Christmas In The Den Of The Enemy Or Why I Long To Visit Northern Iraq Again.
I got off work this morning thinking about how I can't wait to get home to my wife and away from this place forever. I thought about how I would never set foot in this country again God willing and that I'd never regret that as long as I lived. However, another memory washed over my from my first trip to this place that spun me around and made me rethink everything.
Back in '03 I was in the 101's Screaming Eagles, Third of the Five o' Second Widowmakers, Alpha Company Colesteel, Third Platoon War Pigs, Second Squad Flying Column. Well we never named our squad actually but our squad leader had Irish backround and his grandfather had been in an IRA cell called the Flying Column. We used to make fun of each others backrounds or weight or accents or whatever else. We gave our squad leader a lot of shit because he was extremly homophobic so we told him that our squad song was "It's Raining Men." So in this blog I'll give our old squad a name after something from his backround to make up for the headaches and high blood preasure we gave him. Hahaha! Anyway, while we were in Mosul we had a mission to go train Iraqi police in a small town called Bartahla. Now I don't really know how to spell it so that's as close as I'll get. This town had both Christians and Mulsims liveing pretty much side by side and there was very little fighting. It was a strange thing to see because none of us had seen any Christian churches the entire time we had been in country till then. On on side of the main street there was a large cathedral and on the other side there was a mosque. It was a really cool place if you ask me. I haven't been there since so I don't know what's become of it.
There was this little girl there I'd say either nine or ten years old. Her name is Safa and she only had fingers on her left hand. Through an interpretor I asked her how her hand got that way. I thought that maybe she had picked up an explosive because that has happened. She said no that she got her hand caught in a meat grinder when she was little. She said she didn't cry. I told her she's more of a man then I am then because I would've bawled my eyes out. Through the next four months or so of our mission in that town I sang to her everyday. All the kids really but I sang specifically to her. Her favorite song for me to sing was Queens We Will Rock You and Minnie the Moucher. I sang and sang. She made me a cross out of thread and beads that I still have. I have pictures of her and I together and if I could've legally done it I would've adopted her and taken her with me back to the states.
This morning on Christmas I wished that I could see her again and see how she is doing. Northern Iraq doesn't have it's head so far up it's ass so I hope that she is fine. My Platoon was there for the first mayoral elections in Bartahla and I jokingly asked if I could run for mayor. My Platoon Sergeant SFC Tucker said no because I would more then likely win and that would conflict with my Army obligations. Haha! He was probably right too. I didn't ever speak the language but I had preformed "concerts" all over the city and whenever we were on patrol I could hear people shouting "sing, sing" in Arabic. It was wild.
Being that popular in that town even through the language barrier I realized that this town could be the site of a common dream I share with the good Dr. Robinson. I contacted him online shortly after I realized how much attention the people of Bartahla were giving me and said that it could in fact be the very place were we could breed our own personal entourage of Ninja attack warriors. Adam and I have always wanted a hollowed out volcano or a mystery island that could be our base for private Ninja training. That way whenever we walked around and got static from anyone looking to do us harm we could simply say, "Ninjas attack," wave our right hand toward our attacker and out of every shadow around us a multitude of Ninja would appear to do take care of our light work. It's an odd dream but we're odd guys and you have to have your own private Ninja Attack Force (NAF) if you are going to plan world domination.
With the north much more stable then the south I think that one day I may return to Iraq, in what will probably be called Kurdistan, to see if I can find Safa and see how she's doing. She might not even remember me but it would be nice to see her. Also I would see if that town is ready for my "second coming" and Adam and I will train them all in the ways of the Ninja. Well we'll have someone who knows what the hell thier doing train them. Then let the world tremble before our NAF as we arise to our proper places as rulers of all the Earth. Don't worry not only are we lazy but when we do get motivated we procrastinate so don't hold your breathe for our ascention.... eh I mean TREMBLE BEFORE OUR NAF PUNY PEASENTS!!!
See you all further down the road.
Mike
Back in '03 I was in the 101's Screaming Eagles, Third of the Five o' Second Widowmakers, Alpha Company Colesteel, Third Platoon War Pigs, Second Squad Flying Column. Well we never named our squad actually but our squad leader had Irish backround and his grandfather had been in an IRA cell called the Flying Column. We used to make fun of each others backrounds or weight or accents or whatever else. We gave our squad leader a lot of shit because he was extremly homophobic so we told him that our squad song was "It's Raining Men." So in this blog I'll give our old squad a name after something from his backround to make up for the headaches and high blood preasure we gave him. Hahaha! Anyway, while we were in Mosul we had a mission to go train Iraqi police in a small town called Bartahla. Now I don't really know how to spell it so that's as close as I'll get. This town had both Christians and Mulsims liveing pretty much side by side and there was very little fighting. It was a strange thing to see because none of us had seen any Christian churches the entire time we had been in country till then. On on side of the main street there was a large cathedral and on the other side there was a mosque. It was a really cool place if you ask me. I haven't been there since so I don't know what's become of it.
There was this little girl there I'd say either nine or ten years old. Her name is Safa and she only had fingers on her left hand. Through an interpretor I asked her how her hand got that way. I thought that maybe she had picked up an explosive because that has happened. She said no that she got her hand caught in a meat grinder when she was little. She said she didn't cry. I told her she's more of a man then I am then because I would've bawled my eyes out. Through the next four months or so of our mission in that town I sang to her everyday. All the kids really but I sang specifically to her. Her favorite song for me to sing was Queens We Will Rock You and Minnie the Moucher. I sang and sang. She made me a cross out of thread and beads that I still have. I have pictures of her and I together and if I could've legally done it I would've adopted her and taken her with me back to the states.
This morning on Christmas I wished that I could see her again and see how she is doing. Northern Iraq doesn't have it's head so far up it's ass so I hope that she is fine. My Platoon was there for the first mayoral elections in Bartahla and I jokingly asked if I could run for mayor. My Platoon Sergeant SFC Tucker said no because I would more then likely win and that would conflict with my Army obligations. Haha! He was probably right too. I didn't ever speak the language but I had preformed "concerts" all over the city and whenever we were on patrol I could hear people shouting "sing, sing" in Arabic. It was wild.
Being that popular in that town even through the language barrier I realized that this town could be the site of a common dream I share with the good Dr. Robinson. I contacted him online shortly after I realized how much attention the people of Bartahla were giving me and said that it could in fact be the very place were we could breed our own personal entourage of Ninja attack warriors. Adam and I have always wanted a hollowed out volcano or a mystery island that could be our base for private Ninja training. That way whenever we walked around and got static from anyone looking to do us harm we could simply say, "Ninjas attack," wave our right hand toward our attacker and out of every shadow around us a multitude of Ninja would appear to do take care of our light work. It's an odd dream but we're odd guys and you have to have your own private Ninja Attack Force (NAF) if you are going to plan world domination.
With the north much more stable then the south I think that one day I may return to Iraq, in what will probably be called Kurdistan, to see if I can find Safa and see how she's doing. She might not even remember me but it would be nice to see her. Also I would see if that town is ready for my "second coming" and Adam and I will train them all in the ways of the Ninja. Well we'll have someone who knows what the hell thier doing train them. Then let the world tremble before our NAF as we arise to our proper places as rulers of all the Earth. Don't worry not only are we lazy but when we do get motivated we procrastinate so don't hold your breathe for our ascention.... eh I mean TREMBLE BEFORE OUR NAF PUNY PEASENTS!!!
See you all further down the road.
Mike
posted by Mike | 2:41 PM
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