Prayers can no longer be heard from the other side of the US grade bomb proof walls. The sounds of prayer are now coming from this side at daylight. It's because there is no one on the other side of the walls any more. Everyone who works this far out in the desert is in here with us. We are one big group, working, living, eating, some praying, some listening. Beyond the US grade bomb proof walls, there is just the vast rolling sands that finally rises into hills just enough to make the horizon more complicated than a transverse line.
There are local prayers, however, in two varieties I can count on. First, the living voices waking me at daylight, and no longer surprising me with the deep voices that seem to go in and out of harmony. Due to this regular event, I don't need an alarm clock.
But I've also discovered them on the radio channel on my IPod. I feel like it's best not to clip this transmission inside my shorts when I run, risking heresy, even though Mr. Jobs, in his recent past life, managed to devise this clip as a most elegant and functional means of attachment. He may or may not have thought of this confluence of options: prayer and gym shorts.
However, it does seem like a place Eddie Vedder or Emmy Lou Harris could safely go. Ms Harris, whose talents with voice, skirt and boots has transcended fashion and created a genre including these three elements. Maybe only a few of us are aware of this genre, but it's a dedicated few. Mr Vedder, arguably, may not be gifted with any of these three elements necessarily, but there is just something about his delivery. Every generation needs a poet who can't sing.
All this is to say I have moved to a new location. It's a big scratch in the Syrian where I am now, no longer a tightly packed residential community in town. It's not a place one would choose to live, but it is a place to work, and that's what brought us all here after all.
I've maintained a pen- on- napkin running count of moves since I first accepted this assignment, and it's possible there has been a piece of luggage left unchecked.
Let's review:
2011:
1. early September: Deployment Center in Texas
2. mid September: West Va for Training
3. late Sept: Falls Church, Va for waiting - Best Western variety
4. late Sept and October: Back to Phoenix for more waiting - home variety
5. late Oct: to Erbil, first living quarters for 5 days
6. the second living space in Erbil - above the clinic
7. November: Back to the US for Mom's memorial service
8. November: Moved to this new site north of Erbil - CHU life
So here I am.
I'm currently unpacked in a Container Housing Unit, which is called a CHU in military terms, named by the people who left them. This makes me an old lady who lives in a CHU. This CHU, like all its neighbors, are without running water, but do have the benefit of a US grade bomb proof wall (not to be confused with the perimeter wall) around the group of us. There are gaps to walk through, like the way the highway department accomodates for wildlife along highways. To get to the showers or toilets, which are also in these rectangular metal buildings (CHUs), find the nearest gap.
The first couple of days I was here, the walls and CHUs, having few distinguishable identifiers, were like a corn maze without anything organic involved. Not being able to see over the walls within walls provides a distinct disadvantage to anyone hoping for a visual landmark. Fortunately, there were no wavy mirrors, instead, there were individuals in vehicles who asked me if I needed a ride. I did.
One huge advantage to being here is the space. Once I figured out where the perimeter wall actually is, and yes, this took three days, I realized the 3 mile running track is a fantastic alternative to the treadmill. The treadmill, not incidentally, is in a tent with no windows, so years of dissociation while running really is paying off. Otherwise the tent gym is stuffed full of high quality equipment, pushed up against canvas walls of a 20 year old wall tent.
And I saw some of my potential patients when I was out today. These include the canines. They were practicing their skills for an exam, yet they did not appear stressed. There was lots of wagging, actually.The bomb sniffing dogs are in my care, along with their human handlers. I watched them train together, and they are good! A tennis ball, or a Kong on the human's behalf, and the dogs will reward us with no bombs. They sit when they have the scent. We all survive to play ball again. What a deal.
After all, we are all here to work. My job is to be prepared for disaster in this huge occupational space, while sniffles and sore throat are the order of the day. I run with my cell in my pocket; I sleep with it by the bed. It's not just my lucky charm, it's my patients' only 911 service. And just like in the ER, we don't say the "Q" word...
There are local prayers, however, in two varieties I can count on. First, the living voices waking me at daylight, and no longer surprising me with the deep voices that seem to go in and out of harmony. Due to this regular event, I don't need an alarm clock.
But I've also discovered them on the radio channel on my IPod. I feel like it's best not to clip this transmission inside my shorts when I run, risking heresy, even though Mr. Jobs, in his recent past life, managed to devise this clip as a most elegant and functional means of attachment. He may or may not have thought of this confluence of options: prayer and gym shorts.
However, it does seem like a place Eddie Vedder or Emmy Lou Harris could safely go. Ms Harris, whose talents with voice, skirt and boots has transcended fashion and created a genre including these three elements. Maybe only a few of us are aware of this genre, but it's a dedicated few. Mr Vedder, arguably, may not be gifted with any of these three elements necessarily, but there is just something about his delivery. Every generation needs a poet who can't sing.
All this is to say I have moved to a new location. It's a big scratch in the Syrian where I am now, no longer a tightly packed residential community in town. It's not a place one would choose to live, but it is a place to work, and that's what brought us all here after all.
I've maintained a pen- on- napkin running count of moves since I first accepted this assignment, and it's possible there has been a piece of luggage left unchecked.
Let's review:
2011:
1. early September: Deployment Center in Texas
2. mid September: West Va for Training
3. late Sept: Falls Church, Va for waiting - Best Western variety
4. late Sept and October: Back to Phoenix for more waiting - home variety
5. late Oct: to Erbil, first living quarters for 5 days
6. the second living space in Erbil - above the clinic
7. November: Back to the US for Mom's memorial service
8. November: Moved to this new site north of Erbil - CHU life
So here I am.
I'm currently unpacked in a Container Housing Unit, which is called a CHU in military terms, named by the people who left them. This makes me an old lady who lives in a CHU. This CHU, like all its neighbors, are without running water, but do have the benefit of a US grade bomb proof wall (not to be confused with the perimeter wall) around the group of us. There are gaps to walk through, like the way the highway department accomodates for wildlife along highways. To get to the showers or toilets, which are also in these rectangular metal buildings (CHUs), find the nearest gap.
The first couple of days I was here, the walls and CHUs, having few distinguishable identifiers, were like a corn maze without anything organic involved. Not being able to see over the walls within walls provides a distinct disadvantage to anyone hoping for a visual landmark. Fortunately, there were no wavy mirrors, instead, there were individuals in vehicles who asked me if I needed a ride. I did.
One huge advantage to being here is the space. Once I figured out where the perimeter wall actually is, and yes, this took three days, I realized the 3 mile running track is a fantastic alternative to the treadmill. The treadmill, not incidentally, is in a tent with no windows, so years of dissociation while running really is paying off. Otherwise the tent gym is stuffed full of high quality equipment, pushed up against canvas walls of a 20 year old wall tent.
And I saw some of my potential patients when I was out today. These include the canines. They were practicing their skills for an exam, yet they did not appear stressed. There was lots of wagging, actually.The bomb sniffing dogs are in my care, along with their human handlers. I watched them train together, and they are good! A tennis ball, or a Kong on the human's behalf, and the dogs will reward us with no bombs. They sit when they have the scent. We all survive to play ball again. What a deal.
After all, we are all here to work. My job is to be prepared for disaster in this huge occupational space, while sniffles and sore throat are the order of the day. I run with my cell in my pocket; I sleep with it by the bed. It's not just my lucky charm, it's my patients' only 911 service. And just like in the ER, we don't say the "Q" word...
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