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13:40 – Baghdad. Craig had sent me up to the OMB (Office of Management and Budget) to kick their sorry asses into shape but, fortunately for them, their office door was well locked. Also fortunate was me, because the sorry asses I was suppose to kick were in the CPA Ministry of Finance, not the OMB. I can only imagine the depths of my embarrassment, apologizing to an accountant.
I chose to wait a few minutes outside their door anyway, and settled on one of the gilded and overstuffed chairs that are arranged in some of the few remaining open spaces about the palace hallways. The seat was comfortable enough, better than the cheap desk chair in the office, and a fine place to play a hand or two of hearts against the program resident on my PDA. In the midst of unceremoniously dumping the Queen of Spades on the unsuspecting opponent I’ve named after my brother-in-law, a woman completed the stairs and crossed in front of my little living room set, complaining into her cellie, “I am &@$% sick to death of the $%#@@, ^&%$, &%&^%, #$@ bureaucracy at the %$#(@ CPA!”
“Holy $#@*!”, I thought. It finally got to her.
Ah, I remember when Baghdad was cool. Back when the residents were all hard core world travelers in search of adventure, all of three months ago. Now, it’s starting to look like Washington on the Tigris, as more and more D.C. folks follow the money to an increasingly safer city (honest, it’s getting better,… I think). They bring with them the means, methods, and motivations that serve them at home and try to recreate that nurturing environment.
Nurturing the #$@ bureaucracy, that is.
Even with the announced and scheduled demise of the Coalition Government at the end of June, we still expect another thousand personnel to take up residence here within the next few months. Granted, I’m just a lowly consultant, but it seems to me that, if an organization is planning on reducing their presence, the number of people should decline. Ah, but what do I know? There could be concrete reasons why, but I’m guessing not.
Anyway, it seems like this situation really PO-ed the woman on the stairs. My reaction is to dust off my island mantra, “I’m not surprised”. Like the action of government should make sense here? Here of all places!
In Finance, when I finally spoke to them, I learned that the accountants had massaged some data I had sent them to a point where they had massaged the numbers to death and the numbers were no longer correct. Accountants.
Sometimes I sense a subtle mood shift within we ungrateful whiners at the PMO. Fire drill after fire drill has left us with an attitude less gung ho than we when we started. The way Congress and the various agencies in Washington toy with the Supplemental funds leaves us with a demeanor of ineffectiveness. The increasing bureaucracy makes me think that the Americanization of Iraq is almost complete.
Read More......
2003-12-31
2003-12-23
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
16:30 – Baghdad. The Solstice passed under clear and bright skies, providing Baghdad with one of the coldest days of the year. The chill was deep and the dry cold allowed me to see my breath for many hours into the day. I’d had enough of the office, though, and spent the holiday doing just about nothing for a change, alternating between lethargy and just plain laziness.
It rocked. Come the next morning, and I was about ready to get back to my duties, when I got a call from Carp over at the 95th, wanting to know if I’d like a ride to the pump station at Jadriya, south out of the CPA along the right bank of the Tigris. I could sit at my desk later, and immediately agreed. It was a trip out of the compound and a trip to some place new. Absolutely, I’d go, although I worked to effectively contain my enthusiasm. I mean, really. He is a Corporal, and I’m a fake GS-14. It wouldn’t look right to show too much emotion.
It had rained all night on the tin roof of the hooch and was still raining and still cold as I poked my head outside. I had two choices. To stay the most dry, I could rummage through the duffle bag (after dragging it out from under my bed) and find the camouflage poncho that was in there somewhere. But, no one else wears their ponchos, and I’d hate to, you know, not fit it – not be uniform, as it were.
Apparel choice number two was to wear the cotton field coat (in the ever attractive desert camouflage, of course) that the government issued to me, topped off with the black knit watch cap that I’ve worn for every winter I can remember. Sure, the coat wasn’t water resistant, but it was only ten minutes to the palace. I wouldn’t get too wet.
[This again was the build up.]
I hitched up with my crew of shooters in the parking lot. There were six guys in two urban assault vehicles, one a new Durango and the other an eight month old Suburban with enough battle scars to warrant the vehicular version of a purple heart and an honorable discharge. To a man, each camouflaged soldier had eschewed their Kevlar helmets in favor of black knit watch caps. Weren’t we the well dressed bunch? All uniform, but with the caps, not quite Army.
What’s more, since we were headed into a more active part of town, many opted for weapons shorter than the M-16’s they usually carry. The AK-47’s I expected. They’re light and reliable, and come with big ammunition clips. A couple of guys had the M-4’s, which are like shortened versions of the M-16/AR-15’s, and a few with very serious looking machine pistols (MP5’s, probably). Of course, there were plenty of semiautomatic pistols holstered in various configurations.
Well armed and dangerously well dressed, we mounted our vehicles and took to the Baghdad streets. Driving like thugs, we split lanes, and forced the more sedate Iraqis out of our way. Carp slid a CD into the dash, and the soothing sounds of way loud hip hop reverberated through the passenger compartment. There we were, me and my gang of U.S. Army homies, cruisin’ the Baghdad ‘hood, intimidatin’ the locals.
And my crew all knows all the words, and they bang their heads and sing along with Eminem and the chorus:
“You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo,
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime”
Sorta gangland. Sorta intense.
‘Cept all de headbangin’ homeboys be lilly farmboys outta Arkansas - be rappin’ wid a twang. Read More......
It rocked. Come the next morning, and I was about ready to get back to my duties, when I got a call from Carp over at the 95th, wanting to know if I’d like a ride to the pump station at Jadriya, south out of the CPA along the right bank of the Tigris. I could sit at my desk later, and immediately agreed. It was a trip out of the compound and a trip to some place new. Absolutely, I’d go, although I worked to effectively contain my enthusiasm. I mean, really. He is a Corporal, and I’m a fake GS-14. It wouldn’t look right to show too much emotion.
It had rained all night on the tin roof of the hooch and was still raining and still cold as I poked my head outside. I had two choices. To stay the most dry, I could rummage through the duffle bag (after dragging it out from under my bed) and find the camouflage poncho that was in there somewhere. But, no one else wears their ponchos, and I’d hate to, you know, not fit it – not be uniform, as it were.
Apparel choice number two was to wear the cotton field coat (in the ever attractive desert camouflage, of course) that the government issued to me, topped off with the black knit watch cap that I’ve worn for every winter I can remember. Sure, the coat wasn’t water resistant, but it was only ten minutes to the palace. I wouldn’t get too wet.
[This again was the build up.]
I hitched up with my crew of shooters in the parking lot. There were six guys in two urban assault vehicles, one a new Durango and the other an eight month old Suburban with enough battle scars to warrant the vehicular version of a purple heart and an honorable discharge. To a man, each camouflaged soldier had eschewed their Kevlar helmets in favor of black knit watch caps. Weren’t we the well dressed bunch? All uniform, but with the caps, not quite Army.
What’s more, since we were headed into a more active part of town, many opted for weapons shorter than the M-16’s they usually carry. The AK-47’s I expected. They’re light and reliable, and come with big ammunition clips. A couple of guys had the M-4’s, which are like shortened versions of the M-16/AR-15’s, and a few with very serious looking machine pistols (MP5’s, probably). Of course, there were plenty of semiautomatic pistols holstered in various configurations.
Well armed and dangerously well dressed, we mounted our vehicles and took to the Baghdad streets. Driving like thugs, we split lanes, and forced the more sedate Iraqis out of our way. Carp slid a CD into the dash, and the soothing sounds of way loud hip hop reverberated through the passenger compartment. There we were, me and my gang of U.S. Army homies, cruisin’ the Baghdad ‘hood, intimidatin’ the locals.
And my crew all knows all the words, and they bang their heads and sing along with Eminem and the chorus:
“You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo,
You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime”
Sorta gangland. Sorta intense.
‘Cept all de headbangin’ homeboys be lilly farmboys outta Arkansas - be rappin’ wid a twang. Read More......
2003-12-20
Saturday, December 20, 2003
13:15 – Baghdad. Suffering through the sixth power outage of the day, and perhaps the tenth over the last sixty hours. Unit productivity has taken a bit of a hit, as with each outage there’s a loss of data. Sure, you try to save again and again, but it’s the time you forget that the room goes dark.
Fortunately, we’ve got a window, which will not be the case in the new space. I just peered into the ballroom and saw nothing. Cave dark. Future annoyance.
Fortunately for you, the laptop has a fresh charge and about three hours of Ramones, which I can play sans headphones, as they rest of my unit, wholly fed up with the lack of power and lost data, has slipped away for naps or walks to the PX or long smoke breaks or whatever.
And to think, I could have missed all of this frustration, and only suffered the resultant stories about it, had I taken the bus out to BIAP and watched the WWE wrestlers in action. Truly, civilization has taken a wrong turn, and reached a point where Vince McMahon and his traveling circus are fit entertainment for the U.S. military. Over lunch yesterday, a dozen of this troupe ate chow with the troops and then staged an autograph session outside the palace DFAC. The line was snaked throughout the hallways.
Hillary’s visit couldn’t compare.
Today they were set up at Camp Victory, presumably with scantily clad managers and elastic “wrestling” mat, for the next installment of their steroid monster theatre. Had I gone, I probably would have blown off the show after the first match and went to the duty free shop for more Bourbon, maybe shopped at the PX, although it’s not like I need anything. The Army provides my three hots and a cot, but they might have some crap I didn’t know I needed until I saw it.
Like coordinated brown underwear – just the thing to wear under your DCU’s. Maybe some elastic pants blousers. Hmmm? Chewing tobacco? Games for your X-Box? They got it all,… except for maybe a small broom, which I desperately need to keep the dirt in the hooch at bay. It just follows you home and refuses to leave.
I might have better luck at Big John’s Supermarket, which was built this week on a side street just north of the palace, just behind the curb.
For coalition employees, there are limited shopping opportunities. The PX is probably the best organized of the ventures, although it’s barely two trailers large. There’s also a small candy and smoke counter inside the palace, next to a couple of tables of overpriced Coalition logo wear. On Haifa Street, between the palace and the Assassin’s gate, numerous local merchants had set up scattered and flimsy shops, constructed of sticks and roofed with mats of palm fronds.
As with most tourist markets, the goods are all the same from shack to shack. Smokes, blankets, fake Rolex’s with Saddam’s image on the face, Iraqi Army medals, assorted trinkets, and holsters. Lots and lots of holsters. CD’s and DVD’s as well, all counterfeit. Cruising this strip on bicycles and scooters are teen boys, the pornographers, softly stating their wares as they scoot past.
Last week though, the CPA relocated all of these entrepreneurs to a side street north of the palace, where customer parking won’t cause such traffic problems. Here, Big John (probably not his real name) has constructed a five meter square brick structure as a “super”market. He has a plan - to sell high quality goods at a fair price with little profit. It took about five minutes of intense broken English conversation for me to figure out that he was selling cheap, not sheep.
I hope he has a broom. Read More......
Fortunately, we’ve got a window, which will not be the case in the new space. I just peered into the ballroom and saw nothing. Cave dark. Future annoyance.
Fortunately for you, the laptop has a fresh charge and about three hours of Ramones, which I can play sans headphones, as they rest of my unit, wholly fed up with the lack of power and lost data, has slipped away for naps or walks to the PX or long smoke breaks or whatever.
And to think, I could have missed all of this frustration, and only suffered the resultant stories about it, had I taken the bus out to BIAP and watched the WWE wrestlers in action. Truly, civilization has taken a wrong turn, and reached a point where Vince McMahon and his traveling circus are fit entertainment for the U.S. military. Over lunch yesterday, a dozen of this troupe ate chow with the troops and then staged an autograph session outside the palace DFAC. The line was snaked throughout the hallways.
Hillary’s visit couldn’t compare.
Today they were set up at Camp Victory, presumably with scantily clad managers and elastic “wrestling” mat, for the next installment of their steroid monster theatre. Had I gone, I probably would have blown off the show after the first match and went to the duty free shop for more Bourbon, maybe shopped at the PX, although it’s not like I need anything. The Army provides my three hots and a cot, but they might have some crap I didn’t know I needed until I saw it.
Like coordinated brown underwear – just the thing to wear under your DCU’s. Maybe some elastic pants blousers. Hmmm? Chewing tobacco? Games for your X-Box? They got it all,… except for maybe a small broom, which I desperately need to keep the dirt in the hooch at bay. It just follows you home and refuses to leave.
I might have better luck at Big John’s Supermarket, which was built this week on a side street just north of the palace, just behind the curb.
For coalition employees, there are limited shopping opportunities. The PX is probably the best organized of the ventures, although it’s barely two trailers large. There’s also a small candy and smoke counter inside the palace, next to a couple of tables of overpriced Coalition logo wear. On Haifa Street, between the palace and the Assassin’s gate, numerous local merchants had set up scattered and flimsy shops, constructed of sticks and roofed with mats of palm fronds.
As with most tourist markets, the goods are all the same from shack to shack. Smokes, blankets, fake Rolex’s with Saddam’s image on the face, Iraqi Army medals, assorted trinkets, and holsters. Lots and lots of holsters. CD’s and DVD’s as well, all counterfeit. Cruising this strip on bicycles and scooters are teen boys, the pornographers, softly stating their wares as they scoot past.
Last week though, the CPA relocated all of these entrepreneurs to a side street north of the palace, where customer parking won’t cause such traffic problems. Here, Big John (probably not his real name) has constructed a five meter square brick structure as a “super”market. He has a plan - to sell high quality goods at a fair price with little profit. It took about five minutes of intense broken English conversation for me to figure out that he was selling cheap, not sheep.
I hope he has a broom. Read More......
2003-12-17
Wednesday, 17 December 2003
PART III - REFOCUS
=====
13:30 – Baghdad. As soon as I can figure out how to insert a *.pdf file into Power Point, we’ll be another step closer to changing offices again. It will also mean the loss of our Frisbee court, where Miles and I recently taught a couple of the cleaning guys how to toss the thing. [Imagine completely Frisbee-less society. It stuns the brain.]
This will be my fifth desk since arrival, once it happens. Or “if” it happens. Things change here by the second sometimes, and there are increasing rumors of abandonment (frustration-based, primarily). I don’t have a verifiable clue as to how these rumors get started, but I do know how they spread.
Letters home.
Holy Crap! It’s me that spreads these rumors! Ah well.
Just like day follows night, rainbows follow the rain, stink follows a wet dog, and journalists follow the scandal, politicians and other career oriented individuals follow the money. Not surprisingly, our $18.6 Billion is like a beacon to these people. A beacon shining like a hundred suns, stinking like a thousand wet dogs, calling them to make the money their own, and advance themselves as a result.
The State Department is these wet dogs, and they’re a slobberin’ over the reconstruction money.
Each year, you and I (provided that you and I are paying our Federal taxes like good Americans) fund lots and lots of projects not dissimilar from what we’re trying to accomplish here - irrigation works, modifications to the power grid, housing projects, water treatment – lots and lots. Oftentimes, these humanitarian works are managed by USAID (United Stated Agency for International Development) and, truth be told, USAID-ers have been in Iraq for some time doing that thing that they do.
However, they were not given control over the Supplemental funding. The Department of Defense was. Certainly, there were some power plays involved at the time, but I might guess that the money went to Defense to spend because we’re still in the midst of a war. As well, in going with Defense, we can easily employ USACE, their soldiers and engineers, to take a large role in the construction management aspects of the work. Plus, they can shoot the bad guys when necessary.
This may or may not matter in Washington, where the greenback is more powerful than the squad automatic weapon.
The latest power play involves the “Reserve” budget, whereby a portion of the supplemental funds would be reserved for later contracts. The benefit to stopping the progress half way through to reselect contractors is beyond the comprehension abilities of my wee brain. Undoubtedly, the same contractors would be recontracted – “they’re already here” is the best reason for selection, followed by “they’re already here”. Another reason might be allow some other entity to become the contracting authority.
Hell, it really doesn’t matter to me that much, except that the politics tend to get in the way of the work. Millions of dollars and months of my life have been spent setting up this Program Management Office as a clearinghouse for project planning and construction. To gut the Office before the first project turns dirt would further lower my low opinion of “representative” government.
Question: Can you still say “gut” when all that remains of the carcass is the skin?
We started with $18.6 Billion for reconstruction, but the PMO needed a portion of that to manage our own program, then a whole bunch was spent on procurement right away for crisis spending, leaving $12.6 Billion for construction. That was quick.
The current State Department plan is to have a $5.0 Billion Reserve (maybe give this for France and Germany to spend here so they won’t be so mad at us) and give $2.0 Billion directly to USAID to spend as they see fit (regardless of the prioritization exercise we just completed) and a Billion to the Ministry of Oil (likewise), leaving around $4.6 Billion for construction.
But wait! There’s less!
The New Iraqi Army needs another $200 Million, and CPA needs $200 million for emergency construction, and another $200 Million for other USAID non-construction items. Then the last line of this (“not for distribution”) PowerPoint slide reads another $2.0 Billion for even more USAID non-construction items.
This leaves around two billion dollars in the PMO kitty.
Actually, this was simple. Another iteration and the entire pot will be reallocated and we’ll be finished here.
Oh, don’t worry. It’ll change tomorrow, once a fresh pack of piranhas smells the loot.
Completely Unrelated Anecdote: At the Ministry, the teaboy presents the tea on a small silver (well,… chrome, or something shiny, regardless) serving tray – small glass tumblers on wee painted saucers. He drops off the tea, then returns about ten minutes later to pick up the dishes. So, best be done by the time he gets back, because he will take your tea cup, finished or no.
But that’s not the unrelated anecdote, just the lead in to the unrelated anecdote. The unrelated anecdote should be next.
Right.
Today, the teaboy returned to clear the second serving, or so I thought, until he failed to clear the second serving and instead proceeded to track and hunt a fly that had been pestering the us for the past few minutes. Moving in between us and around the table, he dodged and feigned and ultimately whacked the fly to death with the hand towel he had as a weapon.
Then he cleared the tea. Read More......
=====
13:30 – Baghdad. As soon as I can figure out how to insert a *.pdf file into Power Point, we’ll be another step closer to changing offices again. It will also mean the loss of our Frisbee court, where Miles and I recently taught a couple of the cleaning guys how to toss the thing. [Imagine completely Frisbee-less society. It stuns the brain.]
This will be my fifth desk since arrival, once it happens. Or “if” it happens. Things change here by the second sometimes, and there are increasing rumors of abandonment (frustration-based, primarily). I don’t have a verifiable clue as to how these rumors get started, but I do know how they spread.
Letters home.
Holy Crap! It’s me that spreads these rumors! Ah well.
Just like day follows night, rainbows follow the rain, stink follows a wet dog, and journalists follow the scandal, politicians and other career oriented individuals follow the money. Not surprisingly, our $18.6 Billion is like a beacon to these people. A beacon shining like a hundred suns, stinking like a thousand wet dogs, calling them to make the money their own, and advance themselves as a result.
