I had detonated a “bitching bomb.” The jundi went on a tirade of complaints, hoping I could fix all the problems in Iraq. “Jamal, we have no pay, no new clothes, no new uniforms, no food, we get shot at every day. How can we continue this way of life?” Qasem, the driver of the Iraqi Humvee I had ridden in during the Kaffijiyah and Bani Dahir operations, approached me and said, “Jamal, look at my socks.” Qasem pulled off a boot and showed me his decrepit sock. I said, “Good God! We just received a new supply of socks, shoes, boots, and uniforms at the battalion. They still have not sent any of this gear to the fighters in 4th Iraqi Company?”
I knew I could not help these men with their pay problems, since those issues were fixed at the highest and most corrupt levels of the MOD; however, I could possibly get these guys supplies by asking Lieutenant Adams to put his boot in the ass of Nihad, the battalion supply officer. Before I gave the jundi an honest assessment, I remembered Mohammed’s key point during his Arab culture brief at Camp Taji: when dealing with an Arab do not be direct in your responses and criticisms; instead, go out of your way to be helpful and accommodating, even if what you are saying is not the complete truth.
I rejected the American culture tendency to be candid and instead gave the jundi my culturally aware response. “Friends, I will try my best to work with the brigade to ensure Tseen is rectifying your pay problems. I think there is hope. I will also ask the battalion where your supplies are located. Please be patient.” I paused before continuing. “Bil mustekbel rah yakoon maku mushkila. Insha’allah.” (In the future, there will be no problems. God willing.) The soldiers appreciated my sincerity. “Jamal, my brother, thank you for caring about us, God willing you can help us, may God be with you.” The Iraqis each gave me a hug and their best wishes. Mohammed’s cultural insights had served me well.
On our way out of the Haditha FOB, Imus mumbled under his breath to me, “Money is the root of all evil. People who want everything are no good. I am sorry you have to deal with those Iraqis.” Imus, in his ideal world where every Iraqi loves one another and praises God, was angry at the jundi for telling me their problems. A very proud Iraqi, Imus was trying to convey to me that greed, poverty, and begging were not the norm with his people. His people were not these problem-ridden Iraqi soldiers; his people were part of the historic Arab kingdoms, which oversaw a glorious Islamic society along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. To ease his fears I said, “Imus, dude, it’s all good, man. Every society has a group in need. I won’t hold it against you.”
On the convoy home, as I was searching for IEDs, I thought about the supply issues within the Iraqi army and how we could fix them. How could it be that battalion headquarters had recently received a shipment of new supplies and yet the actual fighters at the company level had nothing? How could we help these Iraqi soldiers?
My thoughts on helping the Iraqis solve their supply problems had changed by the end of our thirty-minute convoy. At the end of our trip the jundi started throwing boxes of their meals, ready-to-eat (MREs) onto the side of the road. I could not believe it. How could they bitch to me about not having supplies then throw boxes of chow off their Humvee because it did not appeal to their taste buds? We had just risked our lives in the Barwana markets buying these guys food and now they were throwing away their backup chow? This episode only reinforced what I had seen earlier when we were unloading all the new Iraqi supplies. The Iraqis showed me their bin of used equipment. The bin was filled with used flak jackets, boots, and uniforms from soldiers who had quit or been fired. If these guys were so desperate, why didn’t they use some of this stuff? It was not in poor shape. What’s wrong with these people? I thought.
I think the answer lies in the Iraqi perception that American taxpayers have an infinite supply of money. Guess what, Mr. Jundi? The Marines recycle gear all the time and never throw out boxes of MREs needlessly. At times the Iraqis annoyed me with their sob stories, especially when their whining was followed by a bout of wastefulness and an attitude that Americans “will just buy us new things, as they always do.” But then again—MREs do suck!
Chapter 10
Insights on Iraqi Culture
Every day I was in Iraq I learned more about Iraqi culture. The most shocking lesson came from Colonel Abass, who gave Lieutenant Colonel Cooling (the 3/3 commander), a few U.S. Army Special Forces soldiers, Staff Sergeant Haislip, and I a lesson on Arab marital relations at a lunch gathering.
A Dinner Date with Colonel Abass
After the standard thirty minutes of chit-chat over lunch, Cooling said to Abass, “Seyidi [Sir], what do you think about the insurgents in this area?” Abass responded through Martin, the terp, “My honest opinion is they are all faggots and homosexuals and do not follow the Koran. They probably don’t even beat their wives.” We all chuckled at the statement, but we could not believe what we were hearing.
Cooling asked Abass the same question we all wanted to ask: “So you said the insurgents do not beat their wives—is not beating your wife considered a bad thing?” Abass got out of his seat with a wide grin on his face and spoke, “In Iraq, it is mandatory you beat your wife!” We all looked at each other, puzzled but curious to see where this conversation was going. He continued, “To not beat your wife is considered unmanly. Men who do not beat their women allow their women to take advantage of them through their powers of seduction. I think Western pressure to stop wife beating will only lead to a systematic weakness in Iraqi men.”
Cooling asked, “Now, Seyidi, what if your wife is not causing any problems? Would you still beat her?” Abass replied, “Gentlemen, that is a good question. Let me explain. It is important to beat your wife to remind her you are in control. For example, I have two wives. One of my wives is a disaster and I beat her all the time; however, one of my wives is absolutely perfectly behaved, yet despite her good behavior, I still must beat her.”
We all listened intently, trying to decipher the absurdity of this statement. Abass continued, “It is not like I just start beating my good wife for any reason—that is senseless. I make sure she knows why I am beating her.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “One trick I have used in the past has worked quite well. Let me tell you the story. I had just returned from the doctor’s office and the doctor told me that I had very high cholesterol and that I must cease my intake of sodium. I told my wife this bit of news and she responded by ensuring that all of my food was prepared without any salt. Everything was fine for a few weeks. Even so, one evening I knew I needed to beat my wife.”
I halted the conversation. “Seyidi, you felt a need to beat your wife?” Abass replied, “Yes, of course—but let me continue with the story. So my wife brought me a bowl of soup without any salt, just like she was supposed to do. When she looked away, I sprinkled salt on my soup. I ate the soup and after a few bites, I started yelling at her for trying to kill me. She was a bit surprised there was salt in the soup, but assumed she had made the mistake. I proceeded to beat her as punishment and she accepted the beating.”