terminal. Actually, the first day was spent in the sun because the air conditioner was broken and there was a (semi) warm wind blowing outside. Who knew that a guy could get so burnt during one day in the middle of Iraq in July?

"These are the times that try men's souls" - Thomas Paine. December 23, 1776 (upon realizing that the American Revolution would be a long and arduous campaign)

"These are the times that try men's souls" - Dan Humble. July 18, 2009 (upon finding out that the PX at the Embassy was sold out of beer).

Yeah, after days of sweating my ass off in the PAX terminal I was dreaming of a cold Miller Lite. Only to find out that there is not one frigging beer in the Embassy that isn't non-alcoholic. Apparently these dilettantes at the Embassy drank all the beer on Thursday and Friday night (today being Saturday) and the supply shipments have been few and far between because of weeks of sandstorms. On Warhorse we ran out of soap, toothpaste, deodorant and razors -- nothing as drastic as beer (which we never had anyway).

On Monday I am expected to brief Ambassador Hill and General Odierno on the finer points of Rule of Law in Diyala. A beer would really help deal with the nervous-nelly assistants that insist on doing "rehearsals" with me before I actually get to talk to the "very, very, very important" people. I wonder if I am allowed to look them directly in the eye?

The good news is that I am less than one week away from leaving Iraq. I should probably have some incredible parting words of wisdom. As I was flying to Baghdad I was trying to think of whether Iraq had changed me at all. I'm not so sure that it has. I have had an incredible experience this past year. Perhaps I became a little more empathetic to the plight of the Iraqis, but on the other hand I could point to a number of instances where if the Iraqis had just lifted a finger they really could have helped themselves a ton. I certainly have renewed my sense of Justice (yes, with a capital "J") since coming here. Who knows? Maybe it will take some time to get a full grasp on everything that happened in the last year.

For those of you who don't know, there is a better than 50/50 chance that Irene and I may find ourselves in Kyrgyzstan in the next few months. Yeah, Kyrgyzstan. (I didn't know where it was either -- try Google).

I will be home soon (barring some weird airline crash which seems to be all of the rage these days -- thank God once again for Ambien).

Meet me at the County Clare on August 11th if you are within a 100 mile radius (or even if you aren't). Ma'salaama.

Happy Fourth of July

It is hard to believe that it is the Fourth of July (although I wish it was the fourth of August). We are in the midst of one of the worst sandstorms I've seen since I've been here. There hasn't been an aircraft in the sky for the better part of a week and the forecast doesn't look good for the next three or four days. There are two people who are leaving the PRT for good who have been stuck here for days, dear Lord I hope that doesn't happen to me.

We have not been going anywhere because of the handover of the cities to the Iraqis this past week. We are giving them a little time to celebrate before we roll back to work.

The DFAC should be replete with plenty of Fourth of July foods -- ribs, hot dogs, burgers, etc. The base commander has once again refused Gen. Odierno's generous offer to provide beer to those of us stuck on this hellhole. We will again be the only FOB in Iraq without our ration of two beers (as was offered during the Superbowl as well).

My mother asked me today via Skype for an inspirational Fourth of July message. I didn't have one. But now, I will say this. Seeing how hard the Iraqis have struggled to get even a nascent democracy off of the ground should make us all take pause to appreciate the freedoms and liberties that we take for granted every day. The juxtaposition of our 233 years of celebrating our independence with Iraq's very first "National Sovereignty Day" is a pretty neat thing to see in person. I hope to God that they (and we) are able to sustain democracy well into the future.

I hope you all have a wonderful Fourth of July.

Going Stir Crazy

I wish I was doing this right now

Before I left for Iraq I remember telling many family members and friends that I was quite sure I could "do anything for a year." I guess I was wrong. I should have said that I could do anything for a little over eleven months. This last month is killing me. All I can think about is getting home to Irene, Guinness and summer in Milwaukee. If I had six more months to go I don't think I would be all that bothered, but there is something about being so close to freedom that heightens the urgency. For the first eleven months the weeks seemed to fly by, now I'm pretty sure there are about ten extra hours in each day. Lately I have been thinking about how excruciating the last thirty days of a prisoner's sentence must be. When it is a large chunk of time it is easy to not think about the end date. Oh well, at least no one is trying to shank me in the laundry room.

Adding to my frustration was my recent viewing of the movie "The Hangover." If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. Of course, now I want to go to Milwaukee and Las Vegas which is more than my brain can handle.

