Kabron

These were the streets where calloused men walked, shrouded women worked, and curiouschildren played. They were lined with trash and the cloud of flies to condensed to see through. The power lines like spider webs hanging over these beautifully sad streets.

AnNasiriyah was the town where American solidiers was captured, and a platoon of Mortars overrun. American bodies were drug through these streets. The Marines before us lost 18 men defending a bridge. So when they told us we were going into this town, we envisioned a blood bath.

Tension grew, and I learned that the only thing to offer others and myself was a good since of humor at the appropriate times. The fighting ended twenty four hours before we entered the town. We left our position from the Iraqi military base that served as their boot camp. The sun was setting over the marshes as we loaded onto five tons. I was armed with my Beretta, but I borrowed a shotgun off of our point man who also carried a rifle. I think I kept it close with me the whole time because of the security I felt with it. I had no intentions of using it, but these were untrusting streets.

Our convoy halted as gunfire began just a few hundred yards to our left. Echo Company was engaging a target and their tracer rounds bounced off the ground. It was amazing what you can sleep through. Our men were sleeping in shifts. We were not planning to sleep at all that night once we finally hit the deck. I couldn’t sleep. The stars were out and the rhythm of the guns just echoed in my ears. I reviewed everything I had learned over and over again in my head. Sucking Chest Wounds, Arterial Bleeds, Compromised Airways. One can only think about such things for so long. My mind wondered to family and friends. I had to shake myself out of it. I tried to keep from thinking about people and places that I loved while I was across the border. It only made me homesick. I wanted to keep focused. I didn’t want to fail my Marines.

After a four hour wait in the piercing cold of the night the trucks jolted and we slowly moved into the town. We drove by little houses tucked away in a grove of palms. We drove out into a field, the houses of the town lined the other side, and we off loaded. Our platoon was to head back along the road and set up security while the other platoons got into their footholds. Then as the sun came up and the people woke up we would be in their front yards and they could not protest us. We hiked back through the village in the grove along the Euphrates. We pushed back along the road. The wild life of the Euphrates reminded me of nights in Virginia with all the wild life of Tidal Waters calling through the darkness. Frogs and crickets called out breaking the cold night.

Animals have no concept of anything around them. They wake up, eat, and go about their daily routine, then rest. The next day is the same for them. Uninterrupted and simple. They did not know that the animals that were the highest on the food chain were at war with each other. And the men that invaded their habitat were armed and scared. They could not understand these things, and I couldn’t either, but I wanted to be like them so much that night. I wanted to wake up in a warm bed and not have to be apprehensive and focused. A single shot rang out and I heard the sound of the impact as it bounced off the ground.

It was close, twenty feet away, probably more. Every one dropped down. It was too loud to be an AK47. “It was CAAT platoon” our radio operator said as he strolled past us in the middle of the column, “They said they won’t shoot at us again.”

We moved into our position, and sat. We sat for hours by the river. The stars, the wildlife, and the cold to keep us awake. In the military you sit around a lot. You form this ability to block out time. Four hours two years ago was a lifetime. Sitting for hours now is just sitting for hours, and when it is over you never knew it was there.

We displaced and moved back to the village where we slept in watches it was three o’clock in the morning. We had to stand to at 5:30. I fell asleep with the root of a palm tree as my pillow and no sleeping bag for warmth. The sleep was often broken by the sound of roosters and the dogs. When it wasn’t broken by that I woke up shaking from the cold, and counting the time until I would see light again.

Kabron was the Village. It rested on the side of the river. The houses were made of brick, and a family lived in one house. A family could consist of 2030 people. The houses were no bigger than our houses. Each house, or group of houses flew a different color flag to represent the family. In the middle of the Village was a hole, and in that hole the towns’ trash was thrown. It was a filthy place that smelled like feces.

As we woke up the people woke up. They let the cows and dogs out of their small courtyards. The chickens began picking through the trash for food. A band of Bedouin sheep herders walked their flock through the main street of the town. A man on a camel headed the heard, and dogs marched dutifully beside the herd.

