I left for Fallujah this morning hoping to have better luck on the hospital front. I paid less than $1 for the more than 1 hour trip. As we neared the city, a little boy flagged us down on the highway and mimed a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. The driver shrugged "what's new?"
As we got closer to the city, we heard a massive bombardment. It was worse than anything I've heard before. F16s littered the sky, and it was as though some giant boombox was constantly replaying the "whoosh" of a jet flying overhead. Somewhere in the din was the constant sound of an unmanned predator drone, its propeller sounding like a toy plane circling overhead.
The people in the taxi became increasingly freaked out, and so decided to turn around and go to Baghdad.
"Let me off here." I made a mistake with an accent on one of the words, so my copassenger's head turned fast. He looked me up and down, dwelling on my beard a moment and on my fluffed out chest hair another.
"There's fighting," he said. The van already came to a halt, and I was halfway out the door. "Thanks.. I hadn't noticed."
Fallujah is a very interesting place. I was trying to recall everything I had read as I approached a bombed out hospital with some ICDC (Iraqi Civil Defence Corps) around it. In Fallujah, half of the police are Mujahideen. The other half got killed when the police station was overrun by Mujahideen some months back. As I remembered this, I also remembered that everything happens with the permission of the Mujahideen - the "Mooj" as Westerners affectionately call them.
"Hi. Where are we?" I started...
"The city of Khair" he responded. Ah.. Khair. It means "good".
"Well. I gotta get to Fallujah."
I reeked of foreigner. The cop squinted his eyes and flagged down a car.
"Get in."
Hey. Why the hell not? What did I have to lose? He was either going to take me to the Mosque or to the ICDC station. Neither had Americans, so I'd be OK.
The car shook with every explosion, and I explained myself to the ICDC guy as we drove. We weren't in a taxi, but in a normal car. The driver and his passenger didn't say anything. They only spoke to accept the token apologies of the ICDC man as he explained that the situation necessitated this intrusion.
When we got to the police station, the driver put out his hand, as though looking for a handshake. The two cops left the car, so I put my hand in his.
He kissed it and put it to his forehead, the ultimate sign of respect. He anticipated that I would try to withdraw my hand, so he clasped it mightily. I was sitting directly behind the man, so I drew nearer to kiss him on the cheek - my sign of respect. As I did, he held me tightly and cried as no grown man should. It was the catharsis of a person who had probably remained composed his entire life.
He whispered through the sobbing his gratitude and prayers for God to watch over me. The more he spoke, the tighter he held me.
A mob of ICDC now surrounded the car, and they pulled me away from the man. As I was pulled away, I could see him heaving, his crying now drowning out the distant explosions. The mob of ICDC almost had to drag me. I lost control of my body, and could not unfix my eyes from the man, who was now wailing, nor could I control my own sobbing.
"Don't be afraid of us," one ICDC officer said. They thought the tears were those of fear, not sadness.
"I fear only my maker" I responded, the tears starting to dry. Come on, man. Get it together!
tarek