Things That Go Boom In The Night

It’s funny how something so peaceful can be near terrifying at the same time.  One of the most enjoyable parts of my day is just after 8pm, just after the last sliver of sun sets over the horizon.  We have two SUVs available for transport around the camp, but I usually choose to walk the mile and a half to my hooch at the end of the day.  I make my way down the beaten and bumpy pavement, over the concrete foot bridge crossing one of several canals, through the empty horse stable parking lot, and around the corner of the trailer park.

Baghdad is, very simply, a noisy place.  There’s a constant flurry of activity that accumulates with the sound of running generators and helicopters flying overhead.  But for some reason, Iraq becomes astoundingly quiet at dusk.  For the first time all day, I take off the headphones blaring heavy metal in my ears and enjoy the sound of birds chirping and cooing. 

I trek in the direction of the Muslim prayer call, occasionally glancing up at the North Star, which appears brighter here than I remember it being in the states.  To the east, a flare lights up the night sky over an area of Baghdad that has been experiencing high insurgent activity.  I hear the approaching sound of a bicycle chain behind me, and a soldier wrapped in reflective tape soon speeds by.  As I near the stables, I can hear the stomping of a dozen feet.  Several men and women huddle on the stage practicing a fraternity step routine.  The smell of burning charcoal fills the air, and several guys huddle around a grill, swigging from distinctive green bottles of O’douls.  Soldiers and civilians alike march by on the sidewalk; some carrying M-16’s, some carrying a to-go box from the chow hall, some carrying both.  Most nod in acknowledgment of my presence, but few say anything at all.

I unlock the door to my room, change into something more suitable for sleep, and slide under the covers with a good book – I’ve moved on to Mick Foley’s Hardcore Diaries.  My eyes get heavy after only a few chapters, so I set my battery operated alarm and blow out the candle on the shelf by my bed.  I’m asleep in mere moments.

“Incoming!  Incoming!”  My lids spring open, and I lie frozen in my own skin.  My ears are finely tuned for any sound of humming or whistling, and my muscles tighten in preparation for the explosion that hits less than a minute later.  This one wasn’t particularly close, but it was still either near enough or powerful enough to shake my bed.  Moments later, two choppers fly overhead surveying for the point of origin.  We’re lucky to even get an alert blaring over the camp’s loudspeakers.  Rockets must be launched to a specific height to be detected by radar.

Just as I began that last paragraph, an IED exploded behind the office, just outside the perimeter of the camp.  Daily disturbances don’t affect me when I’m wide awake.  Unless the ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights rattle above my head (as they just did), I barely even notice.  However, when my mind is suddenly snatched from a dream and I’m still half unconscious, things that go boom in the night seem a lot more frightening.

I’m still trying to adjust to the communal showers and latrines.  I’ve become pretty adept at maneuvering in the three by three plastic box.  However, I have determined that you must be pretty damned near close to a Chinese acrobatic contortionist to successfully shave your legs in it.  I’m also fairly certain that some poor animal crawled under the johns and died.  But I digress.

The heat has become suffocating.  As soon as you open the door from an air conditioned trailer, it feels as if someone has vacuumed all the oxygen from your lungs.  We’ve only reached 110 degrees, and the temp is expected to rise another fifteen to twenty over the next month.  It’s a good thing bottled water is free.  We women at Camp Victory like to refer to this as weight loss season.

I also finally ventured out for a fun-filled evening of karaoke.  For the first time in years, I truly felt like I was back home in Arkansas.  It was a small production run by a couple of soldiers with speakers and a Mac.  The sound system was horrible, the song selection was worthless, and the participants seemed to be having a ball.  The boys and girls in uniform sat around on wooden benches and picnic tables, putting back non-alcoholic beer after non-alcoholic beer.  A barrel sat in the middle of the crowd burning scrap wood to help ward off mosquitoes.  A half hour and my own personal rendition of Separate Ways later, I was completely drenched in sweat.  Time to call it a night.

The longer I’m here, the more I realize that some will do anything possible to make Iraq feel more like home.  It’s actually quite refreshing.  Watching these men and women make the best of their situation puts a smile on my face every evening as I trudge back to my own personal home here on Camp Victory.

Cheers,
Felina