Have Gun Will Travel

This photo would be much more dramatic if I could say that I was taking aim at some insurgents, but I was only at the range re-qualifying on my Glock. I had my worst day at the range ever and have been downgraded from Expert to Sharpshooter. Fortunately, I have plenty of excuses. First of all, I only had forty-five rounds of ammunition to use before dipping into the "good (expensive) stuff." Qualifying requires forty rounds, so I only had five practice shots. Then there was the sweat which was running down my brow and into my eyes every two seconds. There was also quite a bit of dust blowing that morning which blurred my vision even further. I would estimate the temperature at about 120 Degrees which made the black gun a little hot in my hands, not to mention my palm sweaty. I am quite certain that when and if the occasion ever necessitates me shooting a terrorist, it will be under far more favorable conditions. I'm kidding of course, those are favorable conditions for Iraq.

As you can see from the countdown on the right-hand side of this page, time is getting short. I am happy to report that it appears that several projects are going to be completed before I get out of here. Once they are completed I will likely show some photos. My replacement should be here shortly which will help ensure a smooth transition upon departure.

It Has Been A While ...

I just returned from a month in DC and Wisconsin. I was at a conference in DC for ten days and then spent about three weeks in Wisconsin. Being home was great it reminded me of all the things I love about Milwaukee.

Anyway, I am back in Iraq after a rather flawless (compared to previous trips) series of plane and helicopter rides. Once again my best friend Ambien sent me into a smooth and deep sleep that made the thirteen hour flight seem like three. There was slight misunderstanding with the immigration people in Kuwait. I would tell you more, but I would hate to put anything in writing that could be used against me by the Kuwaiti government. Probably won't be stopping there again any time soon.

As you might expect, Iraq is like an oven and the smell of overcooked port-o-johns is once again in the air. It is tough to get back into the work because the two people who took care of things while I was gone both left for R&R before I returned. So I'm not exactly sure what happened for a month while I was gone. I only have about forty days left before I begin my final journey home, so a lot of what I will be doing is wrapping things up and preparing the way for my replacement.

Latest News

The usual crew visiting with some judges in Khan Bani Saad

This week we had an attack against members of our Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) as they visited a government building in Baqubah. As a result, two members of our team died and two more were injured along with eight U.S. Soldiers. It was a pretty devastating blow and certainly reminded most of us that even though things are improving, danger is always a suicide vest, rocket or car bomb away.

As for me, I have been trying to get a few projects up and running before I take my final R&R in May. When I return from R&R, I will have approximately seven weeks until I am out of here for good. Things have been crazy here lately. Since the election results were certified (many weeks late) there has been a lot of uncertainty in the provincial government. Additionally, they attempted to arrest three members-elect of the Provincial Council on the same day they were to be sworn into office.

I was in Baghdad last week. Everyone at the Embassy is wearing suits and ties and you barely know that you are in Iraq. Then I come down from the hinterlands in my 511 tactical pants, wrinkled polo shirt and muddy boots. Maybe it is just my imagination, but they seem to stare at me like the village idiot who just peed in the punchbowl. They usually ask where I am working and when I tell them "Diyala," they all give the same "yikes!!!!, better you than me" response. Truth be told I much prefer FOB Warhorse to the Embassy, despite the lack of creature comforts. Although, they did have $1 Schlitz beer night while I was at the Embassy. The bartender stood there stunned when I asked for one, I don't think Schlitz has a strong following amongst the diplomatic corp.

Still Here

I am still here, plugging away at projects which may I may never see completed but I am "moving the ball forward" as they say. I've had a few visitors here recently including my boss from DC. It is the first time I've met him, as he replaced the guy who hired me a few months ago. He's a really good guy and it was nice to get some time to talk to him.

The weather here is perfect. About 80 degrees and sunny every day. It makes being away from home a little easier since I see that it is still snowing occasionally in Milwaukee. The dust storms are kicking up more frequently, however, which means summer and blazing heat are just around the corner.

This week I am working on putting together text and designs for billboards which will inform the citizens of Diyala that they have rights under the Iraqi Constitution. We are also going to run some radio spots with the same purpose. I am also working on getting a literacy program going for the detainees in the local jails. If they are going to sit for one to two years waiting for trial, they might as well learn something.

I cannot believe that I only have four months left. It seems like only yesterday I was landing in Baghdad. Irene would probably disagree with that statement.

An enterprising local Iraqi has opened up a restaurant on the FOB. It is actually more of a food shack with some picnic tables. You can have overpriced lamb sausage, roasted tomatoes and bread, or overpriced flavored tobacco in a hookah pipe. As you can see, I went with the hookah. It wasn't bad. Not something I would do very often, but not bad.

