The Resurfacing

So, I'm long overdue for a blog post. Have been busy getting settled into my work and living arrangements, but here I am. This is going to be a long one ...

I started out my adventure with a few days in Amman, Jordan. I had a day of sightseeing and a day in our office there. Will post a few pics from my day out on the town, spent checking out some Roman ruins and a local suq (market).

I was fortunate to meet up with our Regional Finance Manager for the Middle East, Ghelda, while I was there. She is Lebanese (an Arabic speaker) and an old hand at Mercy Corps. We traveled to Basrah together and she helped me get situated, with everything from airport security and obtaining my visa, to getting acclimated in our office and lodgings. Don't know how I'd have done it without her.

One of our mantras at Mercy Corps is to always be flexible, because nothing ever turns out as you expect it to. I was warned that this is especially true when in the field, and this proved true from minute one. Upon arrival, I learned that I was not living in a private trailer on the air base, but in our guest house in Basrah city proper. Also, I learned that the one woman and other American I was told I'd be working with was both out of town for a training, and will be leaving Iraq in the coming weeks/months. Everything I'd prepared myself for turned out not to be true.

So, what's it like? We have a large house - allegedly a million-dollar home in Iraq - where our expatriate staff lives and works, which adjoins another house where our 40-some national staff work. The houses are in a walled compound with barbed wire, and we have four or more guards (un-armed) on duty at all times. Security is taken extremely seriously so as to keep our presence under the radar and keep us from becoming a target of kidnapping or attack. We cannot leave the house unless accompanied by our security staff, and only for very specific purposes. When I leave the compound, I dress extremely conservatively and wear a hijab.

... Not that anybody would really want to go out in Basrah, anyway. Wherever you are, it's clear that you're in a country at war. I don't say they're in recovery or in a post-conflict situation; Iraq is still very much at war in my opinion. You don't go more than a few blocks or half a mile before running into an Iraqi army checkpoint, with men in fatigues standing next to armed Humvees or tanks. Buildings are run down and garbage is everywhere in the streets, many shops are still abandoned, and in many neighborhoods, shacks are constructed from scrap metal, dirty blankets, decaying wood pallets and stolen slabs of concrete rubble.

The main city streets are always packed, full of dilapidated cars, pickup trucks with beds full of scrawny cattle, donkey carts, and motorcycles. Stoplights and lanes are nonexistent, and kids weave between stopped cars hawking boxes of tissue, bottled water and bootleg CDs - a common overseas occurrence. Men walk around in any manner of dress, from fashionable European-style jeans and tshirts to long white thawbs and the keffiyeh (long men's headscarf). Meanwhile, the vast majority of women wear the long black abaya; those who don't dress extremely conservatively, with long, loose clothes from head to foot and always a hijab. I haven't seen one woman in Western dress or with uncovered hair since arriving.

My housemates are all men: two Sudanese and one Kenyan. Each is at least 40, and they all have families living in other countries. With that kind of company, it's going to be pretty quiet around here, that's for sure. Our cook and housekeeping staff are all Iraqi men - women would not be appropriate given there are men living in the house - and we're learning to not be quite so awkward around each other. I still feel like a ridiculous American woman around them most of the time.

For a million-dollar house, our living arrangements are very basic. The house is run-down; despite being in a wealthy neighborhood, it has clearly not been kept up over the years. But how can you feel a pride of ownership when everything in your country is inaccessible and can be lost at a moment's notice? It is amazing, the many ways the years of fighting and Ba'ath rule have impacted the consciousness and thinking of the people subject to it. But, I digress. By local standards we're living very well - I have the basic comforts in my room: TV, DVD player, desk with internet for my computer, etc. I've been amazed there aren't more bugs and other intruders - the most common visitors from the animal kingdom are small, sand-colored geckos with black eyes. I'm fond of them when they show up skittering around the house. We also have a little pack of stray cats that comes into the yard; I'm trying to befriend a small tiger-striped kitten if it'll let me.

The work is extremely fulfilling already, and my plate hasn't even begun to fill up. The particulars deserve their own post, to come soon. In my first week of being overwhelmed, lonely and missing my family, I had only to think of the millions of people in this country - and those we serve and try to help - whose lives are torn apart by conflict every day. My situation seemed idyllic by comparison, putting everything quickly into perspective. I am eager to get out into these communities to meet our Iraqi partners face to face.

That's all for now. Thanks to all who have emailed, called, Skyped and Facebooked ... I miss you all.