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One rubber-stamp date away from Third World prison - Fate Fairies - book version
This entry was posted on 1/30/2012 1:45 AM and is filed under Fate Fairies:Fate Fairies - book version.
Although extremely stressful, my first trip to Iraq was going surprisingly well..., and safe. I had slowly trekked 500 miles across eastern Turkey via bus to acclimate myself to a Muslim culture. I made several overnight stops along the way. Some for several days. By the time I got to the Iraqi border, I had rolled the potential scenarios around in my head hundreds of time.
The crossing into northern Iraq by the "Taxi Mafia" was worrisome, but within a couple hours I was walking down a street in Zakho, Iraq, ...with thousands of people that fit the profile of most of the 9/11 hijackers.
I stuck with a plan as best I could and over a couple weeks, slowly made it the 300 miles east across northern Iraq to the border of Iran; then I made it back again to the western side of Iraq, all with limited peril to my life. I had done extensive research on a route to take, the culture, the people..., the war.
On my entrance into the country, the Turks thought I was nuts, but being NATO Allies with the United States, they shook their heads in apprehension and just waved me through. On arrival to the Kurdish held northern part of Iraq, I was greeted as a long lost friend. We Americans and "The Coalition of the Willing" after all, had rid their country of Saddam Hussein - a man responsible for killing tens of thousands of his own country's Kurdish citizens.
Along my journey, my United States passport got some raised eyebrows and second looks, but at the ubiquitous checkpoints it always prevailed. I never hid the fact I was an American. One of the only things these Iraqi Kurds had left was their honor; they deferred to trust. Lying to them about who I was, I surmised, may be hazardous to my health.
I saw literally no other American civilians or travelers; I did see a random American military unit now and then - I kept a cautious distance from them.., for my own safety and theirs as well. The last thing they needed to do was be worried about the safety of a "stray American."
I had made it back to Dahuk, Iraq. The next town to the west would be Zakho again, and then Turkey, although in the midst of their own civil war, a supposedly safer NATO country in the midst of the Middle East fray. I was almost home free.
I laid up for a night in a wreck of a musty-carpeted, flop-house hotel on the edge of the market streets in busy Dahuk. The war was on hold in Dahuk. When the America soldiers came into town they seemed to notch down the anxiety just a bit. The Kurdish Pesmerga soldiers kept a heavily armed presence at every street corner. They are on our side.
The hotel had three or four floors depending on how you count. It seemed like each floor only had one room. It was one of those narrow and tall Asian buildings tucked on a corner and jammed against other structures. The entrance had a clouded, tinted-window door befitting of a peep shop on Industrial Boulevard in Dallas, Texas.
The kid at the desk in the hotel half-heartedly took my five Bucks and my passport. All was well in musty-carpet land. The television even worked. Cell phones, cigarettes, and ubiquitous tv stations with Kurdish music videos were never at a loss in Iraq.
I finally slept good that night after two weeks of no sleep, poor diet, and surviving on Turkish and Iranian Coca-Cola. Then, at 3:00 a.m. a pounding came at my door.
"Mister, Mister, police here," the voice of the father of the half-hearted kid came through the rickety door.
Owner dude was quite matter-of-fact about the whole episode. He was a heavy set man with a big whiskered face and a too-small mustache to complement the size of his head. He met me at the door in his robe, cigarette in mouth.
"Very bad, Mister, very bad, Mister," owner dude kept saying as he shook his head and flicked his cigarette.
There in the small lounge by the aforementioned desk was a plain-cloths Iraqi cop with young assistant in tow. The only recognizable word from the cop's mouth was..., "Mister."
Said cop looked like a detective right out of an original Hawaii Five-0 episode - open neck cheesy-flowered sport shirt, pistol on a shoulder belt, badge on his pants belt, jet black polyester pants, and jet black pointed shoes. He had enough hair gel in his thick black hair to lube an M-1 Abrams tank. He must have been about 30 years old.
After a diatribe and waving of hands and the shaking of my passport at me, I finally figured out what he was trying to say. I took a close at my passport.
For well over 600 miles across Iraq and back again, I had shown my passport at a hundred dangerous check points. No one caught the fact that my entry date into Iraq showed October 2005 instead of October 2006. According to my passport, I had been in Iraq a year - an egregious breach of their immigration laws. And, their country was full of bad guys from..., other countries.
Quickly I cleared my head and looked at the exit stamp from Turkey. It did indeed read October 2006. I showed Hawaii Five-0 dude the Turkish stamp. God bless, or in this case bless Allah for cell phones. Hawaii Five-0 dude got on the phone to the 24-hour border crossing I came in across. On the Iraqi side of the border, the little cement building with faded green paint and a couple broken chairs had seemed humble after going through the first world NATO construct presentations on the Turkish side with all its tanks, legions of soldiers, endless computers, and modern buildings.
The lone Kurdish guard at the sad little green building had smiled, hurriedly stamped my passport and said, "Welcome to Iraqi Kurdishstan, Mister American." I had stepped out the back door into Iraq to face a big banner which proudly said..., "Welcome to Kurdistan."
The rubber stamp apparently had been of the same caliber as the building - falling apart. The date dial did not work. According to my rough interpretation of Hawaii Five-0 dude, on the day in question, said lone Kurdish guard had stamped the wrong date in passports..., all day. In fact, he talked to the same lone guard who looked me up on his hand written ledger and he had actually remembered me. I had been the only American to pass by in weeks.
This is when I finally codified my hope for the Kurds. Hawaii Five-0 dude made a jester like he knew a mistake had been made. A burgeoning knew democracy making a mistake they could own up to - perhaps there really was hope.
Tea and cigarettes were ordered all around. A Kurdish music video station was found on the television. Flop-house owner dude served us up the tea. The half-hearted kid jostled the television wires to get it to work.
After a half hour of cigarettes and strong tea, Hawaii Five-0 dude and his young partner took their leave. As they left they said, "Have good travel, Mister."
Flop-house owner dude, said between puffs on yet another cigarette, "Very good, Mister, very good, Mister."
Note: This blog "Fate Fairies" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Fate Fairies Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
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