Zippo Lessons: Journal 9/16/06

Historically, a zippo in my possession has a short lifespan. But I remember them all fondly. My brother sent me one when I first got out to Iraq. He managed to get one shipped to me with a friggin’ gallon of zippo fluid (take that customs!). I loved the damn thing. When I was home on leave and flew to Nebraska to visit my mom, I accidently forgot it in my pocket. The airport security officer inevitably found it and paraded it in front of my face as he plunked it in his “confiscated booty” box. I literally cried all the way to the terminal. (I’ll bet you didn’t think I was so sentimental, eh?)

I got another one in Nebraska that next day. It was identical to the one my brother gave me and held sentimental values as I tied to my mother. It’s death came when I forgot it one day in the guard tower. That was the same zippo that helped me read my map in the dark when my tower got mortored. By the time I got back into the tower the next day, it was gone.

I bought one out here shortly after but it was the lamest zippo I’ve ever seen. For some ungodly reason they stock our post exchange with gaudy souvenirs; T-shirts that say “Balad, Iraq”, hats, coffee mugs, shot glasses, etc. They all have some assanine saying proclaiming that the owner of said souvenir was here. Every time I go in there I see all this crap in stock but never something of actual value to us… like sugar or Cheese Nips. Anyways, the only zippo in stock said “Hard Rock Cafe: Baghdad”. I was completely embarrassed by it but for lack of any other fire, I bought it. So sue me.

Fast forward to Qatar.

I ran across a little man who had a little stand with a little assortment of zippos. To my glee I spotted a zippo I had never seen before and said to myself, “Self! You must have it!” And so it was mine.

I had learned many zippo lessons in the past but the one thing I hadn’t figured out was how to get one past customs (To get it back into Iraq from Qatar, they scan everything). The fella I hung out with in Qatar offered me with a brilliant plan!

I present to you, the Kevlar helmet.

In our helmets we have detachable cushioning pads. The theory is that every head is different and each soldier can move the pads to make it as comfortable as possible. What did my brilliant friend propose?

If I removed the center pad and placed the zippo underneath it, it would totally go past detection! The theory being that kevlar is not penitrable by x-rays. It would just look like a normal helmet and I could go on my way with my little lighter stashed in the center. It’s brilliant, don’t you think?

Fast forward to Jami standing in line at Navy customs.

I place the helmet on the conveyer like everyone else. I empty my pockets and walk through the metal detector without any hassle. I go to the end of the conveyor and watch as my baggage and kevlar go through the x-ray machine. And as they get halfway down the belt… it stops. My heart does as well.

The customs officer calls me over. Our conversations is as follows:

Officer: Is this your helmet?

Me: um… well, these are my bags but I don’t know if that’s my helmet. They all look the same, you know.

Officer: There appears to be a zippo in the middle of this helmet.

Me: Oh, really? How did a zippo get in a helmet?

Officer: People don’t realize that we can see through kevlar.

Me: (trying to look sincerely concerned) Really.

Officer: Do you smoke?

Me: Yes. But I have my lighter in my pocket. (I was carrying a disposable lighter.)

Officer: (pops off the center pad of the helmet. My zippo is just chillin’ there saying to me, “Don’t let me die!”)

Me: Well, would you look at that. There really was a zippo in that helmet.

Officer: (Grimaces, opens the zippo, takes it apart, smells the cotton.) There doesn’t appear to be any fluid in this lighter. It’s fine to take on the plane if it doesn’t have any fluid in it.

Me: (continuing to try and show sincere concern)

Officer: Here. Take it. You’ve earned a free lighter.

Me: (extremely gracious) Thank you, kind officer man!

I start to walk away with my bags and helmet when I hear him yell behind me, “We’ve got another one!” Apparently the fella who concocted this plan did the same as well.

And here she is. My zippo of the moment. Grand in it splendor. Safe and sound under my protective eye. (Yeah, that’s right. It’s a whale fin.)

P.S. Thanks brother for reminding me to blog this story.

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Ali As Saliyah, Qatar pt. 2: Journal 9/6/06

The best thing about spending a week at Camp As Sayliyah was the silence. People warned me before I left that I would find the silence almost uncomfortable. Back on Anaconda we’re constantly hearing choppers flying over our heads, explosions, generators pumping, and a handful of other assorted background noises. At Ali As Sayliyah, I never once saw an airplane glide across the sky. The loudest thing out there was the sand being kicked up into my ears.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, the camp isn’t much to look at. I found some shots of the camp online to give a better idea of its dullness.

The above picture shows the warehouses they kept us in.