The State Department is these wet dogs, and they’re a slobberin’ over the reconstruction money.
Each year, you and I (provided that you and I are paying our Federal taxes like good Americans) fund lots and lots of projects not dissimilar from what we’re trying to accomplish here - irrigation works, modifications to the power grid, housing projects, water treatment – lots and lots. Oftentimes, these humanitarian works are managed by USAID (United Stated Agency for International Development) and, truth be told, USAID-ers have been in Iraq for some time doing that thing that they do.
However, they were not given control over the Supplemental funding. The Department of Defense was. Certainly, there were some power plays involved at the time, but I might guess that the money went to Defense to spend because we’re still in the midst of a war. As well, in going with Defense, we can easily employ USACE, their soldiers and engineers, to take a large role in the construction management aspects of the work. Plus, they can shoot the bad guys when necessary.
This may or may not matter in Washington, where the greenback is more powerful than the squad automatic weapon.
The latest power play involves the “Reserve” budget, whereby a portion of the supplemental funds would be reserved for later contracts. The benefit to stopping the progress half way through to reselect contractors is beyond the comprehension abilities of my wee brain. Undoubtedly, the same contractors would be recontracted – “they’re already here” is the best reason for selection, followed by “they’re already here”. Another reason might be allow some other entity to become the contracting authority.
Hell, it really doesn’t matter to me that much, except that the politics tend to get in the way of the work. Millions of dollars and months of my life have been spent setting up this Program Management Office as a clearinghouse for project planning and construction. To gut the Office before the first project turns dirt would further lower my low opinion of “representative” government.
Question: Can you still say “gut” when all that remains of the carcass is the skin?
We started with $18.6 Billion for reconstruction, but the PMO needed a portion of that to manage our own program, then a whole bunch was spent on procurement right away for crisis spending, leaving $12.6 Billion for construction. That was quick.
The current State Department plan is to have a $5.0 Billion Reserve (maybe give this for France and Germany to spend here so they won’t be so mad at us) and give $2.0 Billion directly to USAID to spend as they see fit (regardless of the prioritization exercise we just completed) and a Billion to the Ministry of Oil (likewise), leaving around $4.6 Billion for construction.
But wait! There’s less!
The New Iraqi Army needs another $200 Million, and CPA needs $200 million for emergency construction, and another $200 Million for other USAID non-construction items. Then the last line of this (“not for distribution”) PowerPoint slide reads another $2.0 Billion for even more USAID non-construction items.
This leaves around two billion dollars in the PMO kitty.
Actually, this was simple. Another iteration and the entire pot will be reallocated and we’ll be finished here.
Oh, don’t worry. It’ll change tomorrow, once a fresh pack of piranhas smells the loot.
Completely Unrelated Anecdote: At the Ministry, the teaboy presents the tea on a small silver (well,… chrome, or something shiny, regardless) serving tray – small glass tumblers on wee painted saucers. He drops off the tea, then returns about ten minutes later to pick up the dishes. So, best be done by the time he gets back, because he will take your tea cup, finished or no.
But that’s not the unrelated anecdote, just the lead in to the unrelated anecdote. The unrelated anecdote should be next.
Right.
Today, the teaboy returned to clear the second serving, or so I thought, until he failed to clear the second serving and instead proceeded to track and hunt a fly that had been pestering the us for the past few minutes. Moving in between us and around the table, he dodged and feigned and ultimately whacked the fly to death with the hand towel he had as a weapon.
Then he cleared the tea. Read More......
2003-12-14
Sunday, December 14, 2003
18:00 – Baghdad. The hooch is a vast improvement over the six man closet, which was a vast improvement over the north hallway. Even for a trailer, it’s not that bad. One caveat, my only prior experience living in a trailer was the two years that I spent residing in “Miss Liberty” on Lincoln Swing in West Ames. If I had to rank that particular college housing experience, I’d put it somewhere between north hallway and sleeping in the dirt at BIAP, only more dirty.
The new digs are spanking new. I’d almost written “sparkling”, but nothing stays clean here for any measurable length of time. New they are and already broken. Cheap they are, too.
Each unit is “I” shaped or “H” shaped, depending on your point of view. For the sake of discussion, let’s just agree right now that they’re “I” shaped. OK, they’re really “H” shaped, and each leg and cross member is about eight feet wide. Planted in an open field near the palace by the score, they read like an asthmatic climbing stairs. Approach from the side, and it’s Pancho Villa’s war cry.
It’s a brisk ten minute walk from door to door. From the office at the south end of the palace, walk the entire length of said palace, past the Marine checkpoint, weave through the concertina wire, down one of the aisles of the 500 Man Camp, and turn right into the 266 Man Extension to the 500 Man Camp. We’re the second to last unit meaning, “one more trailer and we’d be further from the palace than anyone”.
To each side of the trailer are the sleeping quarters, less than 200 square feet a piece, housing two men each. Each resident gets a bed, metal wardrobe, and metal end table. The center piece is about eight feet square, with a tiny one holed bathroom and connecting hallway. The bathroom leaks from every direction, but it does have hot water, and by “hot” I mean “could sear the hair off a pig carcass” – from zero to steam bath in five seconds. The interior finish is all attractive metal, so I bought some Iraqi modern art to hang on the walls and soften it up a bit. In all, it’s a fully adequate place to store my hat until spring.
Honest, compared to the other crap that surrounds me here, it’s really nice for the most part, but has troubles beyond the leaks in the loo. The wall mounted heater has a broken thermostat. The front door creaks. My bedroom door doesn’t latch. The roof isn’t bulletproof.
… because the roof is made of thin sheet metal, and it will do little to stop the hundreds of thousands of bullets which are filling the skies as I write. Saddam, as it turns out, was captured crawling on his belly in a hole of his own digging yesterday. As soon as the news broke, out came the automatic weapons and the celebrations started. We have GOT to start doing this in the States. Birthdays (blam, blam, blam). Bat Mitzvas (Kapow!). Arbor Day (budda budda). Easter (pop, pop, pop, pop).
Anyway, we’ve been instructed to stay under hard cover tonight. Well and good, as there’s a big deadline tonight, and I may have to work through it to make it. So, I’m stuck in the office all night,… but you’re free to move around.
So what are you waiting for?
This is a historic night!
Grab your guns and head to the porch. Ram a magazine home and pop off a few rounds for freedom. Read More......
The new digs are spanking new. I’d almost written “sparkling”, but nothing stays clean here for any measurable length of time. New they are and already broken. Cheap they are, too.
Each unit is “I” shaped or “H” shaped, depending on your point of view. For the sake of discussion, let’s just agree right now that they’re “I” shaped. OK, they’re really “H” shaped, and each leg and cross member is about eight feet wide. Planted in an open field near the palace by the score, they read like an asthmatic climbing stairs. Approach from the side, and it’s Pancho Villa’s war cry.
It’s a brisk ten minute walk from door to door. From the office at the south end of the palace, walk the entire length of said palace, past the Marine checkpoint, weave through the concertina wire, down one of the aisles of the 500 Man Camp, and turn right into the 266 Man Extension to the 500 Man Camp. We’re the second to last unit meaning, “one more trailer and we’d be further from the palace than anyone”.
To each side of the trailer are the sleeping quarters, less than 200 square feet a piece, housing two men each. Each resident gets a bed, metal wardrobe, and metal end table. The center piece is about eight feet square, with a tiny one holed bathroom and connecting hallway. The bathroom leaks from every direction, but it does have hot water, and by “hot” I mean “could sear the hair off a pig carcass” – from zero to steam bath in five seconds. The interior finish is all attractive metal, so I bought some Iraqi modern art to hang on the walls and soften it up a bit. In all, it’s a fully adequate place to store my hat until spring.
Honest, compared to the other crap that surrounds me here, it’s really nice for the most part, but has troubles beyond the leaks in the loo. The wall mounted heater has a broken thermostat. The front door creaks. My bedroom door doesn’t latch. The roof isn’t bulletproof.
… because the roof is made of thin sheet metal, and it will do little to stop the hundreds of thousands of bullets which are filling the skies as I write. Saddam, as it turns out, was captured crawling on his belly in a hole of his own digging yesterday. As soon as the news broke, out came the automatic weapons and the celebrations started. We have GOT to start doing this in the States. Birthdays (blam, blam, blam). Bat Mitzvas (Kapow!). Arbor Day (budda budda). Easter (pop, pop, pop, pop).
Anyway, we’ve been instructed to stay under hard cover tonight. Well and good, as there’s a big deadline tonight, and I may have to work through it to make it. So, I’m stuck in the office all night,… but you’re free to move around.
So what are you waiting for?
This is a historic night!
Grab your guns and head to the porch. Ram a magazine home and pop off a few rounds for freedom. Read More......
2003-12-10
Wednesday, 10 December 2003
14:30 – Baghdad. Due to an intel snafu, my ride from the 95th failed to pick me up from the Ministry, and I had to beg a ride back to the CPA with a couple truckloads of Brits. The immediate effect was that I returned to the supposed Green Zone too late for chow, so I returned to my desk for lunch. As is the rule at the PMO, I shortly submitted my four to five hundred word review, as follows.
In my family, few meals say "Happy Birthday" as well as hot, fresh, and tasty Italian cooking. So I was not at all displeased with my random choice from the MRE crate, Menu Item number 23, "Chicken with Cavatelli". But what I found inside the brown plastic bag was way more than I could have ever wished for, not just "Chicken with Cavatelli", but "Breaded Chicken Breast Patty with Pasta Shells in Tomato Sauce with Rib Meat", packed by the Wornick Company of Cincinnati, Ohio.
This is just what I craved, and could barely contain my expectation for the 12 minutes I gave the water activated heater to work its magic. The chicken was firm and lightly breaded, and only partly reminded me of a soggy McNugget. The pasta was suitably al dente, coated with a mild yet flavorful sauce interspersed with minced garlic (garlic, water, phosphoric acid), dehydrated onions, and oleoresin paprika. For more interest and pizzazz, I added the 1/8 ounce of included Tabasco. [Fat: 11 grams. Carbs: 30 grams. Calories: 280.]
The "Wheat Snack Bread" was next [Fat: 5 grams. Carbs: 25 grams. Calories: 180.] coated with "Fortified Peanut Butter" or PNB [Fat: 19 grams. Carbs: 9 grams. Calories: 260.]. Frankly, I couldn't eat much of this, having just consumed a bag of cavatelli. Also, it's all a bit dry, and my beverage was almost gone. Well, maybe one more bite.
I was momentarily tempted to relight my candle for the "Spice Pound Cake" [Fat: 12 grams. Carbs: 36 grams. Calories: 280.] but, while Miles probably would have easily been convinces to sing Happy Birthday again, I think this may have just worked to annoy Brian, so I ate my cake in silence.
Barely lucid at this time, I could only stare dumbly at the bag of pretzels [Fat: 1 grams. Carbs: 22 grams. Calories: 110.]. Save them for later.
The entire meal was eaten with a spoon or by hand and washed down with a half litre of water in which was mixed "Beverage Base Powder Orange", a Tang-like powder reminding me of how truly space age these pre-packaged, stay-fresh-for-years meals really are. [Fat: 0 grams. Carbs: 32 grams. Calories: 130.]
Altogether, Number 23 brings 48 grams of fat, 154 grams of carbohydrates, and 1,240 calories to the table. Plenty for an active troop, and more than enough for an increasingly older and lethargic engineer.
I'm sold now, and will never forget that the M in MRE is for "Mmmmmm". Read More......
In my family, few meals say "Happy Birthday" as well as hot, fresh, and tasty Italian cooking. So I was not at all displeased with my random choice from the MRE crate, Menu Item number 23, "Chicken with Cavatelli". But what I found inside the brown plastic bag was way more than I could have ever wished for, not just "Chicken with Cavatelli", but "Breaded Chicken Breast Patty with Pasta Shells in Tomato Sauce with Rib Meat", packed by the Wornick Company of Cincinnati, Ohio.
This is just what I craved, and could barely contain my expectation for the 12 minutes I gave the water activated heater to work its magic. The chicken was firm and lightly breaded, and only partly reminded me of a soggy McNugget. The pasta was suitably al dente, coated with a mild yet flavorful sauce interspersed with minced garlic (garlic, water, phosphoric acid), dehydrated onions, and oleoresin paprika. For more interest and pizzazz, I added the 1/8 ounce of included Tabasco. [Fat: 11 grams. Carbs: 30 grams. Calories: 280.]
The "Wheat Snack Bread" was next [Fat: 5 grams. Carbs: 25 grams. Calories: 180.] coated with "Fortified Peanut Butter" or PNB [Fat: 19 grams. Carbs: 9 grams. Calories: 260.]. Frankly, I couldn't eat much of this, having just consumed a bag of cavatelli. Also, it's all a bit dry, and my beverage was almost gone. Well, maybe one more bite.
I was momentarily tempted to relight my candle for the "Spice Pound Cake" [Fat: 12 grams. Carbs: 36 grams. Calories: 280.] but, while Miles probably would have easily been convinces to sing Happy Birthday again, I think this may have just worked to annoy Brian, so I ate my cake in silence.
Barely lucid at this time, I could only stare dumbly at the bag of pretzels [Fat: 1 grams. Carbs: 22 grams. Calories: 110.]. Save them for later.
The entire meal was eaten with a spoon or by hand and washed down with a half litre of water in which was mixed "Beverage Base Powder Orange", a Tang-like powder reminding me of how truly space age these pre-packaged, stay-fresh-for-years meals really are. [Fat: 0 grams. Carbs: 32 grams. Calories: 130.]
Altogether, Number 23 brings 48 grams of fat, 154 grams of carbohydrates, and 1,240 calories to the table. Plenty for an active troop, and more than enough for an increasingly older and lethargic engineer.
I'm sold now, and will never forget that the M in MRE is for "Mmmmmm". Read More......
2003-12-09
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
11:30 –Baghdad. On the way back to my spanking new Turkish trailer the other evening, the narrow walk between sandbag barrier and trailer wall was unexpectedly flooded with a gaggle of giggly girls – maybe a half dozen in all, maybe twelve to sixteen years old – who skipped or pranced or whatever giggly girls do past me and down the path.
My initial reaction, of course, was a neck wrenching double take. Why would there be children here?
Huh? Why?
Ok, I’ll tell you, and spare you the speculation.
I was nearing the aforementioned Turkish trailer the next day and exchanged pleasantries with a soldier who was sitting in one of the plastic hooch chairs a few doors down. From him I learned that his duty was to guard these girls. Apparently, they were from the north, had turned in their parents and other family members for manufacturing IED’s, and were now under the protection of the Coalition. The haggard G.I. had been chasing them around all morning and had finally corralled them in their trailer, an exercise akin to herding cats. This morning, the Marines were encircling this trailer with concertina wire, having recognized the dangers within and without. Ultimately, this means our “Bremer Youth” program is working.
We’re still having problems with our local power supply, however, so not everything is working as well as our reeducation campaigns.
A large group of Ungrateful Whiny Prima Donnas motored to the Al Rashid last night to celebrate John’s departure. Maybe it was rude to have this celebration while he was still here, even taking him with us, but we were dying for a non-KBR meal. There’s a couple of restaurants at the hotel, which had been closed for Ramadan, and had just reopened. We had made reservations for a dozen and a half at one or the other of them. It really doesn’t matter which because, as it turned out, the hotel was in complete darkness when we arrived.
Fortunately, most of us carry flashlights everywhere and these torches provide ample illumination towards and into the basement bar. Here, we were obligated to drink as much beer as we could before it warmed up and was lost forever, a task we pursued with zeal until a big armed guy (big guy, big arms, big gun) interrupted our labors to inform us that the hotel would be closing at 19:30. As this meant our restaurant would not reopen, we went DFAC (no joke – to the Dining FACility) on the first floor to chow on KBR food. As expected, it tastes a little better in the dark after a few liters of beer.
They did have better cookies than at the palace (which is more cake-centric, anyway).
After dinner, as we worked our way through the lobby on our way out, the lights started to flicker back to life. No one doubted that this was a suitable going away party.
What else ain’t working? The decapitation contractor’s plan to get the giant Saddam heads off the palace grounds, that’s what ain’t working.
In answer to the call by Force Protection, I volunteered for Head Inspection. On the surface, this was in direct response to their need for additional personnel as required to keep a close eye on the Iraqi contractor, thereby ensuring the safety of the Coalition. The request was made of all hands, since the Army is too busy elsewhere to pick up these mission critical assignments. Under the surface, my real desire for volunteering was because I wanted to watch big equipment move stuff. Hell, that’s why I became an Engineer to begin with.
And move stuff they did, just not very far.
The four heads came down last week, taken from their mounts atop the palace and deposited on the ground adjacent, until such time as the contractor could secure a smaller crane to load them onto flatbeds and haul them away. Crane secured, the contractor returned and in the past three days has worked to gets the heads off site.
When I arrived at my two hour shift this afternoon, there was one of the heads, nose down on a flatbed, cabling taut to the 20 ton crane. Soon, the crane’s idle increased, and the head was lifted while the truck drove out from under it, and the head was set nose down in the dirt. Then there was much scrambling and discussions by the crew during which I learned that the front gate was too narrow for Saddam’s shoulders, and he was too tall for overhead power lines, and they couldn’t easily transport him on his side, but they might just use a cutting torch and take off a portion of his width, but when the back gate was remeasured it they found it would pass the despot, and it’s 15:30 and time to call it a day.
This was the first head. Three days, and all that’s happened is Saddam’s bronze bust has gone from an upright position to a nose down in the dirt position. If this is typical for Iraqi contractors, we’ll never get our eighteen billion spent. Read More......
My initial reaction, of course, was a neck wrenching double take. Why would there be children here?
Huh? Why?
Ok, I’ll tell you, and spare you the speculation.
I was nearing the aforementioned Turkish trailer the next day and exchanged pleasantries with a soldier who was sitting in one of the plastic hooch chairs a few doors down. From him I learned that his duty was to guard these girls. Apparently, they were from the north, had turned in their parents and other family members for manufacturing IED’s, and were now under the protection of the Coalition. The haggard G.I. had been chasing them around all morning and had finally corralled them in their trailer, an exercise akin to herding cats. This morning, the Marines were encircling this trailer with concertina wire, having recognized the dangers within and without. Ultimately, this means our “Bremer Youth” program is working.
We’re still having problems with our local power supply, however, so not everything is working as well as our reeducation campaigns.
A large group of Ungrateful Whiny Prima Donnas motored to the Al Rashid last night to celebrate John’s departure. Maybe it was rude to have this celebration while he was still here, even taking him with us, but we were dying for a non-KBR meal. There’s a couple of restaurants at the hotel, which had been closed for Ramadan, and had just reopened. We had made reservations for a dozen and a half at one or the other of them. It really doesn’t matter which because, as it turned out, the hotel was in complete darkness when we arrived.