One Sad St. Patrick's Day

Wow. My first St. Patrick's Day without fun and merriment in about 16 years. I have to admit it is a little depressing thinking about all the festivities that will be taking place without me in a few short hours in Milwaukee. No Irish beer, no soda bread, no corned beef and cabbage, no Irish music and no hanging with my friends having a blast while a few dumb fools are at work. Damn.

Not to mention that today is also my beloved pooch Guinness' birthday. It will be the first year since we've been together that I won't be baking him his favorite "liver baby food" birthday cake with the yogurt icing. It is probably breaking his little heart. I always enjoy watching him take those first bites just before I headed out the door for a day of celebration. He still hasn't learned how to blow out the candles though.

The Nepalese guys at the DFAC have once again made their best efforts to capture the essence of a holiday they know nothing about. They splashed the place up with green streamers. Baked a cake with a shamrock on it, and made "Irish beef (not corned beef) and cabbage soup" (I didn't have the guts to try it yet). They also made a batch of green non-alcoholic beer. The only thing that depresses me more than not being home for St. Patrick's Day is the thought of drinking green non-alcoholic beer.

I hope everyone back home enjoys the day and raises a pint for me.

Happy St. Patrick's Day and Happy Birthday Guinness.

London and Paris

Irene in front of the Eiffel Tower; me in the catacombs, the sign reads "Attention: this is the empire of death;" and both of us on the top of the double-decker in London.

I am back in Jordan after spending the last nine days in London and Paris with Irene. London was fantastic. We stayed in the financial district which was very centrally located. The hotel was right next door to St. Paul's Cathedral and extremely close to the Millennium Bridge and several other attractions. We walked all over the city and got a pretty good feel for it. We also purchased a bus tour pass for a day so that we could hop on and off at any of the tourist attractions. Irene and I were especially impressed with Westminster Abbey, coronation (and burial) place of the Kings and Queens of England. It was an impressive tour. I also enjoyed the British Museum which has amazing collections pilfered from all over the world.

The people in London were fantastic. Very nice and polite as was expected. The food was pretty standard "pub fare," but the selection of cask ales more than made up for the simple nature of the food.

After three days in London, Irene and I then took the Eurotrain through the "Chunnel" and arrived in Paris. Paris was unbelievably expensive. It was also quite a contrast with London. Whereas London was clean and well kept, Paris is covered with trash, graffiti, there is dog feces all over the sidewalks and Irene saw a guy peeing on a wall in broad daylight. The Metro (subway) in Paris was convenient, yet disgusting. Also, many of the Metro stations reeked of urine.

We stayed in two very nice hotels in Paris that were located extremely close to the Arc de Triomphe. Irene and I toured around Paris and saw all of the landmarks that are required on such a trip. The Louvre was good (though I preferred the British Museum) but as many before me have noted, it is too large to see more than a few rooms in a day. The catacombs were very cool and it was one of my favorite tours of the vacation.

I guess the best thing going in Paris is the food. After getting completely screwed at an Indian restaurant the first night there (I especially enjoyed paying the equivalent of $20 for white rice to go with our small plates of curried chicken), we followed the advice in a guide book and had some pretty fantastic meals for a reasonable (by Paris standards) price.

My main complaint about Paris was the seemingly endless string of French bastards that took it upon themselves to screw me out of my Euros. Besides the aforementioned $20 white rice, there was the $15 Guinness, the $8 glasses of water and the $5 diet cokes (and that was a bargain price -- the hotel charged $10). Then there were the constant "mistakes" that occurred at the restaurants. On more than one occasion we were "accidently" charged for items we didn't order or for the more expensive prix fix menu when we had ordered ala carte. Now, mistakes do happen. However, when you hand the check back to the waiter and he doesn't even need an explanation before turning to "fix" the problem that is a pretty good sign that he is trying to screw you. There was also the cab driver that charged 6 Euro to go about four blocks even though the meter read less than 4 Euro. I'll spare you the details, but I think Irene was surprised at the speed with which I chased that (profanity omitted) French (profanity omitted) down the street after we exchanged words and he laughed in my face and asked me "what I was going to do about it?" If only he hadn't made that next light I might have seen how the filth of the Metro compared with the filth of a French jail.

So to wrap up, that's thumbs way up for London. Thumbs somewhat down for Paris. Most importantly, it was nice to spend time with Irene and, hopefully, she has the "Paris thing" out of her system and now we can focus on a return trip to Ireland.

The Irish Pub Sucked

So I finally found the Irish Pub I was so looking forward to visiting here in Amman. I spent about 10 Jordainian Dinar ($15) getting to this place. It is called "Rovers Return." I knew it was near a certain hotel, but the cabbie had never heard of it and he had to stop twice for directions to the hotel. Even then, I had to search around the back and down some stairs to find the place.

