I am two weeks post deployment. I suppose the first thing I need to put out there is just how quickly things begin to disappear from your memory when you come back from deployment. Places I went, names of cities, and most disturbingly the names of people I worked with and lived with day in and day out for months on end have already begun their exodus from my memory bank. I suppose if memories were FDIC insured I wouldn't have to worry about writing all this down now. But alas they aren't.
Fortunately for me, I had the foresight to realize that things were going on that I knew I would want to remember or at least SHOULD remember, and I kept a journal. The journal is made up mostly of my in-the-moment rants. I actually haven't even read though all of them.
I was pretty fortunate in that I wasn't involved in any IEDs or other such traumatic events.
Pakistan however, is a dangerous place and being on edge and hypersensitive to your surroundings in order to avoid being blown up, shot at or otherwise attacked, takes it's toll. On that note, I have simply taken one of my journal entries and am using at as my blog.
Day 38: As I was walking outside to the guards to share with them my bounty from the care packages I received today, my routine thought process began. These thoughts cross my mind every day. Our guards are paid to protect us 24 hours a day.
I smile and greet them in Urdu. They smile back and eagerly reach out their hands to receive my meager armful of snacks and cookies from back home. It's a lot to them. They think my attempt at Urdu is cute. They love the American snacks of chocolates and chips. It makes me happy to give it to them. I know they are chilly and can get very cold at night. They have a thankless job and, much like our SF personnel at home, I like to show them some appreciation. I am empathetic towards those who work long, difficult hours. Always have been. It is in my nature. This leopard will not likely change her spots at this late stage.
They are armed to the teeth. Even so, they would be the first to die in a suicide bomb attack of our residence. I tend to think the best of people. I tend to feel safe. Safer than I should. There is not a single one of them who wouldn't turn around and kill me for the right price. Who wouldn't sell me, or any one of my colleagues out, for a week's salary. I, especially, probably offend them. What with my English tongue, the audacity to go out in public sans headscarf, and my driving. Not only do I drive, but I drive alone. A woman should only be in the back seat of a vehicle. A vehicle is driven only by a man. My every day actions are an insult to their entire way of life. I don't go about day to day with a goal of insulting my host nation's people. I have a job to do. As I turn and walk away after delivering the goodies, I wonder if today is the day I will hear the shot and feel the bullet in my back?
2 comments:
I wondered about you driving. I was afraid to look over the wall when I was in Iraq, let alone go out in public.
We had an Iraqi doctor (PhD) who trained in America and had worked in the UK and elsewhere. He was a good guy and very helpful. That said, my level of mistrust was high and I always wondered if he was reporting about us to someone else. I guess a healthy dose of skepticism keeps us alive. I heard a quote yesterday, "Only the paranoid survive."
-Bro
Driving in and of itself was the fodder for many of my journal entries. Being that we weren't on any type of military installation we had no choice. I fought it tooth and nail. Even being a passenger was enough to make my knuckles white and my blood pressure skyrocket. Perhaps I will post a couple of them. Though it's hard to really understand the extent of the insanity just by reading about it.
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