Leftovers of Insecurity

It was only my second day in Nigeria when I recognized a feeling long forgotten: the feeling of being unsafe. Walking down the aisles of a Lagos supermarket, despite the fact that I was surrounded by a swirl of ethnicities that included Nigerians, Chinese, South Africans, Indians and others, I couldn't shake the familiar feeling that I was under threat, being watched and needed to conclude my business and get to safety as quickly as possible. It was a clear carryover from Iraq, where short outings to the market or a local school truly were dangerous undertakings; I had to remind myself that while, as a large African mega-city Lagos is not without a need for street smarts, it is a free and safe society and I had nothing to worry about in a crowded shopping center.

The landscape here, in many ways, is not too different from Basra. The construction is the same both in style and its varying stages of completion; at first glance, haphazard, quick-fix methods with scarce resources seems to be the norm, and it does impact the outcome. Lagos has more greenery - slightly - but the dirt side roads and crush of vehicles feels familiar, as do the impromptu roadside stands selling whatever produce is in season, and the young men and boys rushing to car windows to sell bootleg DVDs, tissue boxes, fresh fruit or a window wash. In these instances, too, I have to remind myself that it is okay to be seen, that getting stuck in the traffic isn't putting me at risk, and that the only risk posed by roadside police stands is the demand for a bribe before you pass, and nothing more sinister.

The unwinding from a place like Iraq is a slow and subtle process; in some ways I have consciously felt it happen as habits disappear and walls begin to come down. In other instances it is striking when I realize it is taking place, as I see clearly what has evolved within me, and identify what I am letting go of. The conscious understanding of yet another way it has affected my thoughts and actions never fails to startle me, and while I know the process will continue, I also recognize there will be some ways in which it has changed me forever.

This is humbling in light of those who saw and suffered far more than I did. I experienced my share of risk and danger, was awakened many nights to alarms and explosions, and saw morale drop heavily among those around me in the wake of a soldier's or security contractor's death. For those who encountered harm and death head on, I wonder about their habits and walls compared to my own. No amount of training or strength of purpose prepares you for an experience like this, and I fear we are doing too little to care for those who have been deeply affected by this conflict, many of them just kids who seemed, in passing, so much younger and more immature than I. As I see and feel myself unwinding from my relatively easy experience, I wonder if they ever will.