Fortunately, most of us carry flashlights everywhere and these torches provide ample illumination towards and into the basement bar. Here, we were obligated to drink as much beer as we could before it warmed up and was lost forever, a task we pursued with zeal until a big armed guy (big guy, big arms, big gun) interrupted our labors to inform us that the hotel would be closing at 19:30. As this meant our restaurant would not reopen, we went DFAC (no joke – to the Dining FACility) on the first floor to chow on KBR food. As expected, it tastes a little better in the dark after a few liters of beer.
They did have better cookies than at the palace (which is more cake-centric, anyway).
After dinner, as we worked our way through the lobby on our way out, the lights started to flicker back to life. No one doubted that this was a suitable going away party.
What else ain’t working? The decapitation contractor’s plan to get the giant Saddam heads off the palace grounds, that’s what ain’t working.
In answer to the call by Force Protection, I volunteered for Head Inspection. On the surface, this was in direct response to their need for additional personnel as required to keep a close eye on the Iraqi contractor, thereby ensuring the safety of the Coalition. The request was made of all hands, since the Army is too busy elsewhere to pick up these mission critical assignments. Under the surface, my real desire for volunteering was because I wanted to watch big equipment move stuff. Hell, that’s why I became an Engineer to begin with.
And move stuff they did, just not very far.
The four heads came down last week, taken from their mounts atop the palace and deposited on the ground adjacent, until such time as the contractor could secure a smaller crane to load them onto flatbeds and haul them away. Crane secured, the contractor returned and in the past three days has worked to gets the heads off site.
When I arrived at my two hour shift this afternoon, there was one of the heads, nose down on a flatbed, cabling taut to the 20 ton crane. Soon, the crane’s idle increased, and the head was lifted while the truck drove out from under it, and the head was set nose down in the dirt. Then there was much scrambling and discussions by the crew during which I learned that the front gate was too narrow for Saddam’s shoulders, and he was too tall for overhead power lines, and they couldn’t easily transport him on his side, but they might just use a cutting torch and take off a portion of his width, but when the back gate was remeasured it they found it would pass the despot, and it’s 15:30 and time to call it a day.
This was the first head. Three days, and all that’s happened is Saddam’s bronze bust has gone from an upright position to a nose down in the dirt position. If this is typical for Iraqi contractors, we’ll never get our eighteen billion spent. Read More......
2003-12-07
Sunday, December 07, 2003
10:00 – Baghdad. As a strange follow up to the billeting rant, I’ll offer the following:
We had just finished dinner. We, being four of my five office mates, Skip having stayed behind. Miles, Jeff, John, Brian and myself found an open table at which to enjoy (or at least pretend to enjoy) the evening fare. I had the breaded turkey cutlet, potatoes in the style of Leon, some not overly overcooked green peas, a few fresh vegetables and what they call cherry cobbler. The cobblers are surprisingly popular, despite the fact that they are no more than pie filling covered with bran flakes and baked. Of course, a bowl of pie filling has its place, too.
There then developed some hubbub as I approached the Gurka who now guards the entrance to the new PMO offices. Some small investigation soon led to the discovery of, essentially, an all points bulletin – that the palace guards were to recognize and detain (for Force Protection, no less), none other than the infamous Laura from billeting.
At first, I figured that Chuck (who was conveniently standing at the door) had somehow found her image and cut and pasted the wanted poster, but then a call came through the Gurka’s radio to verify the mission’s validity. So I’ve still no reason why this action is being taken (except perhaps for dereliction of duty) but Haliburton has a ticket for her on tomorrow’s flight out of Iraq.
That’s one way to leave.
The most common, but not always most popular, method of exit is to await the end of your rotation. During the past few weeks, a large number of those who were early into Baghdad are starting to rotate back to CONUS. This generates a heap of confusion because it was never done before. At least, not done on any scale. Methods need to be developed to accommodate the return of TA-50s, country clearances through Kuwait and airline tickets for the return flight, medical debriefing, return of supplemental equipment and reassignment of billets. Presumably, all this will be figured out (i.e. streamlined) by the time I depart. One of the last things I want to do is spend a few days at the Pentagon or at Fort Bliss waiting for a TB scratch test to germinate (or whatever they do).
On this note John, one of our Planners, is scheduled to de-Iraqify himself on Wednesday. He was instrumental in the early planning [again, duh] stages of the project, and has worked himself out of a job. With his departure comes an increasing barrage of short jokes – legs don’t reach the floor, can’t see over his desk – reminders to all of his decreasing time in country. John’s been a stabilizing influence during his time here, a trait that we’ll need more of over the next few months.
He’ll be replaced with a new Company hire, some guy with “lots of prison experience”. Er, I’m not completely sure what this means, but I’ll be on the lookout for cell block tattoos.
Unrelated Tidbit: Garry Trudeau roasted us in the Sunday comics this week but, like most journalists, he shops for his facts at the outlet mall. In the last panel, he shows the bored PMO drone using a Macintosh. How wrong could he be? This is a 100% Microsoft Coalition. Read More......
We had just finished dinner. We, being four of my five office mates, Skip having stayed behind. Miles, Jeff, John, Brian and myself found an open table at which to enjoy (or at least pretend to enjoy) the evening fare. I had the breaded turkey cutlet, potatoes in the style of Leon, some not overly overcooked green peas, a few fresh vegetables and what they call cherry cobbler. The cobblers are surprisingly popular, despite the fact that they are no more than pie filling covered with bran flakes and baked. Of course, a bowl of pie filling has its place, too.
There then developed some hubbub as I approached the Gurka who now guards the entrance to the new PMO offices. Some small investigation soon led to the discovery of, essentially, an all points bulletin – that the palace guards were to recognize and detain (for Force Protection, no less), none other than the infamous Laura from billeting.
At first, I figured that Chuck (who was conveniently standing at the door) had somehow found her image and cut and pasted the wanted poster, but then a call came through the Gurka’s radio to verify the mission’s validity. So I’ve still no reason why this action is being taken (except perhaps for dereliction of duty) but Haliburton has a ticket for her on tomorrow’s flight out of Iraq.
That’s one way to leave.
The most common, but not always most popular, method of exit is to await the end of your rotation. During the past few weeks, a large number of those who were early into Baghdad are starting to rotate back to CONUS. This generates a heap of confusion because it was never done before. At least, not done on any scale. Methods need to be developed to accommodate the return of TA-50s, country clearances through Kuwait and airline tickets for the return flight, medical debriefing, return of supplemental equipment and reassignment of billets. Presumably, all this will be figured out (i.e. streamlined) by the time I depart. One of the last things I want to do is spend a few days at the Pentagon or at Fort Bliss waiting for a TB scratch test to germinate (or whatever they do).
On this note John, one of our Planners, is scheduled to de-Iraqify himself on Wednesday. He was instrumental in the early planning [again, duh] stages of the project, and has worked himself out of a job. With his departure comes an increasing barrage of short jokes – legs don’t reach the floor, can’t see over his desk – reminders to all of his decreasing time in country. John’s been a stabilizing influence during his time here, a trait that we’ll need more of over the next few months.
He’ll be replaced with a new Company hire, some guy with “lots of prison experience”. Er, I’m not completely sure what this means, but I’ll be on the lookout for cell block tattoos.
Unrelated Tidbit: Garry Trudeau roasted us in the Sunday comics this week but, like most journalists, he shops for his facts at the outlet mall. In the last panel, he shows the bored PMO drone using a Macintosh. How wrong could he be? This is a 100% Microsoft Coalition. Read More......
2003-12-04
Thursday, 04 December 2003
19:20 – Baghdad. Hard to believe that it’s been eight weeks since I left Minnesota. Time flies when you’re working eighty-hour weeks.
The tour’s about a third done, and I’m tired, but not yet tired of it. We’ve just completed the first part of the programming process, the identification and prioritization of the (literally) thousands of individual projects that we wish to accomplish with the seemingly unlimited, but actually incredibly limited funds available. Really, it’s only eighteen billion. Take away our administrative and other costs, and we’ll spend less - around fourteen billion on actual construction. But even that has it’s share of non-tangibles, like additional project security, housing for expatriate staff, property acquisition, escalation due to local conditions and the expected increases in materials costs and the like and it’s more on the order of twelve billion in physical improvements over the next three years.
Sure, this still seems like a large chunk of change to those of us complaining that a pint of Guinness is six bucks, but it’s really nothing to the Congress that’s spending a billion a week just to propagate the war. Seems we could have just raised the bounty on Saddam and got away from here for much less.
We’ll never really be done with the prioritized program lists. Even now, the Ministries are fine tuning them and arguing about the overlarge construction estimates that they developed themselves, always trying to get more projects out of a limited pot of cash. However and regardless of any strong desire from the Ministry, for this phase, the final word on water resource projects in Iraq comes from me.
Then Jeff. Then Craig. Then Dave. Then Paul.
And when Paul (Ambassador Bremer) gets done with his tweaks, the list goes to Congress.
Then to George. Then to Laura, who really wants a pediatric hospital. It’s “for the children.”
[duh]
But even then, the list is fluid, and can change quarterly, through a rather simple reporting practice. There was one point this last week when we were informed that any changes to the list would take an actual Act of Congress (which, as it turns out, is really, really difficult), but as usual, conditions have changed. Now it just takes and Act of Me and Jeff and Craig and Dave and Paul.
And maybe Laura, who really wants a pediatric hospital “for the children.”
[double duh] Read More......
The tour’s about a third done, and I’m tired, but not yet tired of it. We’ve just completed the first part of the programming process, the identification and prioritization of the (literally) thousands of individual projects that we wish to accomplish with the seemingly unlimited, but actually incredibly limited funds available. Really, it’s only eighteen billion. Take away our administrative and other costs, and we’ll spend less - around fourteen billion on actual construction. But even that has it’s share of non-tangibles, like additional project security, housing for expatriate staff, property acquisition, escalation due to local conditions and the expected increases in materials costs and the like and it’s more on the order of twelve billion in physical improvements over the next three years.
Sure, this still seems like a large chunk of change to those of us complaining that a pint of Guinness is six bucks, but it’s really nothing to the Congress that’s spending a billion a week just to propagate the war. Seems we could have just raised the bounty on Saddam and got away from here for much less.
We’ll never really be done with the prioritized program lists. Even now, the Ministries are fine tuning them and arguing about the overlarge construction estimates that they developed themselves, always trying to get more projects out of a limited pot of cash. However and regardless of any strong desire from the Ministry, for this phase, the final word on water resource projects in Iraq comes from me.
Then Jeff. Then Craig. Then Dave. Then Paul.
And when Paul (Ambassador Bremer) gets done with his tweaks, the list goes to Congress.
Then to George. Then to Laura, who really wants a pediatric hospital. It’s “for the children.”
[duh]
But even then, the list is fluid, and can change quarterly, through a rather simple reporting practice. There was one point this last week when we were informed that any changes to the list would take an actual Act of Congress (which, as it turns out, is really, really difficult), but as usual, conditions have changed. Now it just takes and Act of Me and Jeff and Craig and Dave and Paul.
And maybe Laura, who really wants a pediatric hospital “for the children.”
[double duh] Read More......
2003-11-25
Tuesday, 25 November 2003
19:30 – Baghdad. Miscellany.
A couple of hotels were attacked with rocket propelled grenades (RPG’s) last week. The perps only aimed at one building (the one housing the journalists), but hit an adjacent structure through an unintended ricochet. About the same time, the Ministry of Oil (MOO) was attacked with missiles. For each, the perps scrapped together a multiple rocket launcher by welding several sections of pipe together. Then they camouflaged the whole contraption onto donkey carts. CNN showed one of the donkeys some hours after, still numb and shaking. Numerous other donkey-driven destructo-carts were discovered soon thereafter.
One more reason to be paranoid.
Should the palace be attacked any time soon, we will be warned not by the Gurka Horns, but by the “Giant Voice”, which has been installed this week. Not entirely dissimilar from the Civil Defense horns we use domestically, but modified so that we aren’t confusing tornadoes with mortars. If the attack is by air (rockets and launched stuff), a loud wavering tone is broadcast. During a ground attack, the system will play a bugle call (assembly, maybe, or swimming,… I can’t identify the tune yet). If livestock attacks,… I don’t know. Once the worst is over, a steady tone will sound. When it’s all done, the Giant Voice will announce “all clear”.
Sorry. “ALL CLEAR”.
I was really hoping for a more giant-like phrase, like “Fee Fi Fo Fum, beat the crap out of Al Qaida bums”, or even a good “Ho ho ho” a la the large green guy. Well, as it is, we can’t hear a thing, as we’re too far away from the horns. We’ll probably just stick our heads out the door and listen for the gunfire, as always.
The next few nights might make that strategy tough. With Eid al Fitr (the end of Ramadan celebration, not another acronym) in progress, we expect lots of celebratory gunfire. Throughout the party, many folks feel the most festive and satisfactory way of breaking their fast is to discharge lots and lots of bullets into the sky. Why we never did this in the suburbs is beyond me. There’s nothing in the sky, of course, so what could possibly go wrong?
We’re limiting our time outside after dark anyway, keeping a reinforced concrete roof between our heads and the empty sky. Read More......
A couple of hotels were attacked with rocket propelled grenades (RPG’s) last week. The perps only aimed at one building (the one housing the journalists), but hit an adjacent structure through an unintended ricochet. About the same time, the Ministry of Oil (MOO) was attacked with missiles. For each, the perps scrapped together a multiple rocket launcher by welding several sections of pipe together. Then they camouflaged the whole contraption onto donkey carts. CNN showed one of the donkeys some hours after, still numb and shaking. Numerous other donkey-driven destructo-carts were discovered soon thereafter.
One more reason to be paranoid.
Should the palace be attacked any time soon, we will be warned not by the Gurka Horns, but by the “Giant Voice”, which has been installed this week. Not entirely dissimilar from the Civil Defense horns we use domestically, but modified so that we aren’t confusing tornadoes with mortars. If the attack is by air (rockets and launched stuff), a loud wavering tone is broadcast. During a ground attack, the system will play a bugle call (assembly, maybe, or swimming,… I can’t identify the tune yet). If livestock attacks,… I don’t know. Once the worst is over, a steady tone will sound. When it’s all done, the Giant Voice will announce “all clear”.
Sorry. “ALL CLEAR”.
I was really hoping for a more giant-like phrase, like “Fee Fi Fo Fum, beat the crap out of Al Qaida bums”, or even a good “Ho ho ho” a la the large green guy. Well, as it is, we can’t hear a thing, as we’re too far away from the horns. We’ll probably just stick our heads out the door and listen for the gunfire, as always.
The next few nights might make that strategy tough. With Eid al Fitr (the end of Ramadan celebration, not another acronym) in progress, we expect lots of celebratory gunfire. Throughout the party, many folks feel the most festive and satisfactory way of breaking their fast is to discharge lots and lots of bullets into the sky. Why we never did this in the suburbs is beyond me. There’s nothing in the sky, of course, so what could possibly go wrong?
We’re limiting our time outside after dark anyway, keeping a reinforced concrete roof between our heads and the empty sky. Read More......
2003-11-24
Monday, 24 November 2003
08:00 – Baghdad. Whereas I have become more or less accustomed to less than ideal sleeping conditions, some of our group becomes more and more frustrated in having to sleep en masse. Adding insult to this condition is a very strong perception that an improved billet is only a bribe away. Just make the correct deal with Laura in billeting and you will soon find a cozy two-man trailer in which to sleep. There’s a few other issues with billeting, but I’ll leave that story to Chuck, who had had enough one day last week and composed the following nastygram to the Lieutenant Colonel who oversees billeting. [It’s been edited for time, grammar and content and to fit your screen. Neither writes that well.]
=====
Sir,
I am writing to you in disgust and shear amazement of how the billeting assignments are handled. The billeting office is the most corrupt institution I have ever witnessed. It’s obvious that certain individuals in that office are swapping “trailers for favors”.
Why is it that people who have been here for months are falling further down the list? Why do we all get different stories and extremely rude responses to our inquiries at billeting? Why is “Laura” assigned to an entire trailer half (as per your hacked billeting database) while our female peers are still waiting for a place to live? Why are there empty trailers when people are still housed in the Chapel? Why do you contact people with paper flyers on their bed? Why don’t you send out public e-mails to explain the situation?
I am not the only one with concerns, questions and a great deal of consternation caused by such incompetence. We must have some positive action to demonstrate that corrupt sector administrators are brought back in line - checks and balances to ensure proper procedure is followed. We can continue to wait, but only if there is proof that you have control over the sector.
I am trying to keep my group in Iraq to rebuild this country, but they are threatening to exit if conditions are not improved. There must be some headway in billeting to demonstrate to my group that they will be fairly considered for a place to live through a consistent and appropriate procedure.
=====
To this, the Colonel responds,…
=====
I am appalled at your lack of professionalism and willingness to attack hard working folks. Your unprofessional attitude in writing something like this without knowing one iota about the process of personnel prioritization, with no understanding of what is really going on, slinging accusations and insults, and listening to rumors, innuendos, and hearsay is not what I would have done, but it is something I have come to expect from people here. [Holy run-on!]
The list you refer to above is NOT my billeting list; it is CJTF-7’s list that they control separately. Therefore, your information is based on a bad foundation. [It is nice to know that the Coalition Joint Task Force, i.e. the Army, has bad information about where U.S. citizens are sleeping at night. It’s less nice to know that this information can be easily hacked off of the server.] Here are some insights for folks who only have to worry about one thing in life.
The waiting list is based on date of arrival. An individuals place on the list occasionally changes based on the accuracy of the input data. If data is not entered in a timely manner, it will cause a fluctuation. We will work on that. Another variable is people not signing in when they arrive and deciding to sign in later on. We trust people and again use the date they say they arrived in country when placing them on the list. I do not condone rude behavior by my folks and will address that, but be sure that your folks are not being rude as well, because my folks are subjected to mistreatment daily.
Laura has a residence in the KBR camp, she does not live in any trailer here. In fact, she has been living in the Chapel because of fears of mortar attacks. Trailer 12, if it is in the transient camp as I suspect, is not supposed to have anyone in it. We are still working on getting transient trailers secured and hooked up to sewer facilities.
I do not have empty trailers that are habitable. If you know they are empty, and think we do not know, a nice visit or e-mail would be sufficient to ensure we remedy that situation. We have trailers going up everyday, but they are not completed yet.
What exactly would you like to hear? That the ministries have decided to bring as many people over as they can with a complete disregard for the logistics involved? That the same people complaining about billeting arrangements are the same people that do not check out of their billets so I can have the room re-assigned to the next person on the list. [Huh?] Instead, they hand the key off to their buddy? Which explanation do you want?
