Lessons from the Mire
In one of our sectors there is a densely forested region that seems to have spontaneously sprouted on the banks of the Tigris. The region is listed as an agricultural area, but that description doesn’t begin to describe the wild riot of flora that carpets the region. I’m sure at one point the grove was neatly assembled into sweet smelling orchards of dates, pears, and almonds interspersed with neat rows of flowers and scented herbs. But that day has long since passed, and as nature shook off the yoke of cultivation the area went from orchard to jungle. In several places the area is a virtual wilderness marked by knee deep layers of organic debris and tangled thickets of thorns The troops we inherited our sector from nicknamed this area “Little Vietnam” because of the dense clusters of trees and tangled undergrowth. Their higher headquarters hated the name, ensuring the name would last long past their departure.
On the edge of the vast groves several large families maintain their ancient homes and eke out a living on the fruits of the land. Several days ago, when the mud was still thick, our unit performed a patrol through the area with HMMWVs and M113 APCs (Armored Personnel Carriers). Despite the formidable off road abilities of our vehicles several HMMWVs were left wallowing in fender deep pits of grime. Anyone within earshot could easily track our progress through the relative quiet of the groves by listening for the throaty groan of M113s straining to pull the HMMWVs out of the mud.
Progress was relatively slow because of the terrible condition of the roads, but it came to a standstill when the Sergeant Majors HMMWV buried itself in a viscous pit. A M113 was dutifully hitched to the stranded vehicle, but this time instead of clawing its way forward the vehicle’s tracks scrabbled for purchase.
And then a local Iraqi woman approached from the nearest farmhouse with an armful of material. The perimeter security waved her through and she approached the vehicle with her carefully husbanded cargo. When she made it to the M113 she carefully placed neat palm mats in front of the vehicles treads. By now she had everyone’s attention, and all eyes followed this woman as she returned to her modest home and removed more palm mats from her roof to help the American vehicles get out of the mud. The mats provided enough grip for the vehicles to make it out of their sticky trap and the mudcaked vehicles continued to lurch onward.
In every conceivable material dimension our soldiers were better off then this Iraqi woman. And yet she didn’t hesitate to help - even though it meant she would have to sacrifice a part of her very home. This woman was poor and uneducated, and the deep lines in her hands were testament to years of back breaking labor. But despite all this (or maybe because of it) she shared what she did have to help some American soldiers stuck on a muddy road. I know we have come to Iraq to build a better way of life, but sometimes we are the ones learning the lessons.
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