I walked into a typical Irish Pub. Not typical as in you could mistake this place for being somewhere on the Emerald Isle, but typical as in it looked like a Bennigans in Indiana somewhere. Okay, but I'm in Amman, so the "throw-anything-with-the-word-Ireland-or-Guinness-on-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks" sounds pretty good right now. I spy a Guinness tap, lick my lips and walk towards it. "Salaam alakim" says the bartender. I give him the cursory "wa alakim a salaam" and quickly get in a "Guinness." He looks at the tap, looks at me and says in broken English "no Guinness." I said "are you out." He says, "no Guinness." I look at the drink menu and damned if he isn't correct. Guinness is not on the menu. Apparently the tap is for show. I then ordered a Heinken. That Heinken cost me 6.00 Jordainian Dinar, plus a 10% service charge and a 17% government tax on alcohol. Making my almost $11 Heineken the most expensive pint on record. Then came the ultimate insult. He pulled out a Heinken "mini-keg" (see my post a few weeks ago) and tapped my beer from that thing. WTF?????

It has rained and snowed here for the past two days. I was the village idiot for walking around in the rain. Apparently it rains so infrequently here that they still believe you may actually melt. Mothers brought their children out to look at me wandering out in the rain. Every cabbie in Amman tried to get me inside their vehicle. When I would wave them off, they would just stare in disbelief. I can't wait to get to London.

In Amman. No Guinness Yet, Just Testicles

(Top) Me about to eat a testicle; (Middle) The aforementioned testicle on it's platter; (Bottom) Kais and Alex enjoying the sight of me eating sheep testicle.





I made it to Amman this morning and for the first time our flight was actually early. I travelled with two guys from the PRT, Alex and Kais. Alex is originally from Lebanon and Kais was a General in Saddam's Army who fled after the invasion of Kuwait. They are both good guys with whom I have not had the pleasure of working too much at the PRT.

Alex told me that Kais and he were going out for a big Arab style meal in Amman, and they asked me to join them. After dumping our stuff at the hotel, we found a great little restaurant in central Amman.

We ate from a huge spread of everything from roasted chicken, to lamb, to hummas, some labaneh (a dried yogurt kind of like cheese)and roasted vegetables and bread. This is just the highlights -- there was also all types of pickles, relishes, etc. As you might have guessed from the title we also had "Sheep Balls" (roasted sheep testicles). Alex said that this is a great delicacy in Lebanon. I tried it, I ate it, and I liked it. Go figure. Alex also turned me on to a type of "lamb tartar" (raw ground lamb with pine nuts and hot peppers). It was all fantastic.

The only thing that really grossed me out was the salt flavored yogurt drink that they insisted I try. I tried it a few times, but dear Lord was it aweful.

We then toured the city which is much better with two Arabic speakers. All in all it was a fantastic day. I'm off to find the Irish Pub tonight.

Keep Them in Your Prayers

This soldier and the others mentioned were part of our Brigade at Warhorse. God bless them.


Utah soldier, onetime teacher, killed in Iraqi firefight
By Matthew D. LaPlante
The Salt Lake Tribune

