Dispatches From Iraq — The Landscape
A land of stark contrast, Iraq is a place where people can be openly friendly, or guarded, dangerous and hostile
March 2004 — Iraq seems to be a country of stark contrast. It is a land where the harsh reality of the desert abruptly changes to a brilliant green swath of vegetation surrounding an aqua blue river.
It is a place where dirt poor villages created out of mud and rock stand next to opulent garland palaces built by Saddam and his anointed followers. The people here can be openly friendly or guarded, dangerous and hostile. It is a place that requires your constant vigilance as you travel through the countryside.
The 1st Marine Division is to be headquartered in a small base nestled into the bend of the Euphrates river. A short way down the river is the City of Ramadi. The capital of the Al Anbar providence. The largest province of Iraq it encompasses all the western desert between the Euphrates and Jordan.
It is from here that I am taken by my Army counterparts out for my first trip to see the countryside. My mission is to assess the challenges that face the Marines and Sailors tasked with planning and executing the 1st Marine Division’s reconstruction effort.
The first thing I notice when I leave the compound is that the land feels ancient. Dikes and irrigation ditches, following natural drainage paths, line the small farms to draw the water from the Euphrates river to the plots of grain, vegetables and date palms.
I sense that these farms have been there for thousands of years and the people who work the land are much a part of the landscape as the river itself. Homes all have the same style of construction, using stone or concrete block for the single story structures and, if the owner is doing well, covered with stucco.
Many of the homes, surrounded by stone walls, are remarkably large and look well kept. If the owner is not doing well, then the house is rough and color of desert dust. Its fences made from the reeds that grow along the river. Farm animals, mostly chickens, sheep and donkeys, dot the countryside and sad, tired looking dogs wander about unchained. There are few, if any, mechanical devices to be seen. It is a basic society with most everything done by hand.
There are children everywhere. As we drive into the farmlands, they emerge from every nook and cranny to dash madly to the edge of the road and wave as the convoy passes by. They fly with their feet barely touching the ground. Arms waving with huge smiles.
Their energy and joy is infectious and I grin and laugh as I wave back. The adults are far more reserved. Most return a wave, some smile, some look pretty mean, but most seem to have accepted our presences and go about their daily lives ignoring us.
The desert comes quickly when you turn away from the river. It is barren, flat, and seems lifeless. However, as I cross it, I notice that there is life here as well. We switch to traveling by helicopter, which gives me the sweeping perspective.
From the air I can see patches of green, hardy grass that grow in the winter months, dotting the desert floor. It is in those green patches I can see shepherds surrounded by herds of sheep. They are tens of miles from anywhere with no signs of cars, tents or other means of support. I wonder how those people get there.
As my day progresses, and I get a feel for the country, I find I like this place. There is a timelessness that I had not expected. But it is a dangerous place. My travels expose me and my companions to those who want to kill us. We travel in armored vehicles with loaded weapons pointed outward.
When we fly in helicopters later in the morning, we dash madly across the desert at 180 mph, 20 feet above the desert floor. A dramatic measure that avoids, or at least reduces, a trip ending surface-to-air missiles shot.
As my day comes to a close, we return to our dust covered vehicles for the last leg home. Back along the river and through the farms. I look forward to my opportunity to help the Iraqi people rebuild their country, but wonder if they will give us the chance.
I ponder these contrasts as we drive through the countryside, smiling and waving to the children. All the while holding a loaded pistol in my lap.