On the days that I couldn’t get out to Doha, I was here wandering about. Most of my day was spent watching the clock waiting for 6pm to roll around. (Drinking time!) The first day I was able to drink, the bar felt a bit like a candy store. Heineken, Amstel, Guiness, Budweiser, and my drink of choice… Tuborg. Why Tuborg you say? Two reasons: It came in a can the size of a Guiness and is 5.5lcohol. After 3 cans of those bad boys, I found I had a decent buzz.

I hung out every night with the two boys who adopted me. We usually played pool and chatted. I was suprised to find out that one of them grew up in Aurora, IL. (I still consider Aurora my home even though I haven’t lived there in nearly a decade.) Small world, eh? I am totally indebted to them for watching out for me as it was getting really tedious trying to make myself invisible. No matter where I went or what I did there was always some goofy looking dude trying to chat me up. It was always a huge mass of military boys where ever I went and add to that a little liquid courage… gah. I dubbed J my “cock block king” as he had a knack for discouraging boys from approaching me just by a glance of his eyes. There must be some unwritten code between men. No one wanted to get into another guys “teritory”. It really wasn’t the time or place to assert my feministic tendencies so I just let it go.

On my last night there, we decided to hit up the “club” on the other side of post. They had thumping music and lights flashing on a deserted dance floor. Everyone was sitting around watching one lonely looking dude dancing with himself in the disco light. I drank my usual three Tuborg’s and my friend J managed to squeek out two beers from someone and gave one to me. By this point I was nicely buzzed and the place started to fill up.

Every time I went outside for a smoke a group of guys would practically surround me. I sat down on a chair because it was so hot outside and before I knew it this guy was literally on his knees in front of me. He gave me those googly eyes and asked me where I was from. I turned to his friend and asked, “Is this guy alright??”. They all blabbered on and I finished my smoke just in time for J to find his way back to my side (Cock Block King in action!).

Everything got a bit hazzy after that. I remember talking to J about the time I got shot at during tower guard. I remember walking back to the table and everyone was gone. And I remember feeling like I had to get out of there ASAP. I walked outside to the bus stop and got on the first one that came by.

I couldn’t make it on the bus for more than 5 minutes. I got off on the first available stop and promptly vomited every little last thing in my stomach. Once I was finished wretching, I looked around and I found myself at one of the furthest bus stops on post totally alone. I don’t think J noticed that I got off the bus because I left so quickly. All I could do at that point was to just start walking. It felt good to walk anyways as it kept me awake. After about 5 minutes of my trek back to my room, J comes running down the street poring with sweat. (Even though it was around midnight, the temp was still teetering around 100 F.) He wanted to make sure I was ok and walked the remainder of the way with me back to my building.

I ended up spending half the night in a toilet stall watching my feet stick under the door. I kept thinking to myself, “I hope no one thinks I’m dead with my feet sticking out like that.” But I was powerless to move them. I eventually made it back to my bed and finally slept.

The next day I was very suprised at how my body reacted to the alcohol. Granted it’s been a long time since I’ve drank beer… but after only 3 1/2 drinks?? Very unusual if you ask me. The thought has crossed my mind that maybe someone tried to slip something in my drink and I bailed out before it could take its full effects. If so, then my instincts are working perfectly.

And this brings me to a very serious and important issue.

Why does it feel like we’re fighting ourselves more than the “enemy”? Why did I feel more comfortable walking around Doha, Qatar than on a military camp? How is it that people try and take advantage of these situations? Situations where a female is the vast minority and has few alies?

The next day I sheepishly saw J and was a bit embarrassed for running out of there the way I did. There was no time to bother with it though because it was our flight day. At that point I was more than ready to head “home”. I loved Doha but I hated Camp As Sayliyah. It was an even longer flight back to Anaconda (10 hours with a stop in Kuwait), but I was relaxed to know the madness of Sayliyah was behind me.

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Doha, Qatar pt 1: Journal 9/5/06

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Qatar Arrival: Journal 8/31/06

The Jami has landed. I’ve made it (finally) to Qatar. Day 1 is already done and gone. It was a incredibly tedious trip here. We boarded a C-130 Monday at 8pm and it seems that with each flight on this airplane my stomach gets loopier and loopier. Needless to say, I’m glad I brought a bottle of water on the flight to help lubricate my stomach.

Three hours later we landed and I had no idea where we were at. The air force makes it a habit not to tell you anything. All they’re concerned about is loading everyone up and getting the baggage strapped down in the rear. Previous groups that have gone on this trip have flown to Kuwait or Baghdad or wherever first before making it to Qatar. So when they opened the rear hatch, the only clue I had as to my location was this massive wall of humidity that slammed into my face.