The students in Micheal Alleman's class didn't take kindly to the news.
It was the middle of the school year, and the popular fifth-grade teacher was leaving his career as an educator to join the Army. He told the class he wanted to be like the nation's first president, who left his career as a Virginia planter to take up arms against the British monarchy.
"He said that George Washington was his hero," said Samantha Larkin, 11, a student in Alleman's class at Nibley Elementary School in Cache County, last year. "But it was a little bit confusing to us."
On Tuesday, Alleman's former students were among those in several Utah communities coming to terms with a revelation that was even more difficult to accept: The teacher-turned-soldier had been killed in Iraq.
Army officials said that the 31-year-old Utahn, whose wife, children and parents reside together in American Fork, died Monday alongside two other soldiers and their interpreter in a firefight in Iraq's eastern Diyala Province.
The details of Monday's assault remain vague, but the father of another soldier killed in the battle told The Daily Star newspaper in Oneonta, N.Y., that the soldiers' patrol encountered a bunker and, when the soldiers drew near it, they were fired upon. The Army earlier had reported that Alleman, Zachary Nordmeyer and Michael Mayne had died in a roadside bomb attack. Iraq's insurgents often use bombs to draw in or disable the vehicles of U.S. soldiers, then follow the blast with small arms fire, but the Army did not provide an expanded account of the fight.
Alleman is the first Utah service member to have been killed in either of the nation's ongoing wars this year, and his death marks the first time a Utahn has fallen in combat in Iraq since July 2007, when American Fork resident Nathan Barnes was killed near Baghdad. The period between the two men's deaths coincides with a precipitous drop in violence across Iraq, including in Diyala, which was once among the nation's deadliest areas.
Given the significant security gains, the commander of Alleman's Alaska-based brigade combat team said in a recent conference call with reporters that his soldiers were sometimes bored with their duties.
"They came here expecting it to be more of a fight," Col. Burt Thompson, commander of the 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry, said earlier this month.
But Thompson warned that Diyala was still a dangerous place, where al-Qaida guerillas remained capable of mounting deadly attacks.
Though too young to understand the complexities of the Iraq war, many of Alleman's young scholars had worried that their teacher might be harmed in the fighting. And so, Larkin said, not all of the students were supportive of Alleman's decision to leave. "The class was a little bit mean to him," she said.
Mindy Heaton, a literacy aid at the school and the past president of Nibley's PTA, said Alleman's departure left a difficult-to-fill gap in the staff and was hard on some of the students. "It was tough, because his class really liked him," she said.
But all seemed forgiven when Alleman returned from basic training to visit with his former students last winter. Arriving at the school with his family and wearing his dress uniform, just before Valentine's Day, he was greeted with gifts and handmade cards.
Larkin said Alleman looked proud in his uniform and seeing him dressed that way helped many of the students understand why he had left.
Principal Bill Landauer said it was clear that Alleman had found his niche. "He was the epitome of a soldier," Landauer said. "That's what he wanted to do, more than anything else. Teaching came second … the only thing that didn't come second was his family."
That family was huddled together Tuesday evening at Alleman's parent's home, where his wife and two sons have lived since shortly after he joined the Army.

Off on Leave

I am getting ready to begin the process of getting out of Iraq for a little R&R in Europe. Before that can happen there is the requisite week of travel to Baghdad and through Amman before arriving in London. Irene and I will rendezvous there and after a few days take the Eurotrain to Paris where we will spend another five days. I'm looking forward to seeing the sites in London. And then, after we have seen the sites, perhaps we'll drink an ale or two in an English Pub with some "blokes" before going next door for some fish 'n chips or "bangers and mash." Paris on the other hand holds no allure for me, and is solely for Irene's benefit. As much as I'd like to drink an ale in London, I'd like just as much the opportunity to smack a snooty Frenchman in the mouth for breathing. However, in the spirit of sacrifice and harmony I am going to put on a pleasant disposition and have a great time. Not since I agreed to go to a Dar Williams concert (picture a folksy chick with an acoustic guitar and a crappy playlist)with Irene have I made such a huge sacrifice in the name of marital harmony. I also figure I should build up some goodwill now for the numerous Brewers games I will be attending throughout the months of August and September.

In other news, things here in Diyala are pretty much the same. The violence is down a little. We are all waiting to see if the selection of the new Provincial Governor is going to throw things back into chaos, or if we are past that point and there will be a peaceful turnover of power. The new Government will be Sunni led, unlike most of the country, so Diyala should be swimming upstream for the foreseeable future.

The weather here has been fantastic other than the occasional day or two of dust storms. It is like springtime in Florida, cool and crisp in the morning, and about 70degrees during the day. If I hadn't lived through the 135 degree days already, I wouldn't believe they were coming.

Perhaps I'll write a little something poolside from Jordan. Better yet, I'll take some pictures of Amman's only Irish Pub (amazing what you can find on the internet) and share them with you. I think I am also going to try and go to the town of Jerash, which is a very well preserved Roman city in Jordan.

Brushing Up On My Aramaic and Harmonica

Lessons every night from 11:00 p.m. to midnight

Mass at Warhorse is held at 8:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. every other Sunday. It takes place every other Sunday because the priest has to travel to other FOBs to give everybody a crack at salvation. I usually attend the 6:00 p.m. mass and then proceed to dinner.

In any event, this particular Sunday there were about five soldiers in the chapel when I arrived, and I walked in the door followed by three other civilians. I sat down and began focusing for mass. There was still a little time left and the priest was milling about making small talk. A middle-eastern woman and two men had taken a seat off to my left a few seats down from me. I was barely paying attention, but I could hear the priest asking her if she was an interpreter. She said she was. He then asked if "all four of you are interpreters." She answered in the affirmative. Now might be a good time to point out that the priest here at Warhorse is Polish and speaks with a slight accent. But, he clearly said all "four of you." I looked around. There were five soldiers, and four civilians (myself included). Now I'm thinking to myself "alright no big deal, so he thinks I'm an interpreter. I've been called worse."

I decided to read the order of worship until mass began. As I started reading, I heard the priest re-engage with this woman and ask "do you all speak Aramaic?" She responded "yes."

