from istanbul to iraq 2 jan to feb

From Istanbul to Iraq (2), Jan. to Feb. 2005

viva iraq

Dear everybody,

Hey! Thanks so much for checking out my pics from Istanbul. The last

two weeks have been unbelievable and there's tons to say, much more

than can be communicated in an email, but here it is... (be sure to

check out my new pictures, if you forgot your password, they will send

you a new one)

I decided to leave town just as I was getting used to things in Amman,

Jordan. Or as the ex-pats like to call it, "the Hashemite Kingdom of

Boredom". I ended up making a ton of friends, which was easy since

there's about two cool places to hang out. Amman is, at best, livable

and serviceable. Even though I didn't pack my high-heels, Arab

countries without glamour are mostly just Arab. It's a cool enough

place, but not so great for women to wander around in... you know how

I like to wander.

All the money in Amman is wrapped up in the homes of rich people.

Since I was staying at a well-known cultural Center, I was able to

meet a prince (you can practically spit and hit one) and took at least

one ride in a pimped out BMW.... occupational hazard in this part of

the world.

Now I'm in Iraq. Which is to say, Kurdistan. (I can hear the Turks

among you cringing.) I received an invitation from an independent

consultant, named Esteban, and his girlfriend to come out here to

Erbil and talk to the people on the ground. So after some fancy

footwork, I finally made it. It was a crazy trip.

First, I had to find an NGO to sponsor my flight on the humanitarian

airline, AirServ. This is a non-profit airline which flies

humanitarian workers into dangerous places around the world. In order

to avoid getting shot down, they use really small planes and a

"corkscrew" technique for landing. Essentially, they stay thousands of

feet above the airport and then descend really quickly in a spiral.

After I found an organization to help me get on the plane and get a

Visa, I got to experience the corkscrew landing for myself. I flew

among the clich�s of the humanitarian world: every brand of Vietnam

veteran, Priests, Imams, and chain smoking loners. You could probably

guess I was the only woman among them.

The flight from Amman took off just after dawn into Baghdad. The poet

in me was deeply satisfied to sail across a vast desert in a tiny

propeller plane. For future reference: there is no better place for a

nap. Whenever I travel and end up in potentially anxious situations, I

like to tell myself I'm just headed down to the pharmacy. Propeller

flights into war zones? Sure. Wrong neighborhood in a foreign country

at 3am? Well, I'm just out for aspirin.

The descent was insane. It felt like someone crazy had actually taken

control of the plane. We were miles above the airport when we started

a sharp spiral into Baghdad International. After we spun for 10

seconds clockwise, the plane would veer off straight into the opposite

direction and spin counterclockwise. We lost altitude so quickly that

moving my body was like walking through mud. I picked up my ipod and

it seemed to weigh ten pounds.

It was really surreal to taxi across the runway and see the sign which

read, "Baghdad International Airport." Naturally--as I seem to be

losing my mind--I just laughed. I was supposed to hop off the plane,

get a visa, then hop back on to another flight north into Erbil.

Instead, I faced a dilemma at the visa "office." It's easy enough to

visualize: walk off the plane, guy points to a doorway, inside the

doorway a small room with two empty desks, a chain-smoking man with a

mustache and a sign scrawled in magic-marker taped above him which

says, "VISA". Uh huh. So you're pretty much ready for whatever at that

point.

The Iraqis are running the airport. As everyone is quick to tell you,

the Iraqis run everything in the country. Security is being operated

under consultation from an international contractor called Global. And

the US military uses the airport. But when it comes to everything

else: the knowledge, authority, employees, closing time, tower,

etc.... it's Iraqis.

My problem at the visa office was that the letter of sponsorship I had

was from an Islamic organization. The first question the guy asked

was, "Are you Muslim?" So, not wanting to get caught in a web of lies,

I said, "No." He told me I needed some different forms, which I didn't

have, and then barked emphatically, "Go back to Amman. Next!!"