Your accusation of incompetence should stop right where it is. I know I am NOT incompetent, and the folks I have working billeting are not incompetent. They have to deal with whiny people all day long; they get pulled in 100 different directions all day long and they are working their butt off to try and provide a service to a bunch of ungrateful prima donnas. Your accusations of corruption trouble me, because you conclude this without any proof, using only your single-minded perception of life.
The only proof needed here is from you. If you can provide proof of wrongdoing, it will be handled. But you are NOT owed proof and we are not accountable to you.
I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force. I am here voluntarily to help provide a support structure to a group that has no idea how to do it themselves. [Wasn’t that the point of Chuck’s diatribe?] I serve my country based on my commitment to my nation and the belief that we are here to do the right thing for another country, NOT based on where I sleep or the amount of money I make. I cannot comprehend that people would leave Iraq because they are on a waiting list and think there is corruption in a lowly billeting office. Look in your own office and how you do business, I bet I could find “favor trading” there too.
We have been working hard to fix this problem [What problem?] without help from the people we support. Organizations like yours have shown up, laid down a list of demands, and expect everything the same day. In case you have lost sight of reality, we are in Phase III Combat Operations. This means that bad guys are still shooting at us. This also makes it hard to get the needed supplies and equipment to get the mission completed. We also had to deal with bedding down 750 people after the Al Rashid attack—a task we did smoothly with only a group of incompetent and corrupt individuals [He admits it, eh.]. We have projected 2000 bed spaces coming due with in the next 2 ½ months. We projected, purchased, and built housing without your help or input and it will meet all our needs. You should think about thanking these folks for what they are trying to accomplish for you instead of ridiculing them.
Seymour.
====
Apparently, Chuck found the Colonel’s button and pressed way hard. This argument was quickly forwarded to portions of our group. I found it relatively amusing, but thought that cooler heads must prevail if ever we were to ever get a housing upgrade. As such, I thought it best if I wrote Chuck’s response.
====
Colonel,
I understand your commitment to both your country and her mission in Iraq. However, I also understand that many of us here are not driven solely by a similar sense of duty, but instead by a mixture of adequate compensation and a strong sense of service. Service being a voluntary response, whereas duty is more of an obligation.
As an “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna”, I fully understand that to ensure our best efforts, to ensure that this important work gets done, we must be treated with a level of care such that our performance is not compromised. If we are too distracted by this housing situation (or the condition of the bathrooms, or how the need for additional office space overrides our need for a safe place to sleep), our performance will suffer, and our job will not get done efficiently or effectively.
Most CPA employees do not share your rugged history of roughing it for the Country. They instead are accustomed to a basic level of service, provided on a consistent basis. No one here believes that we are anyplace else but an active war zone, and only a nimrod would believe that providing housing and provisions for such a large group is not a substantial undertaking. The purpose of this communication is not to belittle your performance, but to express the great level of frustration that we feel when dealing with the billeting office.
Since I know of individuals who have accepted rooms in trailers without your knowledge, and I know of individuals who have moved down significantly on the billeting list, my assumption is that these are not the only examples and that this may be indicative of the performance of the entire organization. My basic desire is that additional housing units continue to be erected, that KBR secures and maintains control over their housing inventory and that forthright information regarding the status of billeting be distributed on a regular basis.
====
And today I got the keys to my new trailer.
However, the best to come out of this is that the “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna” label is wildly amusing, and we call each other that all the time. Whenever we get around to developing a unit insignia, we’ll include the following:
Vagitus Ingatis Reguli. Read More......
=====
Sir,
I am writing to you in disgust and shear amazement of how the billeting assignments are handled. The billeting office is the most corrupt institution I have ever witnessed. It’s obvious that certain individuals in that office are swapping “trailers for favors”.
Why is it that people who have been here for months are falling further down the list? Why do we all get different stories and extremely rude responses to our inquiries at billeting? Why is “Laura” assigned to an entire trailer half (as per your hacked billeting database) while our female peers are still waiting for a place to live? Why are there empty trailers when people are still housed in the Chapel? Why do you contact people with paper flyers on their bed? Why don’t you send out public e-mails to explain the situation?
I am not the only one with concerns, questions and a great deal of consternation caused by such incompetence. We must have some positive action to demonstrate that corrupt sector administrators are brought back in line - checks and balances to ensure proper procedure is followed. We can continue to wait, but only if there is proof that you have control over the sector.
I am trying to keep my group in Iraq to rebuild this country, but they are threatening to exit if conditions are not improved. There must be some headway in billeting to demonstrate to my group that they will be fairly considered for a place to live through a consistent and appropriate procedure.
=====
To this, the Colonel responds,…
=====
I am appalled at your lack of professionalism and willingness to attack hard working folks. Your unprofessional attitude in writing something like this without knowing one iota about the process of personnel prioritization, with no understanding of what is really going on, slinging accusations and insults, and listening to rumors, innuendos, and hearsay is not what I would have done, but it is something I have come to expect from people here. [Holy run-on!]
The list you refer to above is NOT my billeting list; it is CJTF-7’s list that they control separately. Therefore, your information is based on a bad foundation. [It is nice to know that the Coalition Joint Task Force, i.e. the Army, has bad information about where U.S. citizens are sleeping at night. It’s less nice to know that this information can be easily hacked off of the server.] Here are some insights for folks who only have to worry about one thing in life.
The waiting list is based on date of arrival. An individuals place on the list occasionally changes based on the accuracy of the input data. If data is not entered in a timely manner, it will cause a fluctuation. We will work on that. Another variable is people not signing in when they arrive and deciding to sign in later on. We trust people and again use the date they say they arrived in country when placing them on the list. I do not condone rude behavior by my folks and will address that, but be sure that your folks are not being rude as well, because my folks are subjected to mistreatment daily.
Laura has a residence in the KBR camp, she does not live in any trailer here. In fact, she has been living in the Chapel because of fears of mortar attacks. Trailer 12, if it is in the transient camp as I suspect, is not supposed to have anyone in it. We are still working on getting transient trailers secured and hooked up to sewer facilities.
I do not have empty trailers that are habitable. If you know they are empty, and think we do not know, a nice visit or e-mail would be sufficient to ensure we remedy that situation. We have trailers going up everyday, but they are not completed yet.
What exactly would you like to hear? That the ministries have decided to bring as many people over as they can with a complete disregard for the logistics involved? That the same people complaining about billeting arrangements are the same people that do not check out of their billets so I can have the room re-assigned to the next person on the list. [Huh?] Instead, they hand the key off to their buddy? Which explanation do you want?
Your accusation of incompetence should stop right where it is. I know I am NOT incompetent, and the folks I have working billeting are not incompetent. They have to deal with whiny people all day long; they get pulled in 100 different directions all day long and they are working their butt off to try and provide a service to a bunch of ungrateful prima donnas. Your accusations of corruption trouble me, because you conclude this without any proof, using only your single-minded perception of life.
The only proof needed here is from you. If you can provide proof of wrongdoing, it will be handled. But you are NOT owed proof and we are not accountable to you.
I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force. I am here voluntarily to help provide a support structure to a group that has no idea how to do it themselves. [Wasn’t that the point of Chuck’s diatribe?] I serve my country based on my commitment to my nation and the belief that we are here to do the right thing for another country, NOT based on where I sleep or the amount of money I make. I cannot comprehend that people would leave Iraq because they are on a waiting list and think there is corruption in a lowly billeting office. Look in your own office and how you do business, I bet I could find “favor trading” there too.
We have been working hard to fix this problem [What problem?] without help from the people we support. Organizations like yours have shown up, laid down a list of demands, and expect everything the same day. In case you have lost sight of reality, we are in Phase III Combat Operations. This means that bad guys are still shooting at us. This also makes it hard to get the needed supplies and equipment to get the mission completed. We also had to deal with bedding down 750 people after the Al Rashid attack—a task we did smoothly with only a group of incompetent and corrupt individuals [He admits it, eh.]. We have projected 2000 bed spaces coming due with in the next 2 ½ months. We projected, purchased, and built housing without your help or input and it will meet all our needs. You should think about thanking these folks for what they are trying to accomplish for you instead of ridiculing them.
Seymour.
====
Apparently, Chuck found the Colonel’s button and pressed way hard. This argument was quickly forwarded to portions of our group. I found it relatively amusing, but thought that cooler heads must prevail if ever we were to ever get a housing upgrade. As such, I thought it best if I wrote Chuck’s response.
====
Colonel,
I understand your commitment to both your country and her mission in Iraq. However, I also understand that many of us here are not driven solely by a similar sense of duty, but instead by a mixture of adequate compensation and a strong sense of service. Service being a voluntary response, whereas duty is more of an obligation.
As an “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna”, I fully understand that to ensure our best efforts, to ensure that this important work gets done, we must be treated with a level of care such that our performance is not compromised. If we are too distracted by this housing situation (or the condition of the bathrooms, or how the need for additional office space overrides our need for a safe place to sleep), our performance will suffer, and our job will not get done efficiently or effectively.
Most CPA employees do not share your rugged history of roughing it for the Country. They instead are accustomed to a basic level of service, provided on a consistent basis. No one here believes that we are anyplace else but an active war zone, and only a nimrod would believe that providing housing and provisions for such a large group is not a substantial undertaking. The purpose of this communication is not to belittle your performance, but to express the great level of frustration that we feel when dealing with the billeting office.
Since I know of individuals who have accepted rooms in trailers without your knowledge, and I know of individuals who have moved down significantly on the billeting list, my assumption is that these are not the only examples and that this may be indicative of the performance of the entire organization. My basic desire is that additional housing units continue to be erected, that KBR secures and maintains control over their housing inventory and that forthright information regarding the status of billeting be distributed on a regular basis.
====
And today I got the keys to my new trailer.
However, the best to come out of this is that the “Ungrateful Whiney Prima Donna” label is wildly amusing, and we call each other that all the time. Whenever we get around to developing a unit insignia, we’ll include the following:
Vagitus Ingatis Reguli. Read More......
2003-11-21
Friday, 21 November 2003
20:00 – Baghdad. I was awakened from my nap by the sound of gunfire. Machinegun fire, to be more precise, and it was coming from a point just over my left shoulder. I was alert in less than an instant and instinctively lifted my feet off of the floor. The floor being where enemy rounds generally enter a helicopter.
At that moment, the passenger facing me handed me a poorly scrawled note reading, ”we will be shooting our guns in ten or fifteen minutes”. Being fully, absolutely, and completely alert at the time, I realized that this note came from one of the gunners, and that all of the fire was friendly, probably aimed at the surrounding desolation. This was confirmed as I looked below to see the regularly spaced puffs of sand approach and pass through the charred remains of a turret-less Iraqi tank.
What a great ride.
I had to go to Arbil for a meeting with the Minister of Tourism and Public Works for ARNI (the Autonomous Region of Northern Iraq). Arbil is a beautiful city (compared to Baghdad). It’s said (by the people who live there) to be the oldest continuous human settlement, and is located in the foothills of the northern mountain range a hundred and a half miles north of here. It’s clean (by comparison), industrious (also by comparison), and much better landscaped. Since the Kurds there have long been strong supporters of the new regime, there results an environment with significantly less military presence, which is immensely calming.
Ooh, and the coffee.
But first - our two helicopters landed on a narrow ridge on the grounds of the CPA North compound outside of town, where we were met by a trio of UAV’s (Urban Assault Vehicles, i.e. SUV’s) who raced into town at speeds approaching 90 mph. Nice highway, actually, and a tribute to the independent Kurds who have been maintaining it for the past ten years (although superelevation rates could have been improved). Through the gate at the Ministry and we dismounted amidst a welcoming party including the Minister himself, as well as other provincial wheels and senior staff.
We were then escorted inside to a deluxe parlor where we would rest for a short time before the meeting. Here, relaxing on plush sofas, we were served brilliant espressos in wee gilded cups on wee gilded saucers and served by a besuited teaboy. By far, the best coffee I’ve had in six weeks.
The meeting itself went surprisingly well, although the interpreter needed some improvement. He kept using the English term “demand” instead of “request”, which put a sharper edge on the proceedings than was necessary. There were fourteen in attendance, plus three video cameramen and twice as many stills, recording for posterity and the Minister’s ego.
Afterwards, we retired again to the deluxe parlor and had another coffee. Through the interpreter, I praised the Minister for the coffee’s flavor and presentation and may have demanded something or other, but I have yet to pick up the least bit of Arabic. I did learn however, that the beans are foreign, just the methodology is local. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a light roasted Turkish bean, finely ground and espressoed, and served with just a spot of raw sugar. Compared to the swill KBR actually labels as “Fresh Hot Coffee”,… well, it was much better.
The flight was an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. Immediately adjacent to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers are the date plantations. Just beyond, land is extensively irrigated and I could see patches and fields of corn and vegetables, as well as areas just planted with grains. Since most of my work here concerns irrigation, this was a bonus I would not have received had we taken the highway.
Further still from the rivers are the arid, less-productive lands, where I only saw scattered herds of sheep amongst the scrub. Beyond the scrubland was desert. Even so, there were scattered mud houses. I’ve no idea how folks survive out there, but they’ve been doing well enough without practically everything for four thousand years.
It all goes by pretty fast though, as the Blackhawks were cruising in formation at just less than 140 knots about 100 feet off the deck. They would change course quickly and sporadically and would only gain altitude to swoop over power lines. It was as close to a motorcycle as I’ve been since leaving the States. Read More......
At that moment, the passenger facing me handed me a poorly scrawled note reading, ”we will be shooting our guns in ten or fifteen minutes”. Being fully, absolutely, and completely alert at the time, I realized that this note came from one of the gunners, and that all of the fire was friendly, probably aimed at the surrounding desolation. This was confirmed as I looked below to see the regularly spaced puffs of sand approach and pass through the charred remains of a turret-less Iraqi tank.
What a great ride.
I had to go to Arbil for a meeting with the Minister of Tourism and Public Works for ARNI (the Autonomous Region of Northern Iraq). Arbil is a beautiful city (compared to Baghdad). It’s said (by the people who live there) to be the oldest continuous human settlement, and is located in the foothills of the northern mountain range a hundred and a half miles north of here. It’s clean (by comparison), industrious (also by comparison), and much better landscaped. Since the Kurds there have long been strong supporters of the new regime, there results an environment with significantly less military presence, which is immensely calming.
Ooh, and the coffee.
But first - our two helicopters landed on a narrow ridge on the grounds of the CPA North compound outside of town, where we were met by a trio of UAV’s (Urban Assault Vehicles, i.e. SUV’s) who raced into town at speeds approaching 90 mph. Nice highway, actually, and a tribute to the independent Kurds who have been maintaining it for the past ten years (although superelevation rates could have been improved). Through the gate at the Ministry and we dismounted amidst a welcoming party including the Minister himself, as well as other provincial wheels and senior staff.
We were then escorted inside to a deluxe parlor where we would rest for a short time before the meeting. Here, relaxing on plush sofas, we were served brilliant espressos in wee gilded cups on wee gilded saucers and served by a besuited teaboy. By far, the best coffee I’ve had in six weeks.
The meeting itself went surprisingly well, although the interpreter needed some improvement. He kept using the English term “demand” instead of “request”, which put a sharper edge on the proceedings than was necessary. There were fourteen in attendance, plus three video cameramen and twice as many stills, recording for posterity and the Minister’s ego.
Afterwards, we retired again to the deluxe parlor and had another coffee. Through the interpreter, I praised the Minister for the coffee’s flavor and presentation and may have demanded something or other, but I have yet to pick up the least bit of Arabic. I did learn however, that the beans are foreign, just the methodology is local. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a light roasted Turkish bean, finely ground and espressoed, and served with just a spot of raw sugar. Compared to the swill KBR actually labels as “Fresh Hot Coffee”,… well, it was much better.
The flight was an excellent opportunity to see the countryside. Immediately adjacent to the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers are the date plantations. Just beyond, land is extensively irrigated and I could see patches and fields of corn and vegetables, as well as areas just planted with grains. Since most of my work here concerns irrigation, this was a bonus I would not have received had we taken the highway.
Further still from the rivers are the arid, less-productive lands, where I only saw scattered herds of sheep amongst the scrub. Beyond the scrubland was desert. Even so, there were scattered mud houses. I’ve no idea how folks survive out there, but they’ve been doing well enough without practically everything for four thousand years.
It all goes by pretty fast though, as the Blackhawks were cruising in formation at just less than 140 knots about 100 feet off the deck. They would change course quickly and sporadically and would only gain altitude to swoop over power lines. It was as close to a motorcycle as I’ve been since leaving the States. Read More......
2003-11-18
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
12:00 – Baghdad. At times, this place starts to wear on me. There’s a variety of issues. None of them particularly surprising, just profound annoyances.
On one hand, there’s the increasing bureaucracy at the PMO. This is expected. We’re just a lowly contractor here and our role as engineers is being gradually usurped by ranks of government employees – accountants, lawyers, bureaucrats, all. As usual, they judge their own progress by metrics that they established for themselves. They dwell on process, instead of progress. I was commanded to attend a meeting last night with a large gang of these types from the various CPA shadow ministries. They filled the thirty foot long conference table, speaking in acronyms and sounding important, as if theirs was the most vital and complex task in the world. What was this task? The filling of a form. Fortunately for them, the entire PMO engineering staff was seated along the wall to provide assistance. Project Title? Hmm. How about we use the name of the project for this one? “But what about the COR/DCOR AOR?”
On the other hand, there’s ineffectiveness at the Ministry. Under Saddam’s reign, government employees learned to make no decisions, for fear that the wrong choice would result in the loss of one’s head. Under the new regime, the Iraqis need to learn (quickly) to make decisions and accept the consequences. Until then, there’s a whole lotta nothing going on. There is a great deal of reliance upon CPA to decide on things and get the work done. This slows the transitional period. I think the phase out of the CPA by the first of June is a pipe dream, but dream they will until it’s time to awaken [insert your own sleepy little analogy]. My guess is that the CPA will be gone in June. Well, not really gone, just renamed “United States Embassy”.
If I had a third hand, I’d count the lack of clear communications between CPA, PMO, Ministries, and Governorates. The PMO is trying to do our thing, which is to usurp the CPA thing. It’s neither smooth nor easy, and the first thing to fail is communications. Typical.
Of course, my fourth hand would point to the state of my food and lodging. I’m eating dorm food at forty and sleeping in a six man closet. Nuff said.
My fifth (prehensile) hand would throttle local living conditions. As above, but add the fact that the showers and toilets are filthy. Really filthy. C’mon, for the average, fair and real generous Iraqi wage of three bucks a day, you’d think KBR could hire a couple of bathroom attendants. Maybe full time. Maybe three or four to a stall.
Six hands? Sure. Six hands. I need a phone. It’s a little embarrassing when there’s no way for your client to get a hold of you.