Fast forward. We are 3/4 of the way through mass and about to say the Lord's Prayer when the priest asks the nine of us to form a circle around the altar and join hands. He then declares that he hates to put anyone on the spot, but "wouldn't it be great if we heard the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic? The same language used by Jesus!"

Well, you can guess where this is headed. The priest looks at me and asks me to begin. I shake my head figuring now is not the time to explain that for a woman skilled in the arts of translation she should probably know the difference between "three" and "four," and that I'm not an interpreter but a lawyer, etc., etc. The priest then says to me "don't be shy, you can do it." This isn't like lying to a cab driver in Amman. I figure faking Aramaic is probably not a talent you can bluff your way through (although I must confess it crossed my mind that if I just started mumbling something the others might join in and get the priest of my back). Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few seconds, the woman who started all this began to speak. At several points throughout the prayer, the priest's eyes turned back to me. There I was, not saying a word. Great, now in his mind I'm a no-good-Aramaic-speaking-non-participating-goofball. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but when it comes to getting in good with the guy upstairs I need all the help I can get.

I would also like to give a special "shout out" to my mother-in-law Lori, who included a harmonica and a harmonica lesson book and instructional DVD with her latest care package. I don't think I'll be jamming anytime soon, but I've been trying to find a passive-aggresive way to annoy my co-workers and I believe my new harmonica should more than do the trick.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Parental Discretion is Advised)

This past weekend I went to Khanaqin, a city in the northern portion of Diyala province. Khanaqin is largely a Kurdish area. As most of you probably know the Kurds are rabidly pro-American. Not only did we protect them with fly-over zones before the war, but we also took Saddam to task for his gassing of the Kurds (he was hanged for it). Things there have been relatively safe compared to the rest of Diyala, although it was a question whether there would be violence because of the election. Khanaqin is relatively close to the Iranian border.





A few shots of Election Day. My little Kurdish friend had "173" (the number assigned to the Kurdish Union Party) painted on his cheeks and got to dip his finger in the ink. His mother was so proud of the fact that we wanted to take a picture of him.

THE GOOD

On January 31, 2009, the provincial elections were held. I was the "Team Leader" (you can't have two people in a room around here unless you give one of them a B.S. title they can lord over the others -- can't stand that crap) of a group of election monitors. We were tasked with going to the polls around the city and in the countryside and checking on what was happening. It was a fantastic experience. The Kurds were so fired up about the elections and excited to be voting. It was a family affair all of the way. Everyone was dressed in their "Sunday best" (but they are Muslim, so actually it was their "Friday best"). Many of them were wearing Kurdish flags signifying their support for the coalition of Kurdish Political Parties that were on the ballot. The kids all accompanied their parents to the voting booth, which was a fantastic message for these little kids about the value of voting in a future Iraq.

To get to the first polling station we had walk about six city blocks without our military security (the U.S. Army had agreed to stay away from the polling sites). We had one personal security detail from the Embassy to escort us into the polling stations. I also had a weapon, but trust me, that made no one feel safer including myself. He was all about protection and he was freaking out about the idea of walking this gauntlet of people that had lined up along the street. It was awesome though. The people of Khanaqin were waving and giving us the thumbs up. Kids on bikes with Kurdish flags were whizzing by us doing stunts to impress us. The women would go inside and bring their children out to greet us as we walked past. They would smile and beg us to take their picture. It was probably one of my favorite experiences yet in Iraq.

We inspected the polls and they were very well run. It was basically what you would expect on election day. People showed their ID card to the person at the door, they were directed to one of the rooms based on an alphabetical assignment of their name, they would go in the room, show ID again, get a ballot, go to the voting booth, fold it up, place it in the ballot box and then dip their finger in the iconic indelible purple ink (to prove they had voted and prevent them from voting again). It took about five minutes to vote and the enthusiasm inside was the same as the enthusiasm outside the polling site. There were observers from other political parties to make sure that everything was legitimate. We were welcomed to talk to anyone we wanted and observe any step of the process. I am prevented from making any public statements as to the legitimacy of the election -- but reading between the lines you can probably figure out my opinion of how it went.



My friend and interpreter Mohammed sitting on his cot in our room. None of us got much sleep in there.

THE BAD

We were staying at COP (no idea what that stands for) Cobra. The living accommodations were spartan to say the least. We were dropped off by the Blackhawks and basically told to go to the rundown structure down a gravel road. The rundown building was an open room with about twenty guys already sleeping on cots in there. There were ten of us, and no more cots. We spent the next hour or so scouring the camp for ten cots. We found some filthy ones, some that had to be propped up by cinder blocks, wooden sticks and boxes. The door would open every few minutes, the military interpreters in the room would listen to Iraqi music all night and more than few of the people in the room snored rather loudly. Oh, and it smelled like body odor and onions.