After everyone realized that the American girl had a problem, the

security people from Global helped me figure out what to do. They

asked one of the US soldiers passing through if I could use his cell

phone. I quickly tried to reach my contacts in Amman and they agreed

to call Baghdad to see if someone could get the paperwork to me.

Amazingly, they did. Baghdad International Airport has no phones, no

internet, no faxes. So someone had to receive a fax for me in Baghdad,

travel to the checkpoint nearest to the airport, and then pass the

papers to the security staff to bring to me.

In the meantime, the weather turned really bad and the airport lost

electricity and closed. All the lights went out and everybody started

heading home. It was so funny. I was hanging out with the security

people and they were trying to figure out what would happen for the

airplanes currently trying to land. This is their c.b. radio

conversation:

Security 1: Ten thirteen.... Do you know if the tower is open? We lost

electricity. Over.

Security 2: Ten twelve... Where are you? Over.

Security 1: We're in the terminal. Over.

Security 2: You have no electricity? (laughs) Over.

Security 1: No. Over.

Security 2: We're contacting the tower. We're not sure if they're

open. Over.

Security 1: Do you think they will land the planes in the air? Over.

Security 2: We cannot determine if the tower is open. (Laugh). It may

be a language issue. Over.

Security 1: That'll happen. (Laugh). Over.

It's hard to believe. These guys really have their work cut out for

them. When the paperwork finally made it to me, the visa "office" was

closed. I decided that since the issue with my visa was obviously

bullshit, that I would skip the last flight to Amman, stay at the

airport, and try again in the morning.

The guys with Global took me in to their "camp" and we spent the

evening watching DVD's in their tiny trailer park right next to the

runway. They smuggled me some steak out of their mess hall, and thanks

to the earplugs I always travel with, I managed to sleep a few hours

in spite of the planes landing next to me and the wind, which

threatened to blow us all back into the desert.

Armed with all the unnecessary paperwork, I went back to the Visa

office in the morning. The guy behind the desk just looks at me, "Why

didn't you go back to Amman?" He finally admitted that he didn't

believe I was really associated with the organization who sponsored me

because it was Islamic and "Americans have a big problem with Islam."

After consulting with the Global people, I decided to offer the Visa

guy a hundred dollars in cash but he just said, "Put your money away."

He asked me to wait and put me in a chair between the two desks in

their 8ft x 10ft office. At this point, I finally understood I was

meant to serve penitence. So I played along, and for about two hours,

sat quietly staring at the floor while people came in and out off the

office. If what they wanted was to demonstrate their power to all the

other Westerners coming through, so be it. The Europeans looked at me

nervously, but I just never looked up. It's a winning strategy around

here.

When I got to Erbil, I was so relieved to meet Esteban and Marinka at

the airport. Erbil (which Europeans cleverly spell, "Arbil") is a

peaceful state in northern Iraq and is a big location for NGO's. The

airport is teeny tiny and safe enough not to warrant the spiral

descent.

The place where I'm staying is awesome. Esteban and Marinka rent about

three houses on a little block for whatever foreign consultants or

contractors might visit. The road is blocked on one side and we have a

couple guys with machine guns out in front all the time. We also live

off American money and someone actually makes my coffee and my bed

every morning.

The house is just a few blocks away from "the compound"--a six block

by six block gated neighborhood filled with NGO's. My first night

here, we went to "The Edge", which is the only bar on the compound.

Naturally, I met everyone I needed to meet in just a few minutes. For

an elections geek like me, it was the who's who of reconstruction

acronyms... RTI, NDI, IFES, USAID...

Anyone I want to speak to is accessible to me here. I've had some

wonderful conversations. These people are actually trapped inside the

compound and, due to the nature of their work and US liability laws,

unable to leave without armor plated vehicles and about ten huge guys.

Needlesstosay, it makes setting up appointments inside the compound

really, really easy.