OK. Seven hands, but that’s my limit. I’ve been stuck in Baghdad for the past six weeks. That will change tomorrow, when my plan is to head north for the day. Get out of town. See some sights. Clear some of this dust out my throat. Collect some literary fodder. Read More......
On one hand, there’s the increasing bureaucracy at the PMO. This is expected. We’re just a lowly contractor here and our role as engineers is being gradually usurped by ranks of government employees – accountants, lawyers, bureaucrats, all. As usual, they judge their own progress by metrics that they established for themselves. They dwell on process, instead of progress. I was commanded to attend a meeting last night with a large gang of these types from the various CPA shadow ministries. They filled the thirty foot long conference table, speaking in acronyms and sounding important, as if theirs was the most vital and complex task in the world. What was this task? The filling of a form. Fortunately for them, the entire PMO engineering staff was seated along the wall to provide assistance. Project Title? Hmm. How about we use the name of the project for this one? “But what about the COR/DCOR AOR?”
On the other hand, there’s ineffectiveness at the Ministry. Under Saddam’s reign, government employees learned to make no decisions, for fear that the wrong choice would result in the loss of one’s head. Under the new regime, the Iraqis need to learn (quickly) to make decisions and accept the consequences. Until then, there’s a whole lotta nothing going on. There is a great deal of reliance upon CPA to decide on things and get the work done. This slows the transitional period. I think the phase out of the CPA by the first of June is a pipe dream, but dream they will until it’s time to awaken [insert your own sleepy little analogy]. My guess is that the CPA will be gone in June. Well, not really gone, just renamed “United States Embassy”.
If I had a third hand, I’d count the lack of clear communications between CPA, PMO, Ministries, and Governorates. The PMO is trying to do our thing, which is to usurp the CPA thing. It’s neither smooth nor easy, and the first thing to fail is communications. Typical.
Of course, my fourth hand would point to the state of my food and lodging. I’m eating dorm food at forty and sleeping in a six man closet. Nuff said.
My fifth (prehensile) hand would throttle local living conditions. As above, but add the fact that the showers and toilets are filthy. Really filthy. C’mon, for the average, fair and real generous Iraqi wage of three bucks a day, you’d think KBR could hire a couple of bathroom attendants. Maybe full time. Maybe three or four to a stall.
Six hands? Sure. Six hands. I need a phone. It’s a little embarrassing when there’s no way for your client to get a hold of you.
OK. Seven hands, but that’s my limit. I’ve been stuck in Baghdad for the past six weeks. That will change tomorrow, when my plan is to head north for the day. Get out of town. See some sights. Clear some of this dust out my throat. Collect some literary fodder. Read More......
Tuesday, 18 November, 2003
22:15 – Baghdad. George and I were talking in the first office (he has yet to move from there). I had expressed that I got my fifteen hours in. I was quitting for the day. Our conversation turned towards the Iraqi’s we work with whom, especially during Ramadan, don’t seem incredibly productive. pop.
“My” Iraqi’s at the Ministry of Water Resources show up to the office at nine or so, then head downstairs at a little after twelve, so that they aren’t late for leaving at one. pop,… pop, pop.
George offered that “his” Iraqi’s in the shadow Ministry of Electricity are crammed six to a room just upstairs and he never sees them doing anything. pop, pop, pop,… pop, pop.
“What? Right upstairs”, I asked. pop. pop. pop, pop, pop pop pop popopop popopopopopop
“Yeah.” pop. poppop. pop.
“Then what the hell are they doing now?” poppoppoppop poppoppoppop poppop.
“Clogging!” was his reply, and we laughed and laughed, and then Bob raced in, yelling “get in the hallway now, we’re being attacked!” And we’re laughing harder now,… repeating, “clogging!” between guffaws.
Bob was overreacting (he’s from New York, you know). There was an attack, but it was directed at the bad guys, not us. The popping was the large weapons of a gunship and launched exploding stuff, confirmed by the distinctive kitten-like “purrrr” of the chain guns.
No doubt, the activity was near by, probably on the other side of the Tigris, a kilometer or two distant. Not too far I suppose, but far enough for me and pointed in the right direction. This is part of our new strategy to open walnuts with sledge hammers, essentially hitting back really really hard, wiping out all evidence of the homes of the Saddamites and their explosives factories, especially after they launch an attack on the Coalition forces. This is not to be compared with an only vaguely similar type of strategy used by the Israelis, who obliterate the homes of the PLO after the PLO attacks them.
No, it’s a different thing, altogether.
No. Really. It’s different. We aren’t vindictive. Read More......
“My” Iraqi’s at the Ministry of Water Resources show up to the office at nine or so, then head downstairs at a little after twelve, so that they aren’t late for leaving at one. pop,… pop, pop.
George offered that “his” Iraqi’s in the shadow Ministry of Electricity are crammed six to a room just upstairs and he never sees them doing anything. pop, pop, pop,… pop, pop.
“What? Right upstairs”, I asked. pop. pop. pop, pop, pop pop pop popopop popopopopopop
“Yeah.” pop. poppop. pop.
“Then what the hell are they doing now?” poppoppoppop poppoppoppop poppop.
“Clogging!” was his reply, and we laughed and laughed, and then Bob raced in, yelling “get in the hallway now, we’re being attacked!” And we’re laughing harder now,… repeating, “clogging!” between guffaws.
Bob was overreacting (he’s from New York, you know). There was an attack, but it was directed at the bad guys, not us. The popping was the large weapons of a gunship and launched exploding stuff, confirmed by the distinctive kitten-like “purrrr” of the chain guns.
No doubt, the activity was near by, probably on the other side of the Tigris, a kilometer or two distant. Not too far I suppose, but far enough for me and pointed in the right direction. This is part of our new strategy to open walnuts with sledge hammers, essentially hitting back really really hard, wiping out all evidence of the homes of the Saddamites and their explosives factories, especially after they launch an attack on the Coalition forces. This is not to be compared with an only vaguely similar type of strategy used by the Israelis, who obliterate the homes of the PLO after the PLO attacks them.
No, it’s a different thing, altogether.
No. Really. It’s different. We aren’t vindictive. Read More......
2003-11-13
Wednesday, November 13, 2003
16:45 – Baghdad. We’ve moved again, both office and billet. Instead of an All Hands electromail this time to tell us of this impending relocation, the powers that be simply deposited flyers on each bunk in the north wing, informing us that we would be relocated to the Chapel the next day. The bunks in the north wing are scattered around the foyer and the serpentine hallways and crannies formed by the sloppy subdivision of the larger spaces as required to accommodate the ever increasing office needs of the CPA. It’s a far reaching development, but there’s enough walls around to give the impression of reduced density.
The chapel, by comparison, is one large box of a room with a mural of the Dome on the Rock on one wall, and SCUD’s rocketing towards Jerusalem on another. It used to be Saddam’s local intimidation chamber. He would sit on his throne under the SCUDs, and pass life or death judgments on the unfortunate few who were commanded to attend. It is now filled with bunk beds, arranged in tight rows, separated by less than two feet on a side. I have yet to count, but there must be bunks enough to store at least three or four hundred people in this space, inconveniently located adjacent to the mess hall, where more than 11,000 meals are served each day. It’s a long way from the relative quiet (and bathrooms) of the north wing.
We refused to move there. Instead, we are living under our desks, more or less.
The ultimate solution to our office space dilemma is to take over a 14,000 square foot space at the south end of the palace. This may be a bit spacious for our current group, but we do expect the IIRO/PMO to grow to about 150 within six months, so we’ll need lots of room. As of now, there’s just the sixteen of us in the PMO now joined by the Admiral (David Nash, retired) and his staff of eight. It’s not as nice as it will be though, once the former tenants finish moving out.
KBR (Kellogg Brown and Root, pronounced “Halliburton”) is performing many of the mundane tasks associated with the occupation. In the palace, their most notable contribution is providing food and lodging to CPA staff. And since KBR folks need lodging to, they had been using this 14,000 square feet (0.130 hectares for the Metrically inclined) for offices and sleeping space. Most of the offices have been cleaned out, but there are still scores of tradesmen sleeping in “the Ghetto”, as they so lovingly refer to our new end of the building. They should be out of here and completely moved into their new accommodations by Friday.
Of course, saying something will be done by Friday is the Iraqi equivalent to “soon come”. A more reasonable estimate would be a month from now.
We expect to move our desks a couple of times as we take over the balance of the space and our staff increases. As for my bunk,… I’m happy where it is now, actually, and wouldn’t mind keeping it there for the duration. Although there are still six of us in one adequately sized storeroom to the back of the Ghetto, the lack of general palace noise is dramatic. Add to that the white noise from a very effective air conditioning unit, and we all overslept this morning, each victims of a rare relaxing sleep. Read More......
The chapel, by comparison, is one large box of a room with a mural of the Dome on the Rock on one wall, and SCUD’s rocketing towards Jerusalem on another. It used to be Saddam’s local intimidation chamber. He would sit on his throne under the SCUDs, and pass life or death judgments on the unfortunate few who were commanded to attend. It is now filled with bunk beds, arranged in tight rows, separated by less than two feet on a side. I have yet to count, but there must be bunks enough to store at least three or four hundred people in this space, inconveniently located adjacent to the mess hall, where more than 11,000 meals are served each day. It’s a long way from the relative quiet (and bathrooms) of the north wing.
We refused to move there. Instead, we are living under our desks, more or less.
The ultimate solution to our office space dilemma is to take over a 14,000 square foot space at the south end of the palace. This may be a bit spacious for our current group, but we do expect the IIRO/PMO to grow to about 150 within six months, so we’ll need lots of room. As of now, there’s just the sixteen of us in the PMO now joined by the Admiral (David Nash, retired) and his staff of eight. It’s not as nice as it will be though, once the former tenants finish moving out.
KBR (Kellogg Brown and Root, pronounced “Halliburton”) is performing many of the mundane tasks associated with the occupation. In the palace, their most notable contribution is providing food and lodging to CPA staff. And since KBR folks need lodging to, they had been using this 14,000 square feet (0.130 hectares for the Metrically inclined) for offices and sleeping space. Most of the offices have been cleaned out, but there are still scores of tradesmen sleeping in “the Ghetto”, as they so lovingly refer to our new end of the building. They should be out of here and completely moved into their new accommodations by Friday.
Of course, saying something will be done by Friday is the Iraqi equivalent to “soon come”. A more reasonable estimate would be a month from now.
We expect to move our desks a couple of times as we take over the balance of the space and our staff increases. As for my bunk,… I’m happy where it is now, actually, and wouldn’t mind keeping it there for the duration. Although there are still six of us in one adequately sized storeroom to the back of the Ghetto, the lack of general palace noise is dramatic. Add to that the white noise from a very effective air conditioning unit, and we all overslept this morning, each victims of a rare relaxing sleep. Read More......
Thursday, November 13, 2003
14:45, Baghdad – Now that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for defending the palace, they have made it a habit of reminding us that they have developed a plan for defending the palace, and they send us electromail about how they are defending the palace every other day. Today’s focused on how well the palace was constructed, and how it could easily withstand mortar and rocket fire. On this point, I would tend to agree. A direct hit would do some local damage, but this is no house of cards.
Not at all. This is a house of bad taste.
When entering the palace grounds through the front gate, the first thing you notice is the giant heads. Saddam’s ego was huge, and he mounted busts to match atop four locations of the front of the building. Each is easily twenty feet tall, and depicts the former president in an open collared shirt and Kaiser helmet. When you stand close, you can look up his nostrils.
It makes me wonder sometimes that we have yet to tear these down as they seem to stalk the entire CPA staff throughout the day. I have heard that contracts for their removal have been signed and delayed and canceled due to concerns about the cultural significance of Saddam’s giant heads. Strange, on all of the murals and the city’s remaining statues, Saddam’s head has been violently removed. I’d at least have painted moustaches on them.
No. Wait. He’s already got a moustache. I’d have to add fright wigs instead, or giant arrows through his head (most likely, the horns are already under the helmet).
The only real problem I see with decapitation is that the Coalition-supporting bats probably live there. Each evening, they descend from their roosts to consume in great quantities the evil Saddam-supporting anti-Coalition mosquitoes that hang about the place. If the bats are dislocated, evil will win.
There are a few large bronze flourishes mounted near the north and south entrances but, other than those, there’s little of this place that would qualify it for the cover of Keeps and Castles. From the outside, what you notice mostly is the shear size of the building. At over 1,200 feet long, there’s at least a half a million square feet of finished space on two excessively tall main floors,… plus a basement,… plus ancillary structures,... plus the pool house. It’s reinforced concrete mostly, and covered in a dull yellow sandstone facade.
What is most noticeable about the interior is the marble. Marble floors. Marble walls. Marble stairs. Marble handrails. Marble bathroom fixtures. Marble wainscoting. Marble tables. Marble this and marble that. It’s totally marblectible!
And it’s atrocious.
The finish and installation quality is first rate, with complex and detailed patterns everywhere. But, despite robbing his people of trillions of Dinar, it still looks like Saddam only bought the marble that was on sale at Menards. Each room is different and there is no interconnecting theme of design – except for the theme of “gobs of mismatched cut rate sale bin clearance sale marble”.
What a pud.
The only feature that I really like is the ceilings in the hallways and antechambers. Many of them are frescoed in plaster, using various repeating floral and geometric patterns, delicately painted in pastel pinks, blues and greens. This type of finish does continue throughout the palace. Sadly, their subtle softness is in such contrast to the marble, that they have little affect on the rigid ambiance of the space.
Most spaces are lit by chandeliers. Big chandeliers. Small chandeliers. Sconce chandeliers. Queer chandeliers. Paid three bucks at Wal Mart chandeliers. Again, atrocious, tasteless details, cheap cut glass, and they’re bad work lights, too.
This place is not wired for anything even close to 21st century communications, so miles of cabling are strung on the ceilings and walls and floors, duct taped as required to reduced tripping hazards. There are very few naturally occurring electrical outlets, so there are now hundreds of extension cords and power strips strung across floors and in scattered and tangled piles, as required to power our numerous machines and accessories.
There aren’t enough bathrooms, either.
Ultimately, it won’t be missiles or mortars - what will destroy the palace is the thousands who work here. I have no clue what Saddam used this place for, but it was not intended as a functional administrative building. I don’t know the current CPA staffing levels either (besides thousands), but the Sergeant who tallies the folks in the chow line told me that KBR serves over 11,500 meals a day here. All these folks overtax the plumbing and the power, and I won’t be surprised when the building gives up, outlets smoking and sewage spewing.
Not exactly a fairy tale ending. Read More......
Not at all. This is a house of bad taste.
When entering the palace grounds through the front gate, the first thing you notice is the giant heads. Saddam’s ego was huge, and he mounted busts to match atop four locations of the front of the building. Each is easily twenty feet tall, and depicts the former president in an open collared shirt and Kaiser helmet. When you stand close, you can look up his nostrils.
It makes me wonder sometimes that we have yet to tear these down as they seem to stalk the entire CPA staff throughout the day. I have heard that contracts for their removal have been signed and delayed and canceled due to concerns about the cultural significance of Saddam’s giant heads. Strange, on all of the murals and the city’s remaining statues, Saddam’s head has been violently removed. I’d at least have painted moustaches on them.
No. Wait. He’s already got a moustache. I’d have to add fright wigs instead, or giant arrows through his head (most likely, the horns are already under the helmet).
The only real problem I see with decapitation is that the Coalition-supporting bats probably live there. Each evening, they descend from their roosts to consume in great quantities the evil Saddam-supporting anti-Coalition mosquitoes that hang about the place. If the bats are dislocated, evil will win.
There are a few large bronze flourishes mounted near the north and south entrances but, other than those, there’s little of this place that would qualify it for the cover of Keeps and Castles. From the outside, what you notice mostly is the shear size of the building. At over 1,200 feet long, there’s at least a half a million square feet of finished space on two excessively tall main floors,… plus a basement,… plus ancillary structures,... plus the pool house. It’s reinforced concrete mostly, and covered in a dull yellow sandstone facade.
What is most noticeable about the interior is the marble. Marble floors. Marble walls. Marble stairs. Marble handrails. Marble bathroom fixtures. Marble wainscoting. Marble tables. Marble this and marble that. It’s totally marblectible!
And it’s atrocious.
The finish and installation quality is first rate, with complex and detailed patterns everywhere. But, despite robbing his people of trillions of Dinar, it still looks like Saddam only bought the marble that was on sale at Menards. Each room is different and there is no interconnecting theme of design – except for the theme of “gobs of mismatched cut rate sale bin clearance sale marble”.
What a pud.
The only feature that I really like is the ceilings in the hallways and antechambers. Many of them are frescoed in plaster, using various repeating floral and geometric patterns, delicately painted in pastel pinks, blues and greens. This type of finish does continue throughout the palace. Sadly, their subtle softness is in such contrast to the marble, that they have little affect on the rigid ambiance of the space.
Most spaces are lit by chandeliers. Big chandeliers. Small chandeliers. Sconce chandeliers. Queer chandeliers. Paid three bucks at Wal Mart chandeliers. Again, atrocious, tasteless details, cheap cut glass, and they’re bad work lights, too.
This place is not wired for anything even close to 21st century communications, so miles of cabling are strung on the ceilings and walls and floors, duct taped as required to reduced tripping hazards. There are very few naturally occurring electrical outlets, so there are now hundreds of extension cords and power strips strung across floors and in scattered and tangled piles, as required to power our numerous machines and accessories.
There aren’t enough bathrooms, either.
Ultimately, it won’t be missiles or mortars - what will destroy the palace is the thousands who work here. I have no clue what Saddam used this place for, but it was not intended as a functional administrative building. I don’t know the current CPA staffing levels either (besides thousands), but the Sergeant who tallies the folks in the chow line told me that KBR serves over 11,500 meals a day here. All these folks overtax the plumbing and the power, and I won’t be surprised when the building gives up, outlets smoking and sewage spewing.
Not exactly a fairy tale ending. Read More......
2003-11-08
Saturday, 08 November 2003
08:30 – Baghdad. The Gurka’s have been reassigned, it seems. As I left the palace this morning en route to the shower trailer, the exterior door was guarded by two well-armed Marines. When I returned, they scrutinized my identification to a degree long disregarded by the Nepalese soldiers they replaced. I missed their entrance, but those who did likened it to an attack on the palace as they secured their position.
The Gurkas generally dressed only in their BDU’s (Basic Duty Uniforms), and were armed with M-16’s and long curved knives. These Marines are clad in their DCU’s (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), but also have rifles, pistols, knives, throat mounted radio, plastic handcuffs, flak vests and helmets. Apparently, they are specially trained in anti-terrorist/anti-insurgency techniques and will repel or destroy any anti-coalition forces that should breech the palace compound.