A man cam out of his house and as soon as he saw us he turned around and went back in. The people were timid with us. They stood inside their doorways watching us. There was a small girl around eight. She was watching with curiosity as we ate breakfast, and cleaned our weapons. I had a packet of charms in my pocket. I slowly approached her. She began to back off into her house. I stopped and held the candy out in my hand. Her eyes lighted up as she reached for it, and her smile was beautiful.

The little girls in Iraq were special. The boys would grow annoying as they pestered you for candy, and money. They would crowd around you and say “Mister, Mister. Money. Give me.” It would make us so angry that sometimes we would have to push them away. They would come in large crowds. If you gave one person something you had to give them all something. It was a mob.

The girls, however there were a few that would follow us, most would just watch with a smile on their face. They learned at a young age to express everything with their eyes and facial expressions. They had to because their beauty would be shrouded at a young age. They had character, and personality where as the boys were all the same. However in Kabron they were new to us, and we were new to them. It was uninterrupted.

She placed the candy in her mouth and disappeared into the house. An old man came out and approached us. He spoke broken English, “Is it ok for them to come out?” he asked. Our Lieutenant spoke to him and instructed the man to tell them to go about their daily lives. The man walked up and down the street calling out to the people, and like the munchkins after the wicked witch from the east was crushed by Dorothy’s house, they came out. The man came to us with his list of complaints. No water, no electricity, they can’t go to their jobs, the people were sick.

The Lieutenant called me up to the road. As I came up I could hear baby’s crying. Men were shouting, “Doctor, doctor.” They held their kids out to me. A baby with dysentery and his belly swelled up, crying from hunger. A man with a tape worm that wound all the way around his leg, and an infected ingrown toenail that colored his toe yellow and black. Men with perennial abscess. Things that I couldn’t treat. I told the man I was only a medic with battle dressings. He pushed me and pushed, but I couldn’t help them.

I think it was then that I began to realize that I am wearing the wrong uniform. I took it hard, and hated the fact that I couldn’t help them. I was upset with the Lieutenant. He apologized.

The day went on. We sat in our positions looking down the road. The people were becoming braver and braver. They would move in closer and watch us with curiosity. Finally a group of boys walking arm in arm sat down with us. The men were very affectionate with each other. They would hold hands, walk arm in arm, hang on each other, and lay in each other’s laps. When they talked to each other they would get very close and in your face. That was one thingwe could never get used to.

“Michael Jackson?” One kid asked. I laughed. “Van Dam?”

“Jackie Chan?” I asked in return. He smiled and nodded. “Whoooaaa!” I screamed doing my best impression. Then slanted my eyes. He began to laugh. Before long they were bringing us tea and bread. A crowd gathered around us. Mike and I were entertaining the people.

“Ali Bobua,” One kid said pointing to his friend. I was confused. He said it again, then it struck me. Thief. They would point the Ali Bobua’s out to us constantly. Ali Bobua was pointing at my medical bag asking me what was in it. I pulled some dressings out. Of course they were in the sterile bag, and didn’t look too interesting. I unwrapped one to show him what it was. They couldn’t grasp it. I took his arm and began putting it on.

“Say Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” I said to him. He looked confused. I made a sign of carrying a gun and shooting him then said, “Aaaaaaaahhh!” the boy began to cry out in imaginary pain as I over acted applying a dressing.

The people began laughing and coming out of their shells. I put the bandage on his head and colored a black circle on it. I slanted my eyes and did my Jackie Chan impression. He looked like the Karate Kid, as he did it back.

“Sadeek?” They asked rubbing their two index fingers together. Mike and I looked at each other for explanation. They rubbed their fingers together

again. We couldn’t comprehend. As we saw two men walk by holding hands, then the kids rubbing their fingers together we assumed they were asking if we were partners.

“No! No!” We were shaking our heads and crossing our arms. They looked confused. “Sadeek” means friend, or brother. That was the hand signal as well as we were to learn later.

