Like many soldiers, CPT Dick didn't really talk much about his deployment in Baghdad. He simply summed it up as, "It sucked ass," and saw no need to elaborate further. I think the most descriptive he ever got was in one letter back home after he had been there for a few months. He wrote, "The city smells like a combination of sewage, diesel exhaust and more sewage...the sand gets everywhere, including behind your balls." Poetical, no?
But being in Cairo did prompt him to tell me a few stories about his Iraq experience, albeit a few years later. Maybe it was all the sand (still getting behind his balls, I'd imagine, given how much I found in Munchkin's diaper), or the pervasive smell of sewage, or perhaps the crazy drivers always asking for a "baksheesh."
But as we were being taxied around Cairo by a particularly insane driver, CPT Dick laughed to himself and finally told a story. He said that while he was in Baghdad, there was a suspicious vehicle that was called in by a patrol. The guys at the base were asking for details about the car: make, model, distinctive characteristics, etc. The soldier calling in described the car in detail and was then asked to provide the license plate number. The soldier paused, sighed dejectedly, and then said, "Squiggle dot, squiggle squiggle dot, circle squiggle dot." He couldn't read the Arabic script and just did the best he could.
As I laughed at the story (because I certainly could do no better in deciphering Arabic script, especially on a dirty, banged up license plate), I thought about how strange it must be for soldiers to be in Iraq. How completely foreign it must all be. Different world, different culture, different language and different alphabet. For us, on a leisurely trip to Egypt (where everyone speaks English, at least to ask for some money), the foreignness was part of the allure. But for someone going on a year tour, I can't even imagine how completely and utterly unsettling a world of squiggle dots must be.
As I prepare for CPT Dick to make a year's return to that foreign land, I hope I remember how strange it all can be and be more patient with him.
But being in Cairo did prompt him to tell me a few stories about his Iraq experience, albeit a few years later. Maybe it was all the sand (still getting behind his balls, I'd imagine, given how much I found in Munchkin's diaper), or the pervasive smell of sewage, or perhaps the crazy drivers always asking for a "baksheesh."
But as we were being taxied around Cairo by a particularly insane driver, CPT Dick laughed to himself and finally told a story. He said that while he was in Baghdad, there was a suspicious vehicle that was called in by a patrol. The guys at the base were asking for details about the car: make, model, distinctive characteristics, etc. The soldier calling in described the car in detail and was then asked to provide the license plate number. The soldier paused, sighed dejectedly, and then said, "Squiggle dot, squiggle squiggle dot, circle squiggle dot." He couldn't read the Arabic script and just did the best he could.
As I laughed at the story (because I certainly could do no better in deciphering Arabic script, especially on a dirty, banged up license plate), I thought about how strange it must be for soldiers to be in Iraq. How completely foreign it must all be. Different world, different culture, different language and different alphabet. For us, on a leisurely trip to Egypt (where everyone speaks English, at least to ask for some money), the foreignness was part of the allure. But for someone going on a year tour, I can't even imagine how completely and utterly unsettling a world of squiggle dots must be.
As I prepare for CPT Dick to make a year's return to that foreign land, I hope I remember how strange it all can be and be more patient with him.
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