It would appear then, that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for the defense of the Palace. Good. Elite fighting men have been placed on our perimeter. Good. The Gurkas have been tasked to patrol the “man camps” (trailer parks) around the palace, where there were no patrols before. Good. But can they defend against Igor Klic’s forehand? I don’t think so.
I played a few sets of tennis one recent Friday afternoon with Igor “Doktor Pumps” Klic and Peter “the Wolf” Petrovski, part of the Czech contingent here. Both work for the CPA, Igor in the shadow Ministry of Water Resources, and Peter in the shadow Ministry of Defense. If I could keep Peter running cross court, I had a chance at a point or two. With Igor though, only luck kept me from getting blanked,... and maybe the fact that I was using a poorly strung and small headed racket (it must have been the equipment).
Ultimately, they both ran me ragged.
Strange event, though. The courts are on the grounds of the Al Rashid, west of the hotel. If we were playing in the morning, I could have said that I “played in the shadow of the missile riddled hotel”, but I’m not into that Fox News kind of reporting. There were no hotel shadows on the west lawn in the afternoon. Actually, there were very few shadows at all. It was very sunny and very hot and very dry and each time the ball hit the paved court, puffs of dust would be dislodged. More dust to be re-lodged in the back of my throat.
The court fence has been incorporated into the defensive perimeter and has been topped with concertina wire. The adjacent pool has been drained since before the war and unused and dusty deck chairs are randomly scattered about it. The hotel is essentially deserted while it undergoes repairs, so there were no guests strolling the lawn. The building itself still shows the damage from each impact; blown out windows, shattered concrete, ash and residue from the explosions pepper the facade of the middle floors.
And we’re the only ones around, and we’re playing a few friendly sets of tennis. Read More......
The Gurkas generally dressed only in their BDU’s (Basic Duty Uniforms), and were armed with M-16’s and long curved knives. These Marines are clad in their DCU’s (Desert Camouflage Uniforms), but also have rifles, pistols, knives, throat mounted radio, plastic handcuffs, flak vests and helmets. Apparently, they are specially trained in anti-terrorist/anti-insurgency techniques and will repel or destroy any anti-coalition forces that should breech the palace compound.
It would appear then, that Bremer and Kennedy have developed a plan for the defense of the Palace. Good. Elite fighting men have been placed on our perimeter. Good. The Gurkas have been tasked to patrol the “man camps” (trailer parks) around the palace, where there were no patrols before. Good. But can they defend against Igor Klic’s forehand? I don’t think so.
I played a few sets of tennis one recent Friday afternoon with Igor “Doktor Pumps” Klic and Peter “the Wolf” Petrovski, part of the Czech contingent here. Both work for the CPA, Igor in the shadow Ministry of Water Resources, and Peter in the shadow Ministry of Defense. If I could keep Peter running cross court, I had a chance at a point or two. With Igor though, only luck kept me from getting blanked,... and maybe the fact that I was using a poorly strung and small headed racket (it must have been the equipment).
Ultimately, they both ran me ragged.
Strange event, though. The courts are on the grounds of the Al Rashid, west of the hotel. If we were playing in the morning, I could have said that I “played in the shadow of the missile riddled hotel”, but I’m not into that Fox News kind of reporting. There were no hotel shadows on the west lawn in the afternoon. Actually, there were very few shadows at all. It was very sunny and very hot and very dry and each time the ball hit the paved court, puffs of dust would be dislodged. More dust to be re-lodged in the back of my throat.
The court fence has been incorporated into the defensive perimeter and has been topped with concertina wire. The adjacent pool has been drained since before the war and unused and dusty deck chairs are randomly scattered about it. The hotel is essentially deserted while it undergoes repairs, so there were no guests strolling the lawn. The building itself still shows the damage from each impact; blown out windows, shattered concrete, ash and residue from the explosions pepper the facade of the middle floors.
And we’re the only ones around, and we’re playing a few friendly sets of tennis. Read More......
2003-11-06
Thursday, 06 November 2003
15:00 – Baghdad. Moving day at the PMO. The downstairs space was getting on people’s nerves. I could start to sense the hostility arising from the close quarters, so getting out of that space was imperative. For my part, I was getting more and more out of touch with the project conversation, a vital component of a project like this. It moves so fast and from many directions one has to hear what’s going on in each sector just to understand what’s going on in one’s own.
So we moved. Now, instead of a 350 square foot office in Saddam’s palace, we’re on most of the third floor of Saddam’s Mother-in-law’s palace. Not all of us, but enough for my needs. The last office was getting to me, anyway. The USACE guys I shared it with had a damaged culture. Individually, some of the guys were swell, but as a group I wanted nothing more to do with them. Actually, some were even worse by themselves, as the backstabbing was continuous. Perhaps this was the inevitable result of six months of close quartered engineering. More likely, the cause was lack of effective leadership in their group, poorly represented by a soft-spoken enabler.
One entertaining facet of that old space was the 20:00 meetings. I was never invited, but if and when I worked that late, I attended by default. Nightly, eight to ten majors and colonels would participate in a video conference call with commands across the country, as well as with their counterparts in the States. This conference discussed the status of the war, collecting daily reports from all quarters. Not a cool as the one giving the orders I’d imagine, but interesting, nonetheless, as various commanders gave their reports as to the status of the war, the peace, and the reconstruction.
The new place is locally known as the IPC (Iraq Provisional Command). At one point, this was the HQ (headquarters (just in case)) to the front line Army engineers. Their mission is substantially complete, as the PMO is mobilizing to finish the job the Army started.
There’s not as much marble as in the palace, but this place is well marbled anyway. Saddam must have liked his wife’s ma at least a little bit.
The two storied columned entrance and a couple sets of grand doors lead to a reception area on the first floor. Spiraled marble steps take us upstairs to a long windowed room overlooking the Tigris. I have selected the only desk away from the windows. For one, it’s closer to the couch and two, it’s not as close to the windows. We have access to the veranda, which affords a panoramic view of the river and the City center beyond. If only Baghdad wasn’t such a shithole. There is water in sight, which is some comfort to me. I get edgy if I can’t see a river, stream, lake, pond, or sea on occasion
The IPC was constructed right on the right bank of the Tigris, about a twenty minute walk upstream of the Palace and, unlike at the palace, there is no setback or battlements between us and the river. The current residents say you can spot the missiles overhead as they head into the Green Zone at night. The humor’s a bit morbid here at times, but it is a war zone after all.
However, this not a very important building, especially when compared to the palace so, despite the clear shot to the veranda from the left bank, we’re probably safer here than in the old place.
At least we’re safe from the Iraqis. I went up to the roof to take some pictures shortly after moving in, including an image of one of the other spectacular mansions that festoon the neighborhood. Not ten minutes after I left the roof for the office space a Bird Colonel appeared inquiring if anyone had been taking pictures of the aforementioned mansion.
As it turned out, that is where some of the Special Ops gang is headquartered, and they do NOT like their picture taken (I looked hard at the image and could not see who saw me). The accompanying threat was that their 7.62mm’s were more effective than my 35mm.
Neanderthal jerks. I was using a digital camera.
There was almost a second move today. An All Hands electromail was sent informing residents of the north ballroom that they would be relocated within two hours to the Gurka tent to the north of the building. They claimed that this was for our safety. Huh? How is a tent safer than marble walls when subjected to mortar fire?
I suppose all the residents of the north ballroom asked this question, some louder than others, and a retraction electromail was released less than an hour later. The real reason I surmise, was that KBR needs to convert the dormitory space into offices for the increasing staff of the CPA. They made a few promises without thinking through the consequences. Perhaps like our involvement here from the start. Well, let history decide.
It’s Bob’s 50th birthday today, so we’re off to buy him a beer or three at the bowling alley bar at the Al Rashid (the upstairs bars have yet to reopen). Read More......
So we moved. Now, instead of a 350 square foot office in Saddam’s palace, we’re on most of the third floor of Saddam’s Mother-in-law’s palace. Not all of us, but enough for my needs. The last office was getting to me, anyway. The USACE guys I shared it with had a damaged culture. Individually, some of the guys were swell, but as a group I wanted nothing more to do with them. Actually, some were even worse by themselves, as the backstabbing was continuous. Perhaps this was the inevitable result of six months of close quartered engineering. More likely, the cause was lack of effective leadership in their group, poorly represented by a soft-spoken enabler.
One entertaining facet of that old space was the 20:00 meetings. I was never invited, but if and when I worked that late, I attended by default. Nightly, eight to ten majors and colonels would participate in a video conference call with commands across the country, as well as with their counterparts in the States. This conference discussed the status of the war, collecting daily reports from all quarters. Not a cool as the one giving the orders I’d imagine, but interesting, nonetheless, as various commanders gave their reports as to the status of the war, the peace, and the reconstruction.
The new place is locally known as the IPC (Iraq Provisional Command). At one point, this was the HQ (headquarters (just in case)) to the front line Army engineers. Their mission is substantially complete, as the PMO is mobilizing to finish the job the Army started.
There’s not as much marble as in the palace, but this place is well marbled anyway. Saddam must have liked his wife’s ma at least a little bit.
The two storied columned entrance and a couple sets of grand doors lead to a reception area on the first floor. Spiraled marble steps take us upstairs to a long windowed room overlooking the Tigris. I have selected the only desk away from the windows. For one, it’s closer to the couch and two, it’s not as close to the windows. We have access to the veranda, which affords a panoramic view of the river and the City center beyond. If only Baghdad wasn’t such a shithole. There is water in sight, which is some comfort to me. I get edgy if I can’t see a river, stream, lake, pond, or sea on occasion
The IPC was constructed right on the right bank of the Tigris, about a twenty minute walk upstream of the Palace and, unlike at the palace, there is no setback or battlements between us and the river. The current residents say you can spot the missiles overhead as they head into the Green Zone at night. The humor’s a bit morbid here at times, but it is a war zone after all.
However, this not a very important building, especially when compared to the palace so, despite the clear shot to the veranda from the left bank, we’re probably safer here than in the old place.
At least we’re safe from the Iraqis. I went up to the roof to take some pictures shortly after moving in, including an image of one of the other spectacular mansions that festoon the neighborhood. Not ten minutes after I left the roof for the office space a Bird Colonel appeared inquiring if anyone had been taking pictures of the aforementioned mansion.
As it turned out, that is where some of the Special Ops gang is headquartered, and they do NOT like their picture taken (I looked hard at the image and could not see who saw me). The accompanying threat was that their 7.62mm’s were more effective than my 35mm.
Neanderthal jerks. I was using a digital camera.
There was almost a second move today. An All Hands electromail was sent informing residents of the north ballroom that they would be relocated within two hours to the Gurka tent to the north of the building. They claimed that this was for our safety. Huh? How is a tent safer than marble walls when subjected to mortar fire?
I suppose all the residents of the north ballroom asked this question, some louder than others, and a retraction electromail was released less than an hour later. The real reason I surmise, was that KBR needs to convert the dormitory space into offices for the increasing staff of the CPA. They made a few promises without thinking through the consequences. Perhaps like our involvement here from the start. Well, let history decide.
It’s Bob’s 50th birthday today, so we’re off to buy him a beer or three at the bowling alley bar at the Al Rashid (the upstairs bars have yet to reopen). Read More......
2003-11-01
Saturday, November 01, 2003
07:00 – Baghdad. I fully expected the palace to be attacked in some way last night. My shattered expectations are a great comfort to me now, but caused a fair amount of consternation through the night.
I could practically hear the beating of my heart. Rapidly thump-a-tumping to such an extent that I felt it would bust out of my chest. Can this level of adrenaline kill you (to die of fright), or does it prevent the aging process, like it did to Chekov in that Star Trek episode where everyone ages rapidly but him, the hundred year old children ran the show, and we got to see Yeoman Rand’s legs.
What would I hear just prior? The whoosh of an incoming rocket? Gunfire? Distant yelling? Would any of these be preceded by the planned two blasts of the Gurka’s air horns? How could I possibly hear any of these over the 120 dB snores of the guy three cots to the right? Underneath were the softer snores, each to their own cadence. Beneath those were the quiet steps, soft voices, and creaking bed frames. So many internal noises, I could never ascertain if there was something going on outside. Each footfall was a rifle shot. Each closing door a mortar.
This drove me nuts, and I was fully awake at four, staring at the ceiling and listening. Maybe the attack would be at dawn. Might as well, I wasn’t going to sleep anymore.
Baghdad Central got more crowded last night as I “slept”, our numbers swelled by more Al Rashid refugees and some trailer people, whose more permanent billets are closer to the wall. I watched as one of these newbies tried to open a door leading outside (although always locked after lights out) and dislocated the chair that had been placed in front of it, producing a sharp and abrasive scrape. Immediately, I saw the full and open whites of Bob’s eyes from the bunk next to me. I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
One thing was certain, the comforting town hall meeting last night was much less than comforting. The more I think of it, the more it seems that Bremer and Kennedy and the General and his Colonel have no plan at all to protect the palace compound. Once the insurgents breech the wall, its only a couple of Gurkas and two small groups of Military Police (MP’s) for a four and a half hectare palace. At any one time, there can be a couple of thousand civilians in the palace, either sleeping or working. Would it not be a good thing to give the civilians an idea as to what their role would be in the defense of our quarters, besides “duck and cover”?
Now I’m pissed.
More so, that I ever bought the whole rumor and lost sleep because of it. Our enemy here is not five hundred crazed and suicidal fanatics. It’s time…. and a couple dozen crazed (but not particularly suicidal) fanatics that are against us. Any direct attack on the Green Zone would result in an eventual and total loss for the attackers. There is no way that any significant and/or effective force of suicide combatants could be organized.
No. What we’ll continue to get is a couple of mortar rounds lobbed at us a couple of times a week,… and the occasional rocket, and the car bombs and IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices, not to be confused with the VBIED’s (Very Big (or more often Vehicle Borne) IED’s)). It’s primarily the mortars. The shitheads with the them tend to drive a truck onto an adjacent street, then stop and quickly set up the mortar tube and launch two or three projectiles before speeding off into the Baghdad night. The problem with these guys is that they are thinking of escape before they complete the attack, so they never hit a prime target.
Much like a shortstop that starts to make his throw to First before he actually has fielded the ball. He’s bound to error. If this was a football analogy, the misguided receiver would fumble. If it was a cooking analogy, dinner would suck. Craig called these guys “puds” the other day. I haven’t heard that disparaging moniker for a long while.
Interesting Arab Trivia: The “thumbs up” symbol in the Middle East is traditionally shorthand for “up yours”. So, was that six-year-old Iraqi lad I saw the other day gesturing in support, or derision? Read More......
I could practically hear the beating of my heart. Rapidly thump-a-tumping to such an extent that I felt it would bust out of my chest. Can this level of adrenaline kill you (to die of fright), or does it prevent the aging process, like it did to Chekov in that Star Trek episode where everyone ages rapidly but him, the hundred year old children ran the show, and we got to see Yeoman Rand’s legs.
What would I hear just prior? The whoosh of an incoming rocket? Gunfire? Distant yelling? Would any of these be preceded by the planned two blasts of the Gurka’s air horns? How could I possibly hear any of these over the 120 dB snores of the guy three cots to the right? Underneath were the softer snores, each to their own cadence. Beneath those were the quiet steps, soft voices, and creaking bed frames. So many internal noises, I could never ascertain if there was something going on outside. Each footfall was a rifle shot. Each closing door a mortar.
This drove me nuts, and I was fully awake at four, staring at the ceiling and listening. Maybe the attack would be at dawn. Might as well, I wasn’t going to sleep anymore.
Baghdad Central got more crowded last night as I “slept”, our numbers swelled by more Al Rashid refugees and some trailer people, whose more permanent billets are closer to the wall. I watched as one of these newbies tried to open a door leading outside (although always locked after lights out) and dislocated the chair that had been placed in front of it, producing a sharp and abrasive scrape. Immediately, I saw the full and open whites of Bob’s eyes from the bunk next to me. I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
One thing was certain, the comforting town hall meeting last night was much less than comforting. The more I think of it, the more it seems that Bremer and Kennedy and the General and his Colonel have no plan at all to protect the palace compound. Once the insurgents breech the wall, its only a couple of Gurkas and two small groups of Military Police (MP’s) for a four and a half hectare palace. At any one time, there can be a couple of thousand civilians in the palace, either sleeping or working. Would it not be a good thing to give the civilians an idea as to what their role would be in the defense of our quarters, besides “duck and cover”?
Now I’m pissed.
More so, that I ever bought the whole rumor and lost sleep because of it. Our enemy here is not five hundred crazed and suicidal fanatics. It’s time…. and a couple dozen crazed (but not particularly suicidal) fanatics that are against us. Any direct attack on the Green Zone would result in an eventual and total loss for the attackers. There is no way that any significant and/or effective force of suicide combatants could be organized.
No. What we’ll continue to get is a couple of mortar rounds lobbed at us a couple of times a week,… and the occasional rocket, and the car bombs and IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices, not to be confused with the VBIED’s (Very Big (or more often Vehicle Borne) IED’s)). It’s primarily the mortars. The shitheads with the them tend to drive a truck onto an adjacent street, then stop and quickly set up the mortar tube and launch two or three projectiles before speeding off into the Baghdad night. The problem with these guys is that they are thinking of escape before they complete the attack, so they never hit a prime target.
Much like a shortstop that starts to make his throw to First before he actually has fielded the ball. He’s bound to error. If this was a football analogy, the misguided receiver would fumble. If it was a cooking analogy, dinner would suck. Craig called these guys “puds” the other day. I haven’t heard that disparaging moniker for a long while.
Interesting Arab Trivia: The “thumbs up” symbol in the Middle East is traditionally shorthand for “up yours”. So, was that six-year-old Iraqi lad I saw the other day gesturing in support, or derision? Read More......
2003-10-31
Friday, 31 October 2003
16:30 – Baghdad. Halloween. There is a greater sense of unease in the palace, despite the respite offered by the cooler temperatures the past few days. One of our many enemies, Al Qaida, has been pamphleteering Baghdad for the past few days, calling for a mass attack tomorrow, the “Day of Resistance”. The most common rumor is that they intend to send five hundred men against us, in scattered packs across the Green Zone wall, then onwards towards the palace, where they will kill every thing in sight until they are wiped out by Coalition forces.
The Army seems to be taking this threat seriously, as more and more of them are carrying their weapons. Officers as well, even those who you thought had thrown off the practice long ago, are strapping on the Berettas and slinging the M-16’s. The Gurkas are wearing their flak vests now, as they guard the palace entrances, and they are a bit more stern than usual. I’ve seen less of the mercenaries, but they may be out trying to head off the opposition.
We were advised to stay close to our vests and helmets for the next few days, and I am heeding this advice for the most part. As well, I asked Captain Song for the five minute lesson on M-16’s – magazine placement, feeding a round, safety, fire, three round burst. Just in case.
