PDA

View Full Version : In Iraq, hospitality, happenstance get us over the hump



thedrifter
03-29-09, 04:39 AM
Posted on Sat, Mar. 28, 2009
In Iraq, hospitality, happenstance get us over the hump
By MATT SCHOFIELD
The Kansas City Star

KUT, Iraq | When my daughter Genevieve asked for a camel for her birthday, I knew it was a joke.


She turned 17 on Saturday, and 17-year-olds are past wanting such things for birthdays, I figured.

Still, the idea of a camel, perhaps taking a photo as a birthday joke, was on my mind when I prepared to head south and east from Baghdad to Kut, 100 miles and about two hours away.

I’d seen camels on the roads in Iraq before. Once, in a covered vehicle with Marines, a camel shocked about six of us by poking a curious head inside and sniffing around.

Hussein, an Iraqi co-worker, told me not to get too excited about camels this far east.

“OK,” I said. “But if we see one, I intend to stop and take a photo.”

“Of course,” he answered, with a chuckle. He was being nice, after lecturing me that it was useless to cry “sick stomach” in hopes of avoiding a meal at our host’s home during a coming interview. He told me that even though I was just getting over a bout of food poisoning, refusing what a host provides is a terrible insult.

I moaned. He said, “I will call and warn them, but you must at least try.”

In the meantime, he suggested I look for camels.

The land was flat. Not flat like Kansas is supposed to be flat, meaning wide open and rolling. Actually flat. Where it wasn’t irrigated, it was solid beige low brush with hardy clumps of straw grass, dusted beige by sandstorms.

And fields, mostly of wheat. We were leaving the Tigris and Euphrates river valley that feeds Baghdad, but there was still water, and a system of canals I’ve been told was first developed by Alexander the Great.

Our trip was taking us through Kut, a provincial capital built around a reservoir, one designed by the British during their colonial rule.

The last time I had been in Kut I’d caught a U.S. helicopter to a military base on the edge of town manned by Ukrainian soldiers. That trip was all about security. Even in military vehicles, there was a sense that we weren’t exactly safe.

This time we were driving, in un-armored cars. It felt like a simple Saturday drive. As we left Kut, however, still scanning for camels, I noticed a dead dog on the road’s shoulder, and as we slowed, I realized it was only a dog skin stretched over a dull-black cylinder. We sped up again before I was able to figure out if it actually was an artillery shell, but it was surely explosives of some kind. A typical roadside bomb.

We reached our destination only a few minutes before noon, 90 minutes late. Hussein reminded me this would mean a large meal, which I would eat. We were meeting with a wounded soldier, Abass Mushai, an Iraqi Army corporal who’d lost his left foot to a roadside bomb. I went to ask his perspective, as a man whose life was changed by war here, about the U.S. pullout from his country. He was eager to talk. He mentioned food as soon as we stepped inside.

It’s tradition here: Guests are to be honored. A guest should be treated royally. Iraqis quote the Qur’an that a man must first serve his guest and then his beasts and his family. There’s an old Iraqi saying: If you have nothing else to offer a guest, slaughter the beast you ride. If you have nowhere else to sleep, take the floor and offer your bed.

The tradition of treating guests well, of course, was bad news for a queasy stomach. We settled on the thick rugs covering the floor of an adobe guest parlor on Mushai’s farm. A pillow for our backs, another to rest an arm.

And almost as soon as we started talking, a long plastic tablecloth was spread over the rug in front of us. Soon, mountains of food started arriving: Chicken and rice and pasta heaped in serving bowls that I soon realized weren’t serving bowls; there was one bowl for each of us. Similar-sized bowls of thiread, Iraqi flat bread soaked in broth. There were platters of fruit for each of us, and massive bowls of yogurt, beans and pickled okra.

Hussein gave me a raised eyebrow, so I ate. Mushai apologized for it being a simple meal. We thanked him again and again for this kindness. And I was embarrassed to notice that my queasy stomach vanished as I ate.

Soon, Hussein gave me another raised eyebrow, reminding me that what we didn’t eat would feed Mushai’s wife and children.

We had sugared hot tea, Iraqi-style chai, and said our farewells.

On the ride back, I furiously searched for roadside bombs. Which, of course, is when I saw the camels.
Matt Schofield, a Star correspondent, is on his fifth assignment in Iraq. He may be reached at mschofield@kcstar.com.

Ellie