The DFAC was not much of a DFAC at all. This was kind of like the movies or an episode of M*A*S*H, some private with a ladle spooned out slop onto a cardboard tray. No choices except "do you want food or not?" The food bordered on the inedible. Let's put it this way, the next day I ate some Army MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) which have been much maligned over the years, and they were much better than the food I had the night before at the base's DFAC.



I warned you. Don't even ask what the hell the stick with the towel on the end was for.

THE UGLY

If you have read my past posts I think you must be aware of my biggest fear over here. It is not a suicide bomber, it is not a Vehicle Borne IED (VBIED), not a mortar round landing on my head while I'm sleeping, but rather the Middle Eastern "bathroom experience." Well my friends imagine please my horror when I arrived at COP Cobra to find that there are NO WESTERN STYLE TOILETS on the COP. To say that I was clutched by fear would do a disservice to what I was truly feeling. My first thought was "don't panic, this can't be true. Some colonel must have a port-a-john stashed away somewhere." No such luck. Next I thought "I'll wait it out, I can do three days." Seven hours later I faced my moment of truth. In my head I repeated the phrase "dead man walking" as I headed for the "latrine." I held my breath, for the pungent aroma was not easily overcome. I walked about four doors in and used my elbow to push open the door. I stared in disbelief at what lay before me, a white porcelain hole in the floor surrounded by a sludge of urine, feces and God only knows what else. I retreated. I methodically checked the remaining stalls. Sadly, stall number four was the pick of the litter. I went back there. I slowly closed the door behind me. I stood there paralysed with fear. "Wait I thought, somebody said something about a chair" I looked to my left. There, in the corner, was a gray folding chair (just like you sat on in grade school at an assembly), but this my friend was no ordinary chair. For in the middle of this gray folding chair some inventive soldier had cut a hole with (I presume) tin snips. The hole was just large enough to "handle the situation" as it were. And for added comfort, he had also used duct tape to line the inside of the hole lest someone suffer a cut in the most delicate of locations. I'm not sure which was more disgusting, the chair or that hole in the floor. "Oh, the humanity" I thought to myself (as my mind envisioned a large Zeppelin going down in a New Jersey field). I folded the chair up and ran out of there faster than I thought my thirty-five year old legs could take me.

Now out in the night air I thought to myself "what the f**k is going on here?" Actually, that is a lie, I'm pretty sure I screamed out loud "what the f**k is going on here?" Fortunately, fear had alleviated the situation for a while. I redoubled my efforts. No bran, no caffeine, nothing which could cause any type of issues. Now, it was a race against the clock, and the clock had about a twelve hour head start.

I would like to tell you that through solid will-power I was able to overcome the odds. And it would be quite the story if I could write that a medical miracle had occurred and I was able to avoid that hell-hole for three (almost four) days. But, sadly, I cannot. It happened (twice actually). I'm sure that twenty years from now (or six months) some of you will hear the gory details of what happened inside stall "number four" over a beer at the County Clare, but right now -- I'm just not ready to talk about it. I'm just hoping the Department of Justice has a good therapist on staff.

One Day Trip to Baghdad

(Top photo) Another going away party. It feels like the tenth this month. (Bottom) My beloved mini-keg, worth its weight in gold.

I just got back from Baghdad about a day ago. I went down there to get a new ID badge and finally pick up my weapon from the DOJ. As of January 1st, the old digs at the Embassy are closed. Instead, they have opened the New Embassy Compound which is pretty unbelievable. Office buildings, tennis courts, basketball courts, indoor swimming pool and some pretty amazing apartments. The apartments are nicer than most I have had in my life (with a few less windows). They have flat panel televisions, modern stainless steel appliances and pretty nice furniture. Perhaps most surprisingly, they have a PX shop with limited groceries and a pretty extensive liquor selection. I managed to bring back a souvenir from Baghdad, a Heineken mini-keg, which would easily make me the most popular guy on the FOB. I have kept it a well guarded secret, however.

Bad news for the soldiers, although General Odierno authorized Superbowl beer for all of the troops in Iraq, he left the final word to the individual base commanders. I guess the current commander is a teetotaller or something because he put the kibosh on the beer. That probably makes my Heineken mini-keg all the more valuable. Thankfully I now have a weapon to defend it from those who would try and tap its frothy goodness. I have yet to decide what occasion is important enough to tap this bad boy. Perhaps when I get back from my election trip.