Of course, I have yet to be issued a weapon, but I’m sure there will be plenty around if worst comes to worst. Personally, I’m going to find the basement if there’s time, or lock myself in the office if there isn’t. Let the professionals do their jobs.
Someone told me to stay far away from the mercs and PSDs (personal security detail) if there’s trouble. They only protect what they are paid to protect, so it may be real easy to get in the way of these guys.
Someone else told me that the Gurkas would go berserk in a firefight. If they enter a room hot, the best defense is to hit the deck and stay there, as they will shoot anything standing.
Swell.
I’d prefer to be armed while locked in the office.
No one’s freaking out just yet, but there’s definitely something in the air. In thirteen minutes, Ambassador Bremer is scheduled to lead a “Town Hall” meeting in the palace Chapel to discuss the security issues. I should leave now if want a good view.
---
Bremer is around 50 years old, good looking and confident. To an SRO crowd of twelve to fifteen hundred churchmouse quiet attendees, he passed on the President’s thoughts that we are heroes already, for accepting this noble (and bizarre) assignment in service to our country. Also speaking was his deputy, Ambassador Kennedy, sunken chest and intellectual, who outlined palace-specific security measures. General Sanchez was there as well, who’s in charge of the Coalition Joint Task Force, and one of his Colonels, who is tasked with protecting the Green Zone.
Between them, they expressed their plans to protect us tonight. They have doubled the guard. Increased the armor at the gates. Upped patrol and ambush units on both sides of the wall. Gurkas have doubled up.
In case of an attack (“in case of”), Gurka air horns will sound two blasts, at which point we are to duck and cover ourselves with our helmets and flak vests until such time as we hear three blasts of the air horn. Force Protection will take care of the rest they say.
Bremer, under the watchful eyes of his Secret Service detail, then opened things up to questions. Armed military not otherwise assigned are to establish a defensive posture and comply with the rules of engagement. Civilians who are policemen in the States can carry. Civilians who are only civilians cannot. Kennedy answered this one, saying something like, “you would be a bigger threat to me than the attackers”. “… a bigger threat to HIM?” Fuck him. He’s got the god damned Secret Service to protect him. All I need is a PDW (personal defensive weapon). I won’t be offensive unless I have to! Hell, I’m gonna lock myself in an office far away from Kennedy and his personal security detachment, I’ll be no threat to him…. unless he tries to enter my locked office.
No one was particularly comforted by these speeches. Force Protection doesn’t have a clue. We left en masse for a sullen, Mexican themed Halloween chow.
Afterwards, I headed back to Baghdad Central. I sat in the comfy gilded sofa and was going to read today’s issue of Stars and Stripes, but was distracted by a magazine dedicated to aficionados of radio controlled aircraft. [Apparently, recent advances in brushless electric motors has made flying 100% electric planes and helicopters increasingly viable (although the hobbyist’s love affair with gas engines won’t be fading any time soon).]
I was further distracted by a close conversation between three British policemen bunked near me and an Army Lieutenant Colonel. The Bobbies thought it best if they deployed outside once the shit hit the fan, and tried to join in the defense of the palace. The LTC had a different plan for these men.
As they were only cops, they had very little combat training (except maybe their eighteen months in Bosnia). They should instead defend the interior of the structure and the people within. Maybe he didn’t actually include “people within”, but I would have like to have heard it. The Colonel surmised that the first Kolichnaya rocket would have little trouble breeching the exterior walls of our sleeping foyer. As the invaders (the Al Qaida invaders, not the Yankee Imperialist Dog invaders) swept through the foyer, the Bobbies were to fall back to the interior hallway and defend the stair.
At this, I recalled that there is a large magazine (not RC planes this time, but the room full of guns) at the top of the stair, turn left, ten meters, turn left, break down the door. I’m thinking of heading there before I go lock myself in the office (30 meters to the right of the top of the stairs).
This Colonel seemed more certain of the attack. Gung Ho Soldier Man. He also seemed certain that the attackers were already within the Green Zone perimeter. There are probably 5,000 Iraqi civilians living inside the outer wall. In a shining example of support for the Second Amendment, most homes are allowed one AK-47 for personal defense. With an average home size of ten, there could easily be 500 assault weapons here in the hands of the locals, besides what was hidden during the war or since the occupation. This is plenty for a massive suicide strike force.
Of the hundreds of people that enter the Green Zone daily, how many of them leave? How many remain hidden? How many are willing to die for their cause?
Maybe very few. Maybe a lot of dumb ones.
I’ll sleep with my clothes on tonight. Read More......
The Army seems to be taking this threat seriously, as more and more of them are carrying their weapons. Officers as well, even those who you thought had thrown off the practice long ago, are strapping on the Berettas and slinging the M-16’s. The Gurkas are wearing their flak vests now, as they guard the palace entrances, and they are a bit more stern than usual. I’ve seen less of the mercenaries, but they may be out trying to head off the opposition.
We were advised to stay close to our vests and helmets for the next few days, and I am heeding this advice for the most part. As well, I asked Captain Song for the five minute lesson on M-16’s – magazine placement, feeding a round, safety, fire, three round burst. Just in case.
Of course, I have yet to be issued a weapon, but I’m sure there will be plenty around if worst comes to worst. Personally, I’m going to find the basement if there’s time, or lock myself in the office if there isn’t. Let the professionals do their jobs.
Someone told me to stay far away from the mercs and PSDs (personal security detail) if there’s trouble. They only protect what they are paid to protect, so it may be real easy to get in the way of these guys.
Someone else told me that the Gurkas would go berserk in a firefight. If they enter a room hot, the best defense is to hit the deck and stay there, as they will shoot anything standing.
Swell.
I’d prefer to be armed while locked in the office.
No one’s freaking out just yet, but there’s definitely something in the air. In thirteen minutes, Ambassador Bremer is scheduled to lead a “Town Hall” meeting in the palace Chapel to discuss the security issues. I should leave now if want a good view.
---
Bremer is around 50 years old, good looking and confident. To an SRO crowd of twelve to fifteen hundred churchmouse quiet attendees, he passed on the President’s thoughts that we are heroes already, for accepting this noble (and bizarre) assignment in service to our country. Also speaking was his deputy, Ambassador Kennedy, sunken chest and intellectual, who outlined palace-specific security measures. General Sanchez was there as well, who’s in charge of the Coalition Joint Task Force, and one of his Colonels, who is tasked with protecting the Green Zone.
Between them, they expressed their plans to protect us tonight. They have doubled the guard. Increased the armor at the gates. Upped patrol and ambush units on both sides of the wall. Gurkas have doubled up.
In case of an attack (“in case of”), Gurka air horns will sound two blasts, at which point we are to duck and cover ourselves with our helmets and flak vests until such time as we hear three blasts of the air horn. Force Protection will take care of the rest they say.
Bremer, under the watchful eyes of his Secret Service detail, then opened things up to questions. Armed military not otherwise assigned are to establish a defensive posture and comply with the rules of engagement. Civilians who are policemen in the States can carry. Civilians who are only civilians cannot. Kennedy answered this one, saying something like, “you would be a bigger threat to me than the attackers”. “… a bigger threat to HIM?” Fuck him. He’s got the god damned Secret Service to protect him. All I need is a PDW (personal defensive weapon). I won’t be offensive unless I have to! Hell, I’m gonna lock myself in an office far away from Kennedy and his personal security detachment, I’ll be no threat to him…. unless he tries to enter my locked office.
No one was particularly comforted by these speeches. Force Protection doesn’t have a clue. We left en masse for a sullen, Mexican themed Halloween chow.
Afterwards, I headed back to Baghdad Central. I sat in the comfy gilded sofa and was going to read today’s issue of Stars and Stripes, but was distracted by a magazine dedicated to aficionados of radio controlled aircraft. [Apparently, recent advances in brushless electric motors has made flying 100% electric planes and helicopters increasingly viable (although the hobbyist’s love affair with gas engines won’t be fading any time soon).]
I was further distracted by a close conversation between three British policemen bunked near me and an Army Lieutenant Colonel. The Bobbies thought it best if they deployed outside once the shit hit the fan, and tried to join in the defense of the palace. The LTC had a different plan for these men.
As they were only cops, they had very little combat training (except maybe their eighteen months in Bosnia). They should instead defend the interior of the structure and the people within. Maybe he didn’t actually include “people within”, but I would have like to have heard it. The Colonel surmised that the first Kolichnaya rocket would have little trouble breeching the exterior walls of our sleeping foyer. As the invaders (the Al Qaida invaders, not the Yankee Imperialist Dog invaders) swept through the foyer, the Bobbies were to fall back to the interior hallway and defend the stair.
At this, I recalled that there is a large magazine (not RC planes this time, but the room full of guns) at the top of the stair, turn left, ten meters, turn left, break down the door. I’m thinking of heading there before I go lock myself in the office (30 meters to the right of the top of the stairs).
This Colonel seemed more certain of the attack. Gung Ho Soldier Man. He also seemed certain that the attackers were already within the Green Zone perimeter. There are probably 5,000 Iraqi civilians living inside the outer wall. In a shining example of support for the Second Amendment, most homes are allowed one AK-47 for personal defense. With an average home size of ten, there could easily be 500 assault weapons here in the hands of the locals, besides what was hidden during the war or since the occupation. This is plenty for a massive suicide strike force.
Of the hundreds of people that enter the Green Zone daily, how many of them leave? How many remain hidden? How many are willing to die for their cause?
Maybe very few. Maybe a lot of dumb ones.
I’ll sleep with my clothes on tonight. Read More......
2003-10-29
Wednesday, 29 October 2003
12:00 – Baghdad. Mr. Waleed is having a bad week. He returned from the Donors Conference to learn that his brother had died in an automobile accident (no wonder really, considering that most drivers leave their fate to Allah and careen down the motorways like they were in Detroit or Kingston or something). This morning he heard the news that one of the Deputy Mayors of Baghdad (his close personal friend and good friend to the Coalition) had been assassinated two nights ago. This news came from the Major who accompanies me to the Ministry of Water Resources, where Mr. Waleed is highly placed. For some reason, this news was not immediately picked up by the media.
The Coalition has developed shadow ministries in the palace. These are headed by Americans and advisory in nature, but they perform much of the coordination regarding infrastructure improvements made by the Army with the Iraqi Ministries, as well as training them to act more independently and responsibly than they may have under the old regime. Some coordination I perform with these shadow ministries but, at this time, the critical coordination is with the actual ministries.
I need to go to the Ministry mostly because they can’t come to me. Security is awfully tight getting into the Green Zone, and even tighter getting into the Palace, so in this case, it is much more convenient to travel to the Ministry of Water Resources offices, currently set up in the old Ministry of Oil building. Once there, we meet with the staff and coordinate and chat and have brutally hot tea, served in little glasses on little glass saucers, while Mr. Waleed smokes and smokes.
It’s getting there, though, that’s two-thirds the fun. CPA staff does not leave the Green Zone without lots of guns. Today, it was just me going to the Ministry, but we were in two vehicles. I was in the Suburban with a Captain, Major, and Commander as shooters, each with 9mm Beretta pistols in their laps. The second vehicle had four soldiers, each with very visible M-16’s (and probably a few more pistols). Sadly for the second crew, they pulled duty in one of the few green Ford Aerostars, not exactly an urban assault vehicle, except that the sliding doors left and right must allow for good mobile operations. I’d just hate to see them show up to soccer practice in that thing, along with their body armor and helmets.
We all have to wear the flak vests and Kevlar helmets when traveling outside the Green Zone. It’s all a bit heavy, but really no worse than motorcycle safety gear. Besides, it’s the fashion here, so I fit right in, unlike my high visibility yellow riding suit.
Fuel economy was not why the Army leases these eight plus liter Suburbans. From the moment they leave the gate, they are either fully accelerating or fully braking, dodging and weaving through the mass/mess of Baghdad traffic, while the minivan trails by mere feet at times. It’s typical third world traffic here – poorly tuned and smoky old cars, plenty of honking taxis, no visible pavement markings to define the traffic lanes. The Army doesn’t honk though, or use their indicators. They just drive as fast as they can to spend as little ambushable time on the street as possible.
There are underpasses to carry through traffic beneath some of the traffic circles in town. Through these, they will sit two abreast in the tunnel itself, blocking all traffic behind them, until such time as the way ahead is completely clear of the top of the ramp. Then, full speed ahead to the top of the ramp and beyond until the next pack of cars, then rapid braking, bobbing and weaving through the gaps, and roaring ahead.
When a lane change is required, the lead vehicle will swerve into the target lane and brake, stopping all traffic behind him while the rest of the convoy changes lane in front. If a left turn is required, the lead vehicle will careen into the opposing traffic, brake hard and stop the through movement, so that the rest of the convoy can turn under his protection.
These Army drivers are good, and would give a Jamaican cabbie a run for his money. I’m not sure when I’ll get to try it myself, but it looks like great fun. The best part is, if you hit someone or something, the order is to keep moving.
During the return from my first trip outside the wall, our convoy of six was racing along the street when over the radio came another driver’s voice stating that he just hit the convoy vehicle ahead of him. The Major asked, “Why?” to which the reply was, “He wasn’t going fast enough.” The Major then asked, “Is he going faster now?”
Just get to where you’re going is the order of the day. Deal with your problems when you get there.
It’s the journey. Read More......
The Coalition has developed shadow ministries in the palace. These are headed by Americans and advisory in nature, but they perform much of the coordination regarding infrastructure improvements made by the Army with the Iraqi Ministries, as well as training them to act more independently and responsibly than they may have under the old regime. Some coordination I perform with these shadow ministries but, at this time, the critical coordination is with the actual ministries.
I need to go to the Ministry mostly because they can’t come to me. Security is awfully tight getting into the Green Zone, and even tighter getting into the Palace, so in this case, it is much more convenient to travel to the Ministry of Water Resources offices, currently set up in the old Ministry of Oil building. Once there, we meet with the staff and coordinate and chat and have brutally hot tea, served in little glasses on little glass saucers, while Mr. Waleed smokes and smokes.
It’s getting there, though, that’s two-thirds the fun. CPA staff does not leave the Green Zone without lots of guns. Today, it was just me going to the Ministry, but we were in two vehicles. I was in the Suburban with a Captain, Major, and Commander as shooters, each with 9mm Beretta pistols in their laps. The second vehicle had four soldiers, each with very visible M-16’s (and probably a few more pistols). Sadly for the second crew, they pulled duty in one of the few green Ford Aerostars, not exactly an urban assault vehicle, except that the sliding doors left and right must allow for good mobile operations. I’d just hate to see them show up to soccer practice in that thing, along with their body armor and helmets.
We all have to wear the flak vests and Kevlar helmets when traveling outside the Green Zone. It’s all a bit heavy, but really no worse than motorcycle safety gear. Besides, it’s the fashion here, so I fit right in, unlike my high visibility yellow riding suit.
Fuel economy was not why the Army leases these eight plus liter Suburbans. From the moment they leave the gate, they are either fully accelerating or fully braking, dodging and weaving through the mass/mess of Baghdad traffic, while the minivan trails by mere feet at times. It’s typical third world traffic here – poorly tuned and smoky old cars, plenty of honking taxis, no visible pavement markings to define the traffic lanes. The Army doesn’t honk though, or use their indicators. They just drive as fast as they can to spend as little ambushable time on the street as possible.
There are underpasses to carry through traffic beneath some of the traffic circles in town. Through these, they will sit two abreast in the tunnel itself, blocking all traffic behind them, until such time as the way ahead is completely clear of the top of the ramp. Then, full speed ahead to the top of the ramp and beyond until the next pack of cars, then rapid braking, bobbing and weaving through the gaps, and roaring ahead.
When a lane change is required, the lead vehicle will swerve into the target lane and brake, stopping all traffic behind him while the rest of the convoy changes lane in front. If a left turn is required, the lead vehicle will careen into the opposing traffic, brake hard and stop the through movement, so that the rest of the convoy can turn under his protection.
These Army drivers are good, and would give a Jamaican cabbie a run for his money. I’m not sure when I’ll get to try it myself, but it looks like great fun. The best part is, if you hit someone or something, the order is to keep moving.
During the return from my first trip outside the wall, our convoy of six was racing along the street when over the radio came another driver’s voice stating that he just hit the convoy vehicle ahead of him. The Major asked, “Why?” to which the reply was, “He wasn’t going fast enough.” The Major then asked, “Is he going faster now?”
Just get to where you’re going is the order of the day. Deal with your problems when you get there.
It’s the journey. Read More......
2003-10-26
Sunday, October 26, 2003
05:30 – Baghdad. My new temporary work space is a vast improvement over the old, primarily because it gives me more space – the room is twice as large, and there is one third the bodies. It’s on the second floor, so it’s only fourteen feet high. The width is the standard sixteen feet, and it’s probably thirty-two feet deep.
It’s also very nice in that it is along way from the Al Rasheed, which was hit by numerous rockets early on the 26th, killing at least one American, amputating a couple of limbs, injuring a dozen more, and (as one witness explained) causing a lot of blood. The attack could have been aimed at Assistant Secretary of Defense Wolfowitz, who was housed at the hotel at the time (and missed by less than 20 meters). The attack was timed to coincide with the lifting of the seven month curfew at the first dawn of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month.
Just the night before, I was thinking, “Tet Offensive”, as I was inspecting a Russian AK-47 offered to me by a soldier bunked nearby. This morning’s attack was hardly a massed campaign, but it certainly was offensive. Maybe I’ll try to find a pistol, just in case.
Notification of attacks in greater Baghdad, and the Green Zone especially, travels at light speed. From word of mouth in the offices and cafeteria, as well as through a daisy chain of telephone calls, to make sure that everyone is accounted for. Immediately thereafter is a rush of electro-mail stateside, to remind families not to worry.
The attacks this morning were launched from a private vehicle outside of the secure area (a series of rockets in tubes mounted on a truck rigged to look like a generator). As is usually the case, the attackers were long gone by the time the rapid response team arrived. Helicopters were everywhere for a time; flying the injured to the hospital, surveilling, and searching for targets. I had seen a number of Chinooks in days past, but I saw my first helicopter gunship this morning.
The sound of helicopters used to give me the willies, but I think I’m getting used to it now. Or benumbed. Or whatever.
Security has been tightened to the point that there is no entrance to the palace grounds except by special permission. As such, there is no one here to meet with, as scheduled yesterday, and I’ll get little done today, besides going through the motions. “Spinning wheels got to go round.” Right, Ike?
Maybe take an early lunch.
An “All Hands” electromail came ‘round this afternoon explaining that al residents of the Al Rasheed would be relocated to the palace compound over the next eight to fourteen hours. This explains why I saw soldiers setting up even more cots in the interim space that I share with the snorers. There will be no sleep tonight, I’m sure, as the newbies will be tossing and turning, beds squeaking and creaking.