We showed them pictures of loved ones. They did not see pictures that much so they were amazed when they saw the clothes we wore, and even more what the women in America wear. They laughed at me pointing out my long hair from long ago, and a flower shoved behind my ear. They made a motion of a halo over the head. We smiled to each other. “Angles,” We said blushing.

We sat down and began to learn each other’s language. I became somewhat proficient in some of the greetings, and key phrases. I taught them to say “Hey dude!” They would say it whenever they saw me. A couple of weeks later I was walking through the streets and a kid came up to me. “Hey dude.” He said extending his hand. I recognized his soccer jersey and shook his hand.

As we were running out of words to exchange I pulled out my bandana and began telling them a story my father used to tell to us. He learned it from his seminary professor Glenn Bannerman. You fold a handkerchief into the shape of a house and tell the people that it is a house and in the house lived a mouse. The people in the house wanted the mouse on the outside of the house so they began rolling the house to push the house mouse out. You roll the bandana until you get to the attic. The people decide to turn the attic inside out. You turn it inside out and roll it up so that it looks like a lopsided tire. The long and short is that they find a picnic basket. You have a bandana with handles and it looks like a little pic-nic basket. So the people decide to go on a picnic. Then you pull the sides out and it is a tail, then you fold the opposite side into a head. The people fall in love with the mouse and decide to keep it. With your finger tucked underneath it you stroke the mouse with your other hand and make it jump. The mouse jumped into the crowd and they began to smile and take turns petting the mouse as it jumped out at them.

Their smiles revealed their dirty, broken, missing teeth. They were beautiful smiles.

“Michael Jackson?” One kid asked. “Disco?” “Disco,” I said doing my best John Travolta impression. They began singing and clapping their hands. I started dancing for them.

They grew louder and louder chanting, “Disco! Disco!”

I let myself get carried away as the kids began dancing too. Staff Sergeant started yelling at us to break it up. The people were not used to yelling and began wondering what was wrong. Staff Sergeant is a veteran from the first Gulf War, and carried a grudge for these people. “You are forgetting where you’re at Doc! We are in a hostile area, and as soon as you turn your back on these people they will kill you. Don’t trust anyone.”

Just like that the party was over, and I was often reminded not to be friends with these people. To a degree he was right, but I think that this was the greatest medicine I could offer these people. I couldn’t heal their wounds or start the water generators. I could make them laugh and smile. Laughter is truly the greatest medicine. We all forgot that we were in danger and they forgot about their pains. I felt in a way I was earning their trust. I felt I was in a small way opening the relationship between us. Showing them that we were good people, but I forget that this wasn’t the mission for the Marines. I forget that I am one of them.

I spent the rest of the day leaning up against the house catching the shade with some older men. They laid out blankets for us, and put pillows at our backs while they sat on the dirt. We tried all we could to converse, but the language barrier was too strong. They told me of the hospital and the condition of its medicine. They told us of the soldiers who beat them, and of the American soldiers.

We tried to tell them that help was on the way soon. The palms offered shade as they served us tea and bread. The bread was like pizza crust or thick Mexican tortillas. We took pictures and everyone ran to get into it.

As we departed I found myself growing sad. I walked around shaking their hands and saying “Masalama.” Meaning goodbye. “As shalom a likem.” (Peace be upon you) and in return they would say, “Was a likem shalom.”(And also with you)

It was a sad time but I feel that good first impressions were made on both sides. It was April the 2nd. A day I will never forget. I don’t think I would have seen the beauty in these people if I hadn’t spent that day in the village by the river. I felt proud and happy. I felt that we had done some good that day. For the first time I felt I had a reason for being there. When things would get rough and the people would irritate us I would remember the smiles of the children of Kabron.

We walked out of the village as the sun set over the river. It was a beautiful orange sunset with red clouds hanging over the green marshes and palm trees of the Euphrates. I felt that God was smiling on us.