To Whom It May Concern

Life On The VCC

It's actually pretty nice to be back on VCC. This may sound odd, considering that I work a lot more hours than I have to in any other aspect within this company. But I get away from the pure fucking bullshit that permeates the leadership of our unit like some sort of disgusting stench, it's like walking into a room and just wrinkling your nose, and I'm tired of it.

It's a lot busier now on VCC than it was back in November and December, and I've pretty much immediately been immersed into it, handling even more duties than I was back then. I think they like having me back down there, the leadership that is. But then, maybe I'm only tooting my own horn haha : )

Yesterday I got involved in something I hadn't taken a part in the last time I was on VCC, I had to escort a driver off post, with his semi truck, because he hid a cell phone in his vehicle. He was a third country national, in this case from Egypt, and I don't know if he fully understood what was going on, but I think he did, they know the score, if you hid contraband items in your vehicle and you are caught, you are banned from ever coming back.

I headed into the Air Force area of the VCC compound where they had him (the Air Force does the searches and handles the bulk of the base security, it IS an Air Force Base after all, even though we Army folks are harder workers haha). The driver was probably about 50 years old, maybe a little older, somewhat heavyset, 275 pounds or so, about 5 ft 10 in tall, dark graying hair. He spoke very little English, in fact I spoke more Arabic than he spoke English, but that didn't help much.

The Air Force took his photo to add to the list of banned workers, they gave me his cell phone and passport, and I escorted him out to his truck to ride with him to the front gate where I would get out, and he would wait for the rest of his convoy, then leave, presumably to never be allowed back. I got into the passenger side as he got into the driver side, and he settled into his chair with a deep sigh.

I took some time looking around the vehicle as he got his truck prepared to start. Basically the foreign national workers live in their vehicles, and his truck was no exception, you could see he had taken the time to keep his vehicle cleaned up inside, he had two small hearts hanging in the windshield, each said "I Love You" in English, many bottles of water scattered around the cab, for easy access when thirsty, his sleeping area in back all tidy, clothes folded neatly under the bunk.

Although neither of us could communicate, it was extremely awkward. He knew what was happening, and what I was there for. As we slowly took off, I gave him hand signals as to where to turn, the different roads to take to get turned around. From time to time he would mumble about something and do hand actions as to what he was doing, and why he 'forgot' to tell them about the cell phone. I could pick up certain cryptic worlds in Arabic, but it is so hard to understand the language anyway, I'm not nearly adept at it, and he is from Egypt, which is as tough as having your grandfather head into Compton and try talking to a gang, it's a different type of Arabic altogether.

Most of these workers don't make a LOT of money, but it's a lot more than they'd get in their home countries. They come to Iraq and brave dangerous situations and less than ideal living conditions in order to save up enough money to move up in the world back home. Many hide items because they fear they will not get them back. A cell phone is an expensive item for most of them, considering the money it takes to get one and the salary they get for the work they do. They always get their phones back, but it still doesn't alleviate the fear of the unknown when they come on post, so they still try and hide them. And of course, they end up getting kicked off post.

I got him to the road leading off post, and when we got to the drop off point, I wanted to say something, but nothing really fit. To say I'm sorry wasn't the right thing, what I wanted to say was that things don't always go right, that he was a good man from what I could see and how much I didn't like doing this. Of course I wasn't able to say this to him, but I did shake his hand as I left, I always try to be as cordial and respectful as I can, for this is their land, not ours, and even though he is Egyptian and not Iraqi, he is more home than I am.

Respect goes a long way, with anyone, and even though it was a bad situation for him to be in, I believe he knew how I was feeling, I sat for a bit more and visited as only two people who cannot speak to one another can, thru some hand signals and pointing, then I headed out, we were both smiling.

That's the best I think you can hope for in certain situations. Even though I will likely never see this person again, we both likely learned a bit about one another from just a chance encounter in some crummy circumstances.

Current Lyrical Ramblings

...and the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
under wandering stars I've grown
by myself but not alone
I ask no one

Anywhere I Roam - Metallica