May 4th-International Star Wars Day
End of 1st week in Iraq.
I’m struggling to find something to write about today…probably because it seems like I haven’t done anything since my last entry. I think the biggest thing I’ve done in the past few days is lose my ‘Chai Time’ virginity. I’ve gone over to 15 Squadron (the Mi-17 squadron I’ll be working with) twice for tea time now.
My biggest fear heading over there was that I’d do something completely wrong in Iraqi culture—show the bottom of my feet, touch someone with my left hand, ask a question that I wasn’t supposed to. Thus far, however, I think I’m doing OK. I’ve met 7 or 8 members of the squadron…seem to be doing OK starting to fit in. Many thanks to Haji Post in helping talk me up and bragging about some of my skills for me (apparently the Iraqis are getting FLIR systems here now, and nobody knows how to use it). As someone who used the same system in Wyoming, I’ve apparently become the subject expert here. So…I think it’s time to go digging for my old FLIR books and asking some of the guys back home for help.
As far as personalities of Iraqis go, it’s a mixed bag. Some of the guys have great English, some are very personable, some are both. Captain Jazim and a gigantic Major whose name I can’t remember seem to be the ones I’m getting to know the best thus far. Jazim was in the Iraqi Air Force until 1991, when “Saddam went crazy.” At that point, he left the military, and did jobs like driving a taxi or installing satellite dishes, before rejoining the IAF, losing 3 ranks and starting over as a Captain. The Major and I had a long chat about being married to teachers and how hard it is living with someone smarter than you.
The high point of my visits thus far have been going back the second night, and everyone coming over to meet “Captain Marcoos.” IT was impressive to have guys walk in and know everything that had been said the night before about my flying skills (to include hours and experiences). But the funniest thing was how they reacted when they saw me. To a man, every single one of them gave me funny looks. The general reaction was summed up by Giganti-Major: “When we heard that your name was Marcoos Jackson, we expected someone a little bit darker. Someone who looked like they were from here, not from Germany.”
It seems like everywhere I go, nobody expects me to a scrawny white guy. I either need to not be scrawny or get a bit darker.