Several bus trips later we were shoved into a briefing room. It was already 1am by this time and I could barely see straight. They talked so fast that I don’t think I would have totally understood even if I was completely cognative. They threw us a “map” of the post, gave us a pillow and blanket, and showed us where we were to sleep. Overall it felt like a big “Welcome and good luck.”

I finally got to sleep around 4am. I’m in a room with 6 other females and half of them decided to wake up around 8am. All their noise and shuffling got me up as well since it’s so hard for me to fall back asleep once I’m up. The first thing I thought about when I woke up? Coffee.

Without even thinking, I throw on some pants and a t-shirt and just start walking. I shoved the “map” in my back pocket and started my pilgrimage to coffee. We arrived the night before with everything pitch black. Not to mention all the buildings look the same and I wasn’t focused enough the night before to get any sense of bearing. This map they give us… it sucks. It has a square here and a square there with lines for roads in between. It leaves out all the other buildings that don’t pertain to me and gives me absolutely no sense of distance. Out on the street, none of the buildings are clearly marked and the only way I knew which building was the medical clinic was because they have a small red cross on their air conditioning unit. In the briefing they never once mentioned anything about transportation and so I walked.

Did I mention it’s, like, 10,000 degrees plus 500% humidity out here?

So, I’m walking down this road hoping to see a sign that says something like, “Coffee this way!”. After about 20 minutes, I see a Burger King in the distance. Otherwise, everything just looks like unmarked buildings with barbed wire around them. I look at my little map. Look up. Look at the map. Look up. Fuck it. I turn around.

All the way back where I started, I randomly go into these rows of warehouse size buildings that house us. The last one I get to I discover where the bars are. I make a mental note and think, “That’s all fine and dandy, but where’s the coffee??” Back outside in the swelter, I see some people sitting at a bus stop and not more than 30 seconds later it picks me up. “Just get me to coffeeeeee!!!”, I tell the driver. He nods and drops me off on the other side of post where the PX and restaurant are. As I turn the corner in the little shopping complex, there’s a Green Bean coffee shop. I nearly drop to my knees at the site of it. I promptly order a double espresso, vanilla frappe, and pastry. Life is now good.

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Vacation! : Journal 7/9/06

“Jami Gibbs! You’re the lucky winner of an all expense paid trip to beautiful Qatar! This small country nestled off the eastern coast of Saudi Arabia will be your host. Sun, sand, and beer. That’s right! This trip not only includes four star military accommodations but also small infusions of alcohol at a meager price of only $4 per drink!”

Yay! I’m really looking forward to this trip. Honestly, I don’t think I would care where the hell they’re sending me, as long as I get a break from Iraq for a while. Now that it’s official that I’ll be going on a 4 day pass to Qatar on August 29th, I’m in a state of panic trying to gather enough civilian clothes together. I sent out a distress message to my father/step mom and B (since I have deposits of clothes at both of their places). And oh! how they’ve come through for me.

I just got an e-mail from my dad this morning and attached were two pics. They layed out several pieces of clothing, numbered them with post cards, and asked me to e-mail back which ones I wanted! awwwww!! Too cute. And I just happen to go online the other morning at the internet cafe (a.k.a. semi-uncensored internet access). B was online and she turned on her webcam for me. Then proceded to “model” what little clothing I had left at the Naperville apartment. Technology is so cool sometimes. Thank you thank you everyone for doing that for me!

So, here’s what I know so far about the trip.

1. No two piece swim suits. In fact, it’s quite a distance to the beach so I may not even get there. Instead, there’s a outdoor swimming pool within walking distance. bleh. I hate swimming pools. With all the gawking and nastiness of the water. ick.

2. I’ll be rationed 3 beers per day. My beer intake will be monitored via a swipe of my military I.D. Every bar in the area will have instant access to it and will know immediately how many I’ve had. (I guess technology is a blessing and a curse.)

3. If I take a trip outside of the comfy little military zone, I’ll be in Arabic culture shock. This is a land where women are covered from head to toe and men wear turbans. I’ve been assured that I will certainly be given the “crazy eye” and I may be a bit uncomfortable. meh.

4. I’ll be outnumbered 50:1 male to female ratio.
It might be a good idea to walk around with a sharp stick.
Example:
Boy: Hey baby. Wanna share my beer ration?
Me: :::: poke :::

5. There’s a Chili’s restaurant. (Even though I’ve never been a big fan of Chili’s back home, all of a sudden it has a lot of appeal.) But the menu will suspiciously be lacking margaritas. Awesome Blossom here I come!

That’s all for now.

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