I am heading out into the far reaches of Diyala later this week to be an "international elections observer." It should be interesting. It turns out that in Iraq they actually want to know who you are when you vote, unlike other third-world backward elections where you don't have to show any identification and the process is easily susceptible to voter fraud. Oh, wait that sounds a lot like Wisconsin. Anyway, I'm looking forward to the experience. I can't say where we are going, but it looks like military tents and sleeping bags are in my future for the next few days.

Khan Bani Saad Prison

This past Sunday I went out to Khan Bani Saad prison. This place is rather infamous in Diyala for being the $40 million dollar boondoggle which resulted in a half built prison facility when the work stopped in 2007. Insurgents continued to attack the workers and hijack the construction equipment, until it made no sense for them to continue with the construction. I thought I should take a look at the facility to see if there was any chance of salvaging something from this giant money pit.

The facility is huge. There is a large perimeter wall with 24 guard towers and razor wire. The guard towers were envisioned as sleeping quarters for two guards, each guard tower at one time contained an Iraqi toilet (which is essentially a porcelain hole in the ground) and a shower. I say "at one time" because long ago the scavengers took away anything that could be resold or used. The guard towers actually turned out to be the most salvageable of all of the structures on the prison complex.

The buildings which had just been constructed not that long ago were crumbling. There were signs of shoddy workmanship everywhere. $40 million worth of buildings and they were all going to have to be razed because of how much they were crumbling. It was pretty unbelievable. There were a few metal buildings which were in good shape and could be used in the future, but overall the prison was pretty much worthless.

I had long been told that there were Iraqi Police and/or Iraqi Army personnel living at the facility to keep squatters from the place. Upon arriving at the prison it was like a ghost town, but there were signs everywhere that people had recently been there. There are approximately 15 abandoned buildings on the site, so we were all expecting someone to pop out at any moment. There was also a herd of sheep, a donkey and a few cows meandering across the prison grounds. No one would leave their livestock alone around here, so once again we all thought for sure we would be encountering some locals very soon. Fortunately, we never crossed paths with anyone during our visit. Rest assured I was ready to medieval on some insurgent ass, but the opportunity never arose (just kidding, although I was prepared to curl into the fetal position behind a pile of rubble trying not to soil myself).

Beer for the Superbowl !!!

Raymond T. Odierno, Four Star General, Bartender, American hero

The good news in Iraq never stops. Progress is being made, violence is down and Gen. Ray Odierno has issued a waiver to General Order No. 1 which makes alcohol an offense punishable by court martial. It is only for one day, the day of the Superbowl (which will be aired at 2 a.m. here), but it is a good thing for the soldiers' morale. They are apparently limited to two beers each. I, as a civilian, face no limitation, however. Gen. Odierno has arranged for truckloads of beer to be brought to each FOB, so there should be plenty to go around. I just hope the General has the good sense to procure Miller products. I suspect I will be forced into a "catch-22" of either drinking no beer or suffering through Bud Lite, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Sure, it seems like a small thing, but at least it will provide some much needed relief to the "Groundhog Day" syndrome I have been feeling lately. I swear during the last three weeks every day has been exactly the same.

It Should be an Interesting New Year

Believe it or not, I wasn't yelling at this judge. It just looks that way.

It promises to be an interesting new year here in Iraq. In about three weeks there will be provincial elections which should tell us a lot about where this country is headed. Unlike most provinces where one group either Sunni, Shia or Kurd dominates the population, Diyala is a fractured mix of all of them. The current provincial government is unlikely to remain in power and unless there is an outright hijacking of the election (which is not that far out of the realm of possibility), the Sunnis should get more of a say in what is occurring in this province. It is tough to know how it will all play out, however. Few people are willing to engage in a "suicide mission public opinion polling" to find out what the populace is thinking, and calling them on the phone is not really an option. There is some discussion of having us monitor polling places on election day. Yikes, going to have to think about that one.

Another thing which will play into the mix here is the war going on between Israel and Hamas. Things just got a whole lot less safe for all of us (here and in the States) because of this. This is guaranteed to stir up the hornet's nest that is the Middle East, lead more young Islamic men and women to volunteer for bombing missions and generally piss off the moderate countries like Jordan and Egypt. At this point I really don't care who is wrong or who is right (probably a good mix on both sides), I just don't want more nut-jobs shooting stuff over the walls here at Warhorse, or strapping bombs to themselves (or others) at the marketplace or court house.

In any event, it is back to work around here. I've got about six months to go and lots of things I want to get done. It would be nice to see the Legal Defense Program up and running before I get out of here, but first I need the $700,000 and a lot of cooperation from my Iraqi counter-parts.