Musings on Fallujah
Originally appeared in the New York Times on March 17th, 2006 - link.
I can now say I have seen the much-touted city of Fallujah. From the Euphrates in the west to the rolling farmland just outside the eastern “Cloverleaf†overpass, it is a city with as many personalities as it has citizens. The history I know says that Fallujah has always been a haven for criminals. Saddam decided to ignore it and let it fester into a boil on the buttocks of an already not-so-humanitarian Iraq. One of our native linguists tells me it was a last stop for truckers coming out of Jordan to get some tasty shiskabob before they entered the crowded Baghdad metropolitan area. I cannot speak for its history, but I can tell you that today Fallujah, like almost any city, runs the gamut from gorgeous to ghastly.
The southeastern portion of the city is the industrial area. It is divided from the more urban north by MSR (main supply route) Michigan. Michigan runs through the city and crosses the Euphrates river before continuing into western Iraq. In the north you’ll find residential areas spread among a variety of different markets and businesses. The city marketplaces are quite an adventure. You can buy everything from soda to tires to fish to furniture, all along a crowded street barely wide enough for a HMMWV to comfortably pass through. Arab men excitedly peddle their wares in shops sometimes no bigger than a walk-in closet. The fish-vendors have me puzzled. How do you sell fresh fish in the middle of the desert without ice? It must go bad in less than three hours. Nevertheless, I observed a local in the median of the street vending what appeared to be large Carp. Hmm, I always threw Carp back in the river. You can also buy delicious flatbread that the Marines call “Muj bread.†It comes in a large patty and resembles a tortilla. The going rate is $2 for 24 sheets of Muj bread. It’s quite a deal if you asked me. Nothing beats a sheet of Muj bread with your morning coffee.
Now, the gorgeous. Some of the architecture inside the city is absolutely breathtaking. Don’t be mistaken, it’s surrounded by trash and rubble, but the buildings themselves can be beautiful. The green-dome mosque is amazing. There is also a mosque with multiple blue domes that are all painted with ornate Arabic script. No doubt, the mosques are incredible sights. Five times a day they play the call to prayer from their towering domes. Some of the houses are just as astonishing. Many have multiple stories, and the levels connect via outside verandas uncharacteristic of western architecture. Rooftops are adorned with decorative structures, and you can observe people walking about rooftops quite often. I am told it is common for locals to sleep on their roofs during the summer to escape the oven of an un-ventilated house. Many homes are gated, with fancy metal lattices separating the driveway from the street. Stained glass windows send colored shoots of light in all directions as the afternoon sun sets below the skyline.
Lastly, the kids. The kids LOVE us! It was rare to see any kid that wasn’t smiling, waving, giving the thumbs-up, or jumping up and down as we passed. One even enthusiastically jumped while pumping his fist in the air, as if he was victorious because the Americans had come to town. I suppose the fact that we had been handing out soccer balls recently didn’t hurt. It was motivating. During one halt I observed several children playing soccer. They were good! I think they would probably school my college’s varsity soccer team. Regardless of the state of its trash pick-up infrastructure, I have resolved that we have a friend in the next generation of Fallujah’s citizens.
“a friend in the next generation” I think your thought process and conclusions are right on. I recall the positive kids being one of your first impressions and one I have heard repeated often from other soldiers. The contrast between the man in the dress and the little boy in the matching blue sportswear says it all.
How do you work and have a mans mindset on getting things done to better yourself and your country outfitted like that. You can’t, and if everything you do evolves five prayer calls a day or face the wrath of your neighbor and your God then not much is ever going to get done by the present generation or culture.
I know other brave Iragis are standing up and trying to make a difference, but it is going to take some time and the choice has to be theirs.
If you are not indignant about crap everyday on your doorstep you are not going to care much about what kind of leader you have the house of representatives.
I hope also that one day soon that little boy will be walking down the street one day and say to himself as he remembers the positve encounters and encourgement with the American soldiers, “what is all this crap, despair and misery doing in my country.”