Craig called an impromptu meeting after lunch. This was to remind us that, “this is a dangerous place,… he had a gun in his hand” and that we could bail at any time. As of yet, no one has taken him up on his offer. The work still offers enough potential to outweigh the risks of living here. Read More......
It’s also very nice in that it is along way from the Al Rasheed, which was hit by numerous rockets early on the 26th, killing at least one American, amputating a couple of limbs, injuring a dozen more, and (as one witness explained) causing a lot of blood. The attack could have been aimed at Assistant Secretary of Defense Wolfowitz, who was housed at the hotel at the time (and missed by less than 20 meters). The attack was timed to coincide with the lifting of the seven month curfew at the first dawn of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month.
Just the night before, I was thinking, “Tet Offensive”, as I was inspecting a Russian AK-47 offered to me by a soldier bunked nearby. This morning’s attack was hardly a massed campaign, but it certainly was offensive. Maybe I’ll try to find a pistol, just in case.
Notification of attacks in greater Baghdad, and the Green Zone especially, travels at light speed. From word of mouth in the offices and cafeteria, as well as through a daisy chain of telephone calls, to make sure that everyone is accounted for. Immediately thereafter is a rush of electro-mail stateside, to remind families not to worry.
The attacks this morning were launched from a private vehicle outside of the secure area (a series of rockets in tubes mounted on a truck rigged to look like a generator). As is usually the case, the attackers were long gone by the time the rapid response team arrived. Helicopters were everywhere for a time; flying the injured to the hospital, surveilling, and searching for targets. I had seen a number of Chinooks in days past, but I saw my first helicopter gunship this morning.
The sound of helicopters used to give me the willies, but I think I’m getting used to it now. Or benumbed. Or whatever.
Security has been tightened to the point that there is no entrance to the palace grounds except by special permission. As such, there is no one here to meet with, as scheduled yesterday, and I’ll get little done today, besides going through the motions. “Spinning wheels got to go round.” Right, Ike?
Maybe take an early lunch.
An “All Hands” electromail came ‘round this afternoon explaining that al residents of the Al Rasheed would be relocated to the palace compound over the next eight to fourteen hours. This explains why I saw soldiers setting up even more cots in the interim space that I share with the snorers. There will be no sleep tonight, I’m sure, as the newbies will be tossing and turning, beds squeaking and creaking.
Craig called an impromptu meeting after lunch. This was to remind us that, “this is a dangerous place,… he had a gun in his hand” and that we could bail at any time. As of yet, no one has taken him up on his offer. The work still offers enough potential to outweigh the risks of living here. Read More......
2003-10-25
Saturday, October 25, 2003
09:00 – Baghdad. We suffered our first casualty this morning. At about 05:45, a resounding “bang” resonated from the hallway outside of the office. Chris, our 65 year-old Dutch Transportation Engineer, had blacked out and collapsed in the hall on his way to work, loudly connecting his head with a file cabinet.
We woke the corpsman down the hall and brought his stretcher for Chris’ evacuation to the military hospital a few minutes away. By 09:00, Chris was back, a victim of dehydration. He got a couple of stitches as well, and one hell of a shiner. A little excitement to start the day, to be sure, but plenty of grind expected for the rest of the day.
Three more Baker people arrived last night, so our wee office is well beyond capacity. If our 16:00 meeting occurs as planned, Craig and Bob will join us bringing the temporary occupancy to sixteen.
I was hoping to get out of here for a while, but my 09:00 with the Ministry of Water Resources has been postponed, since all of the key players have gone to Madrid for the Donor’s Conference. Instead, I’ve got to convince the IT folks to solve my particular database problem and I need to convince the mapping people to drop everything else they are doing and assign all of their resources to the PMO. Maybe they need chocolate bars, silt stockings, or chewing tobacco? The last task is to perform a space efficiency/utility study for the office we hope to occupy within the next couple of weeks.
The new space will be ample, once we get it. Until that time, two of us have elected to move out of our office and into a piece of ACOE space on the other end of the building. It’s a long walk to coordinate face to face with the rest of the crew, but I get my own desk and a server connection, and three people won’t have to shift whenever someone enters the room.
Another Unverified Saddam Anecdote: All of his palace staff were Christian, because he thought they would be less likely to poison him or stage a palace coup.
For the surf-crazed, check out the Coalition web site at www.coalitioniraq.org. There’s little about the PMO at this time, but this should change as our exposure increases. The internal web site is a little more interesting, but you have to be here to access it. This is possible, as KBR/Halliburton is posting almost 300 positions in Iraq (they need another morale contractor). Read More......
We woke the corpsman down the hall and brought his stretcher for Chris’ evacuation to the military hospital a few minutes away. By 09:00, Chris was back, a victim of dehydration. He got a couple of stitches as well, and one hell of a shiner. A little excitement to start the day, to be sure, but plenty of grind expected for the rest of the day.
Three more Baker people arrived last night, so our wee office is well beyond capacity. If our 16:00 meeting occurs as planned, Craig and Bob will join us bringing the temporary occupancy to sixteen.
I was hoping to get out of here for a while, but my 09:00 with the Ministry of Water Resources has been postponed, since all of the key players have gone to Madrid for the Donor’s Conference. Instead, I’ve got to convince the IT folks to solve my particular database problem and I need to convince the mapping people to drop everything else they are doing and assign all of their resources to the PMO. Maybe they need chocolate bars, silt stockings, or chewing tobacco? The last task is to perform a space efficiency/utility study for the office we hope to occupy within the next couple of weeks.
The new space will be ample, once we get it. Until that time, two of us have elected to move out of our office and into a piece of ACOE space on the other end of the building. It’s a long walk to coordinate face to face with the rest of the crew, but I get my own desk and a server connection, and three people won’t have to shift whenever someone enters the room.
Another Unverified Saddam Anecdote: All of his palace staff were Christian, because he thought they would be less likely to poison him or stage a palace coup.
For the surf-crazed, check out the Coalition web site at www.coalitioniraq.org. There’s little about the PMO at this time, but this should change as our exposure increases. The internal web site is a little more interesting, but you have to be here to access it. This is possible, as KBR/Halliburton is posting almost 300 positions in Iraq (they need another morale contractor). Read More......
2003-10-24
Friday, October 24, 2003
02:00 - Baghdad. Since it’s a local target, let’s talk about the Al Rasheed Hotel.
Friday is Sunday here, and Thursday night is Saturday night, and we went on a recent Friday (before the rocket attack) to the hotel for a couple of cold Bavarians (from Holland). What followed was an event as close to a pub crawl as Baghdad is going to have.
Our first stop was the first floor bar, the Sherezhad. It’s done in black marble and blue carpet. The lighting is dim. There’s a variety of seating, from long sofas to cozy four tops, but we prefer to sit at the bar, where Jimmy (probably not his given name) does his best at interpreting our needs. Half liter beers are US$4, as is a handful of peanuts.
Down both hall and stairs, and we found the newly reopened basement bar, who’s name escapes me at this time, Al Something-or-other. Before the first war, this was the hotel’s bowling alley. At some time in between, the lanes were removed and replaced with carpet. The carpet is about the only soft thing in the place, as both bar and walls, and the remaining exposed floor are done in white marble. The effect is almost blinding and gives the establishment a sterile and uninviting presence. The coolest thing about this bar is that the locker room is still there from the bowling alley days, which can now be used to change into your drinking clothes.
As a brief aside, Brian met a guy on his C-130 flight into BIAP. This same guy was fully trained for his career in stage lighting, just the skills required in post-war Iraq. As it turns out, this stage lighting guy is now the morale contractor for this sterile and un-fun bar. We brainstormed improvements for a while but sadly, he has no control behind the bar, so we can’t work him for free drinks, despite the consulting. Well, at least the beers are only US$3 down here, so we grab a round and head up two floors.
The upper bar at the Al Rasheed also has a name that escapes me. Many just call it The Discotheque. It’s laugh out loud funny looking. Well, I could have been the only one laughing. It was loud in there, and I had consumed a couple of half liter beers.
This bar was all done in red and black, and with much less marble than the bowling alley, so it’s almost a comfortable place to sit for a spell, soothed by the gentle sounds of a DJ and his stunning collection of authentic American disco music; “Car Wash”, “Beat It”, “Stayin’ Alive”, all the classics. The first notes of “Play that Funky Music, White Boy” brought tears to my eyes.
The centerpiece of this bar is the dance floor, of course. It’s round, about ten meters across, and raised a couple of steps above the rest of the floor. There’s a low wall around it for seating which houses the flashing colored lights. A huge mirrored ball accents the entire scene. Unlike our first two stops, there were plenty of folks drinking, milling, and dancing, primarily the same folks from the CPA, and a number of young servicemen and women. Everyone seemed to be making the most of the opportunity to not work for a few hours.
On Friday, the Muslim population will take the day off, and we will continue our efforts at the PMO, trying to reconstruct this country as fast as possible.
Bad disco music at the Al Rasheed is the price we pay for this opportunity.
Unverified Saddam Anecdote: Someone told me that kitchen staff at every one of Saddam’s ninety-nine palaces would each prepare three deluxe meals a day, just in case he would stop by. When it was clear that he was not showing up, the meals would be destroyed, because to give them away would give the poor an indication as to how well he was living. Read More......
Friday is Sunday here, and Thursday night is Saturday night, and we went on a recent Friday (before the rocket attack) to the hotel for a couple of cold Bavarians (from Holland). What followed was an event as close to a pub crawl as Baghdad is going to have.
Our first stop was the first floor bar, the Sherezhad. It’s done in black marble and blue carpet. The lighting is dim. There’s a variety of seating, from long sofas to cozy four tops, but we prefer to sit at the bar, where Jimmy (probably not his given name) does his best at interpreting our needs. Half liter beers are US$4, as is a handful of peanuts.
Down both hall and stairs, and we found the newly reopened basement bar, who’s name escapes me at this time, Al Something-or-other. Before the first war, this was the hotel’s bowling alley. At some time in between, the lanes were removed and replaced with carpet. The carpet is about the only soft thing in the place, as both bar and walls, and the remaining exposed floor are done in white marble. The effect is almost blinding and gives the establishment a sterile and uninviting presence. The coolest thing about this bar is that the locker room is still there from the bowling alley days, which can now be used to change into your drinking clothes.
As a brief aside, Brian met a guy on his C-130 flight into BIAP. This same guy was fully trained for his career in stage lighting, just the skills required in post-war Iraq. As it turns out, this stage lighting guy is now the morale contractor for this sterile and un-fun bar. We brainstormed improvements for a while but sadly, he has no control behind the bar, so we can’t work him for free drinks, despite the consulting. Well, at least the beers are only US$3 down here, so we grab a round and head up two floors.
The upper bar at the Al Rasheed also has a name that escapes me. Many just call it The Discotheque. It’s laugh out loud funny looking. Well, I could have been the only one laughing. It was loud in there, and I had consumed a couple of half liter beers.
This bar was all done in red and black, and with much less marble than the bowling alley, so it’s almost a comfortable place to sit for a spell, soothed by the gentle sounds of a DJ and his stunning collection of authentic American disco music; “Car Wash”, “Beat It”, “Stayin’ Alive”, all the classics. The first notes of “Play that Funky Music, White Boy” brought tears to my eyes.
The centerpiece of this bar is the dance floor, of course. It’s round, about ten meters across, and raised a couple of steps above the rest of the floor. There’s a low wall around it for seating which houses the flashing colored lights. A huge mirrored ball accents the entire scene. Unlike our first two stops, there were plenty of folks drinking, milling, and dancing, primarily the same folks from the CPA, and a number of young servicemen and women. Everyone seemed to be making the most of the opportunity to not work for a few hours.
On Friday, the Muslim population will take the day off, and we will continue our efforts at the PMO, trying to reconstruct this country as fast as possible.
Bad disco music at the Al Rasheed is the price we pay for this opportunity.
Unverified Saddam Anecdote: Someone told me that kitchen staff at every one of Saddam’s ninety-nine palaces would each prepare three deluxe meals a day, just in case he would stop by. When it was clear that he was not showing up, the meals would be destroyed, because to give them away would give the poor an indication as to how well he was living. Read More......
2003-10-23
Thursday, October 23, 2003
15:45 – Baghdad. Ran out of work this afternoon. I saw it coming, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. So much of this portion of the work is data collection and, since there is little in the way of an Iraqi communications system, collection of the necessary and required data is difficult at best.
This gives me an opportunity to try and explain our reason for being.
I’ll skim through the basics: We’re an evil empire. In our ceaseless push towards global conquest and domination we invaded a sovereign nation. Now, to assuage our guilt, we are going to rebuild what we broke.
I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Really, our reasons for invasion don’t really matter at this point, nor do our motivations for reconstruction. What is almost fact is that there will be approximately $20 Billion spent here within the next four years on major construction projects, plus whatever loans and grants can be raised from the world at large (the Donor’s Conference in Madrid raised $13-19 Billion, plus a promise of tea from Sri Lanka). How this money gets spent is my concern.
As conquerors, the United States set up her own government in Iraq. Since the stated intent is to give the nation back to the Iraqi people, the new government is provisional and, since we’re trying to appear less like empire builders, we tack on the word “Coalition”, to add the global spin. Hence, the Coalition Provisional Authority, or CPA.
Under the CPA is the Iraqi Infrastructure Reconstruction Office (IIRO), charged with the reconstruction of the Iraqi Infrastructure. Within the IIRO is the Program Management Office (PMO) charged with management of the program for reconstruction. This is where the sixteen of us work (twelve hour a day is still only half a day, so it’s a pretty light gig). Our work falls into three major phases. At this point, we are coordinating with all of the actual de-Baathified Iraqi ministries, as well as their mirror organizations within the CPA, to develop wish lists for physical improvements. These lists are about $100B long, and we are tasked with paring this down to the most viable, practicable, and suitable $20B. And for this there is little data, so our prioritization exercise will be based upon our best estimates.
The second step to this process is to find a few qualified contractors to do the work. The current plan is to select only seventeen of them, one or two for each sector, and then negotiate each project as a work task in an undefined deliverable with fixed ceiling format contract. Simple. Except that we will need to scope each work task prior to negotiation, and there could be a couple of thousand separate projects in this $20 Billion, and we have no data.
The third step is to manage the construction contracts. Piece of cake. By this time, though, we should have been replaced by a more long-term organization, with a few hundred assigned employees, instead of sixteen.
The most influential factor in this process is time. If there was more time, we could perform some system analyses to ensure that our infrastructure improvements were suitably incorporated into the existing national scheme, be it electricity, potable water, or transportation. If there was more time, we could make sure that we had all of our data wielding ducks in smart feathered rows. If there was more time, we could establish an internal organizational structure designed to meet the challenges of the assignment. If there was more time, we could select the proper personnel, instead of just throwing resources at the problem (our PMO people are fine, it’s the others in the CPA who were poorly selected).
Throw people they have, and the palace population probably grows by a couple of hundred a week. We aren’t the only group crammed into small quarters.
If only there was more time, but time works against the average Iraqi, who suffers from not only the affects of war, but the after affects of decades of neglect. In fact, much of the work we will be specifying is to rehabilitate facilities that fell into disrepair under Saddam’s reign. However, another large portion of the PMO pie is to repair facilities looted by the Iraqis during the chaos that followed our invasion. This may be a good chart just because – war damage vs. neglect vs. looting. Maybe I can add a column showing the U.S. taxpayer’s cost to propagate the war.
Anyway, the entire purpose of this exercise is to demonstrate to the Iraqis that Americans are swell, so please stop hating us. I’m sure they’ll like us better once we move out of their presidential palace. Read More......
This gives me an opportunity to try and explain our reason for being.
I’ll skim through the basics: We’re an evil empire. In our ceaseless push towards global conquest and domination we invaded a sovereign nation. Now, to assuage our guilt, we are going to rebuild what we broke.
I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Really, our reasons for invasion don’t really matter at this point, nor do our motivations for reconstruction. What is almost fact is that there will be approximately $20 Billion spent here within the next four years on major construction projects, plus whatever loans and grants can be raised from the world at large (the Donor’s Conference in Madrid raised $13-19 Billion, plus a promise of tea from Sri Lanka). How this money gets spent is my concern.
As conquerors, the United States set up her own government in Iraq. Since the stated intent is to give the nation back to the Iraqi people, the new government is provisional and, since we’re trying to appear less like empire builders, we tack on the word “Coalition”, to add the global spin. Hence, the Coalition Provisional Authority, or CPA.
Under the CPA is the Iraqi Infrastructure Reconstruction Office (IIRO), charged with the reconstruction of the Iraqi Infrastructure. Within the IIRO is the Program Management Office (PMO) charged with management of the program for reconstruction. This is where the sixteen of us work (twelve hour a day is still only half a day, so it’s a pretty light gig). Our work falls into three major phases. At this point, we are coordinating with all of the actual de-Baathified Iraqi ministries, as well as their mirror organizations within the CPA, to develop wish lists for physical improvements. These lists are about $100B long, and we are tasked with paring this down to the most viable, practicable, and suitable $20B. And for this there is little data, so our prioritization exercise will be based upon our best estimates.
The second step to this process is to find a few qualified contractors to do the work. The current plan is to select only seventeen of them, one or two for each sector, and then negotiate each project as a work task in an undefined deliverable with fixed ceiling format contract. Simple. Except that we will need to scope each work task prior to negotiation, and there could be a couple of thousand separate projects in this $20 Billion, and we have no data.
The third step is to manage the construction contracts. Piece of cake. By this time, though, we should have been replaced by a more long-term organization, with a few hundred assigned employees, instead of sixteen.
The most influential factor in this process is time. If there was more time, we could perform some system analyses to ensure that our infrastructure improvements were suitably incorporated into the existing national scheme, be it electricity, potable water, or transportation. If there was more time, we could make sure that we had all of our data wielding ducks in smart feathered rows. If there was more time, we could establish an internal organizational structure designed to meet the challenges of the assignment. If there was more time, we could select the proper personnel, instead of just throwing resources at the problem (our PMO people are fine, it’s the others in the CPA who were poorly selected).
Throw people they have, and the palace population probably grows by a couple of hundred a week. We aren’t the only group crammed into small quarters.
If only there was more time, but time works against the average Iraqi, who suffers from not only the affects of war, but the after affects of decades of neglect. In fact, much of the work we will be specifying is to rehabilitate facilities that fell into disrepair under Saddam’s reign. However, another large portion of the PMO pie is to repair facilities looted by the Iraqis during the chaos that followed our invasion. This may be a good chart just because – war damage vs. neglect vs. looting. Maybe I can add a column showing the U.S. taxpayer’s cost to propagate the war.
Anyway, the entire purpose of this exercise is to demonstrate to the Iraqis that Americans are swell, so please stop hating us. I’m sure they’ll like us better once we move out of their presidential palace. Read More......
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