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.