The population inside the compound is dominated by guys we call

"PSDs," or Private Security Detail. There are probably 5 PSDs to every

one NGO person in the compound. It's a sea of guns. Handguns, machine

guns, AK-47's.....you name it. The PSDs make between $500-1000 per

day. Which explains why $3 billion of funds dedicated to

reconstruction were recently reallocated to security. These guys

mostly hang-out and watch D.V.D.'s all day and only move when whoever

they're guarding travels outside of the compound. It's incredibly

sobering to know the US is footing the bill for everything.

I'm talking to Iraqis too. Yesterday I went to a press conference held

by a Kurdish politician who will be on the combined Kurdish ticket for

Congress. The two parties, the PUK and the KDP, historically came

together in order to demonstrate the Kurdish unity in this election.

His message was pretty run-of-the-mill, as one official with the State

Department told me, "You can talk to one Kurdish guy and you never

need to talk to another one." This is an exaggeration, but it's true

that their message is unbelievably well-wrought.

The funniest thing was later in the evening when my housemate Maria

said, "I just saw you on television." Sure enough, they were

broadcasting the press conference. I snapped a photo of myself on

Kurdish television because, really, how often does that happen? I told

Maria I can't wait to show everyone this picture, but on the other

hand, my family might begin to suspect I'm not exactly keeping a low

profile.....

Anyway, rest assured that things in Erbil are cool. If there is

violence in the North, it will continue in spots like Mosul and

Kirkuk. I don't expect to see anything happen here. There will be

curfews and most movement will stop, so we'll just be watching the

elections on t.v. too. Albeit, with a slightly better view.

Take good care, Em

Amman

traffic in amman

a small girl in a village outside amman. it was fun to speak arabic

with the children in this village. they're at about the same vocab

level as me.

gotta love those missing teeth.

what culture gap??

this photo illuminates my fascination with the appearance of plastic

picnic furniture around the world. china is selling this stuff

everywhere. for some reason, it seems to epitomize the global economy

for me.

the front door/gate to a home in amman.

the new advertisement for GapKidsJordan. this is the rich

neighborhood.

there is a law in amman that all buildings must be made of sandstone.

that's why everything looks the same. sooo booorring.

friends in jordan.

an ancient village in jordan where people were living up until about a

year ago. now it's a historic site.

i took this photo during the eid festival. on this day of the year,

muslims wake up at about dawn and slaughter a sheep. it's customary to

keep half, give one quarter to your family, and one quarter to the

poor. this is actually at a slaughterhouse where many many sheep were

being distributed by an Islamic charity organization. the sheep skins

are also resold to make money for next year's charity.

the West Bank is just on the other side of this water, and Israel is

also visible. the water belongs to Israel.

the soil is filled with rocks. this is a rocky country with almost no

assets. no oil, very little water. understandably, jordan is extremely

impoverished.

Iraq

the kind of plane on which i flew to erbil

this is the guy from Global who saved me by taking me into the

company's "camp", a bunch of trailers in a mud puddle.

baghdad international airport at dawn. the place is like a ghost town.

you know, it's operational, but not actually working. it's as if

you've arrived in a deserted bar and found a bartender-- who manages

to serve drinks despite the cobwebs. seriously spooky.

in iraq, my housemate Maria on the way to work in a "flak" jacket, a

bulletproof vest. most people travel in caravans of SUV's. in this

case, one security guard was driving us and another was sitting in the

front seat with a machine gun. this is considered very low security.

these are iraqi security guards, kurds. obviously, they're not paid

like an American or International security guard. most security teams

include Iraqis to a certain extent. but lots of people view them as a

liability b/c of their supposed lack of loyalty.

inside the compound. bikes are a popular mode of transit.

kurdish lunch. i never ask what the meat is anymore. that's a recipe

for disaster. actually, this was a pretty delicious meal.

me on Kurdish television... second row, on the right. go figure. the

top script is in turkish, the bottom, in arabic.