Letters From Iraq

Letter from Iraq.

Dear Marla,

I guess it's only been eight weeks since I got on a deceptively comfortable TWA flight toward Hell, but it feels like at least a year. When I joined the ROTC, I certainly didn't except it to lead to this.

Remember how I used to complain about the heat during my training at Fort Bliss? Well, I honestly didn't think it could get any worse. Boy, was I wrong. As I'm writing this, the outdoor temperature is a "comfortable" 100 degrees. I say comfortable because that's the low for the day. Earlier, it was 115 degrees. What the hell? All I'm saying is that someone stupid enough to open a bar with a functional ice machine could make a lot of money, here Ð'... at least until a mortar shell drops in.

I know you're thinking, "I told you so" thoughts right now. I suppose it only makes sense that ice would be scarce in Hell. But, nobody warned me about the shower water smelling of diesel fuel or the continuous dust and sand. When my time finally comes to go home, I don't think I'll appreciate the sandy beaches of California as much as I used to, although I would definitely appreciate the ice cold beer I'd be drinking there. My next vacation is going to be someplace cold and civilized. Shopping in cool Wal-Mart sounds good right nowÐ'...

But, I do have to say that the children here amaze me. They run alongside our vehicles, climb on our equipment, ask us for candy, and play happily in spite of their horrible living conditions. Half of them have no shoes. Most of them have ragged clothing. But, they don't seem to notice or care. Their attitude is so different that that of the adults. For months, the Iraqis who work in the hospital I work in refused to look me in the eye. Adults on the street keep their heads down when our troops pass by. The children are such a welcome anomaly here.

Sweet joy befall thee!

``I have no name:

I am but two days old.''

What shall I call thee?

``I happy am,

Joy is my name.''

I copied that from a poetry book that was in one of the relief boxes sent from the states. Yes, I read poetry occasionally.

Nursing profession is so different here. Nurses are like waitresses that serve medical care instead of food. They work on tips. It is bazaar! The Iraqi nurses sometime even turn away patients if they don't tip. It seems so wrong to me. There is so much need for health care, but so little hope for the poor who are in need of it. I used to hear people complain about the healthcare system in the US (me, included). How appalled people would be at the conditions here.

Another thing that surprised me here is the extreme difference between the wealthy and the poor. There are beautiful palaces built right next to an extremely poor neighborhood. One is only half a mile up the street from the hospital that I work at sometimes. The palace is incredible. How can anyone be happy when they look outside and see such poverty? How can they continue to take so much when they are so close to people with so little? It just doesn't make any sense.

Can I see another's woe,

And not be in sorrow