The Dispatches from Iraq — The Super Phosphate Plant
A damaged factory was a symbol of challenges facing the United States Marines in Iraqi 2004
April 2004 — The super phosphate plant sits in the desert like a mighty beached ship, rusting away in the pale noonday sun. It was once the symbol of progress and the crown jewel of Saddam’s state-owned industrial system and supplied fertilizer to the entire country. Now it is a symbol of the challenges facing the Iraqi government. Lack of raw materials cripples the plant. A yearlong shut down has atrophied its main operating components and there is a shortage of power and fuel. Only the talent and of a small group of dedicated Iraqi engineers and the determination of a plant manager that refuses to quit keeps it alive.
All the while, we, the Americans, try to help but struggle to untie the tangled knots of the remaining bureaucratic system and damage from the war. My job is to assess the plant, its functional status and then report back to the division on a recommendation. I am accompanied by an Army Captain from the 82nd Airborne Division. He is a slightly built fellow, fluent in the local language, and has been relentless in championing the plant. My first thought when meeting with him is a Lawrence of Arabia type character. He has definitely gone native. I hope to apply some calm dispassionate engineering logic to the assessment.
To visit the plant, I travel by helicopter to a town called Al-Qa’im on the border where the Euphrates flows out of Syria and into Iraq. The ride there is low and fast to avoid surface-to-air fire. On arrival, the helicopter puts me into a base near the plant, which is occupied by a United States Marine Corps infantry battalion. It is a place that sees its share of rocket and mortar fire from insurgents in the area. Shrapnel from the enemy fire leave walls of the compound pocketed with holes.
I have a brief meeting with the Battalions Commander, who then assigns a team to take me to the plant by tactical convoy. Weapons drawn, as they always are when one is outside the wire, the convoy travels through the haze of dust and past piles of waste material from the industrial process at the plant. The trip ends in an expansive but shabby court yard where the convoy coils like snake next to a 1970s style concrete office building. Dismounting and holstering our weapons, we move from the stifling heat to the entrance of the building. Inside is another world as I walk across the cool tile, up a marble and stainless steel staircase, and into the second floor office of Mr. Kahalif, the plant manager.
It is the meeting with Mr Kahalif that I understand how the plant somehow keeps running. He is an older gentleman who speaks impeccable English, has a wonderfully dry sense of humor and knows his plant like the back of his hand. Meetings with Mr. Kahalif is a unique experience. His office is enormous and sparsely decorated. It reflects his engineering roots. When I greet him, he comes from behind his desk with a smile and a warm handshake. Like most Arab leaders, he carries himself with quiet confidence.
The meeting begins Mr. Kahalif motions me to a small coffee table positioned in front of his desk. A move that removes the formality of the desk setting and brings us to equal footing. His secretary puts chairs on either side and brings hot sweet coffee. The rest of my entourage, as well as his staff, are relegated to chairs along the wall opposite his desk. They sit as a quiet audience for our discussions. As we draw our chairs to the table, he slides a pack of cigarettes across the table to me. I am not a smoker but recognize the symbolism. I take one and light it up.
It is then the business begins. With smoke swirling around our heads, Mr. Kahalif methodically walks me through the processes of the plant, which include drawing neat diagrams on a green notepad. There are many challenges. He talks about the problems of obtaining repair parts, fuel, and shipping of raw materials to the site. It is a frank, straightforward assessment of the shortcomings of the bureaucratic Iraqi state-owned system hampering his ability to operate in the dynamic modern marketplace. I am not an industrial engineer, but my environmental permitting experience has put me in enough factories, steel mills and processing plants to keep up with his presentation on the status of the plant.
After the meeting, they take us on a tour. Mr. Kahalif walks us through the huge plant. He knows every operation, every valve, every pipe. Meanwhile, I, a civil engineer, not mechanical, find the system is so immense that I can hardly grasp the basic components. The visual appearance of the lack of repair is overwhelming. It seems inconceivable that such an extensive collection of rusted pipes, tanks and metal buildings can produce anything at all.
The problems seem overwhelming. They built the plant in the early 70s and is decades behind the automated and modern plants in nearby countries. They cannot bring in phosphate rock from the mines because the rail system, in a similar state of repair, does not run. Electrical power and fuel supply for operations is intermittent because of downed power lines and sabotaged natural gas pipelines. Sulfur for the acid plants come from another state-owned mine that cannot deliver because its broken conveyor belts. Onsite backup power is a struggle as well, because the Central government delivered the wrong type of generator. And won’t take it back and deliver the right one. On top of all of that, Mr. Kahalif and his employees are under constant threat of death from anti-coalition forces. At least that is something that my fellow Marines can deal with.
Somehow, Mr. Kahalif and his team have achieved an operational status. Mr. Kahalif seems to push it through with travels to Baghdad to convince the Ministry of Power to reroute electricity to the plant. He travels to the sulfur mine to help them fix their conveyor systems, and he constantly encourages his plant engineers to jury rig innovative work around to make things work. His engineers fabricate burners that can use leftover crude oil, instead of natural gas, from a nearby oil field. They scrounge parts, jury rig systems, and make the outdated plant to work. American forces help as best they can by providing money when needed, providing training in marketing and distribution, and encouraging the US led Coalition Provisional Authority to help with the bureaucratic tangle. In the end, the plant works. Just barely. They achieve just enough efficiency to produce a viable product.
When I leave the plant, I look back at the receding hulk through the haze of dust kicked up by our vehicles and realize that it remains a symbol of Iraq. A symbol of the challenges that face the country and the possibilities that exist with the right help and focus. To me, Iraq has the resources and people to be a viable, thriving nation. But to do so it they must overcome the years of neglect and abuse that were a trademark of the Saddam regime. There are people like Mr. Kahalif and his engineers who have the determination to make it work. The question is, will they be able to succeed in the long run? I also wonder if we can help them acheive their goals? I turn back to view the empty desert road in front of us. Only time will tell, I think. Only time will tell.
