06 October 2003

Minneapolis. I spent last week in Virginia processing, mostly waiting, which can also be a process. Flew Monday afternoon to Dulles in Washington with Craig, then drove the rental Buick to Winchester, where the USACE/TAC (Trans-Atlantic Center) has a well-secured facility. We filled out forms and more forms, and then got a complete physical (including the requisite prostrate examination by Madame Physician). In total, there was one blood letting and nine inoculations (influenza, smallpox, antrax, IPV, MMR, Hepatitis A and B, Typhoid, and Tuberculosis). I speculated that the blood letting (and associated DNA testing) was for identification purposes in case we got blown to bits. The Army Captain Physician (Ma’am) said “yes, but we don’t like to talk about that”.

The biggest headache was the receipt of our CAC cards, or military identification. I think I need this for food service more than anything, although it may get me a reserve seat on the plane out of there. We heard stories that the production rate of these cards sometime approached one per day, but by the time we got ours done at the end of the day, this rate was down to about 15 minutes each. The cards have wee programmable chips embedded within them that seem to take some effort to program. They also gave us new Panasonic Toughbook laptops that, we are led to understand, are not compatible with the local network in Iraq.

Thursday we drove to Fort Belvoir, south of Alexandria, for further processing at the Army’s CRC (CONUS Replacement Center). A few more forms here, and an efficient fitting for the flack jacket, and we were done. We left Craig to fly out on Saturday, and we three (Brian, Dean, and George) flew home.

Once there, I found my house overran by a bunch of Chicagoans for the weekend. As such, my plans to relax and prepare were changed into me playing gracious host and honored guest for three days.

Monday, Bennett sends word that this Saturday is the day. My itinerary sends me through Chicago and Frankfort to Kuwait City, then off to Baghdad a few days later. Little time remains. Read More......

26 September 2003

Minneapolis. Most of yesterday was a blur. There was a 10:00 conference call with the Iraq Team. Craig is in charge. Gary’s a planner and administrator. John plans. Don’s an architect. George and Dean are electricals. Brian is wet civil. And I do what I do. All eight of us. Rebuilding Iraq.

We are slated to fly to the CRC as guests of the USACE (United States Army Corps of Engineers) next Wednesday for shots and gear, but they want medical records of all sorts. To get a Kuwaiti visa, I need my passport and a few photos. So, I left around noon, having called the doctor and dentist and made the administrative request for my records (please expedite so they don’t take a week to process). Quick run to the barber to de-shaggify (the Army will cut my hair in the desert). Secure some fresh passport photos (“Make me look dignified”, I ask. “Take the pencils out of your pocket”, she replies.) and grab a bite, then off to the house to pick up some documents and yak with the City inspector about the new street, then to the vision center. Apparently, the government wants me to have a spare pair of eyeglasses for the trip and, since I need a prescription for them, and I haven’t seen an ophthalmologist for close to a decade, I get an exam as well, and do some shopping while I wait, and he dilates me, and everything’s a blur. Then, once I’ve returned to the office, Craig hands me the Kuwaiti visa form to sign, but I have no clue where my name goes, because the entire form is in fuzzy Arabic.

He shows me the correct location, I sign, and I head to the first of two Open Houses for a project that I would have like to have finished before departure, but that looks unlikely, since I may only be here for another 15 days or so.

There is little time to catch breath today. And Craig says that we need to be at the CRC on Tuesday morning through Thursday, giving us an extra day for fuck ups, which means we fly out on Monday evening. I’m gonna miss Queens of the Stone Age after all, just so I can sit at an Army base and get a dose of Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, Influenza, Measles, Oral Polio, Tetanus-Diphtheria, Malaria, Smallpox and Anthrax.

Man, did I buy enough ibuprofen?

Meanwhile, Darlene writes “I imagine I am supposed to be supportive? Honestly, I am not so happy about the "adventure". I have very mixed emotions…. the whole spectrum. Happy to angry. In this respect you remind me of David. I know there is no talking you out of it. So what I will say is, I love you very much and will be looking forward to any correspondence we may have until you arrive home safely. Darlene.”

It’s not for everyone. Read More......

24 September 2003

Minneapolis. Still no word on anything. I keep adding to the question list, but there’s no opportunity to get any answers. Perhaps once Craig returns from Washington tomorrow he’ll have a little more knowledge of the situation. I ordered seven months of prescription medication today. I’ll need a huge bottle of Ibuprofen as well.

Craig did call later. Says that I need to report to the CRC (CONUS (Continental United States) Replacement Centers) in Winchester next Wednesday at 08:00 for Kevlar vest and gas mask fittings. My response was, “fuck”. I hope that didn’t offend him (but he’ll need to be thicker skinned than that to hang with the soldiery). I hope I can get back in time for the Queens of the Stone Age show that night. In addition, Craig says that Foster ships out this Saturday, Craig with a few others the next Saturday, and myself with three or four others the Saturday after that, 11 October. We’ll fly to Kuwait, and then take a military transport into Baghdad.

And then there’s the wife. She told me, I think for the last time, that “you’re not going to Iraq”. Most of this is denial and hope based in the fact that some international work just doesn’t materialize. Mostly, she gets very quiet whenever the subject is raised. I imagine she thinks I’ll get blowed up or whacked or seriously injured somehow. I’m sure every soldier’s spouse feels the same way. The primary difference between they and me is that being in the military is their job, and for me it’s just an adventure, a mid-life crisis perhaps, an excuse to do something more interesting than sitting in this cube. Read More......

23 September 2003a

Minneapolis. This is a really big deal, I believe. People blow up over there every day and it scares the wife. Sadly, her support organization is not well centered in this state. Hopefully, she can make do and improvise with the materials she has at hand. Mid-October plus six months is mid-April, so I’ll miss winter. Rather, I’ll be gone for winter. How will she deal with the cold and the solitude. We’ll see.

I may get shot, kidnapped, or damaged in some way. I may be wholly burned out at the end of this.

Then again, it might be a total rush.

We’ll see. Read More......

23 September 2003

PART I - RECONNAISSANCE

Minneapolis. Gosh and golly,

Weird Event Notice: I leave for Iraq in a couple of weeks. I should be back in half a year.

The Company is doing its share of war profiteering and I'm pleased to be a part of it. I will go with a score of other Companymen to Virginia for a few days of briefing, then on to Baghdad. The job is part of the $87,000,000,000.00 nation-building effort. My office will likely be in the fortified basement of Saddam's palace in the capital and I'll live on the palace grounds. I will wear my Civil hat for the site development aspects of the work, but I imagine that I'll wear my Construction Management and Project Management hats most all of the time.

I am well aware of the dangers involved and yes, I'll be careful.

The hours will be quite long. The work quite tough. The setting quite surreal. It should be an adventure to be sure, but I sort of like those. Besides, this will help me afford the new cycle that I need for my mid-life crisis.

Please call the wife at all hours, or drop her a note, or buy her lunch, or mail her a turnip (at your own risk), or stop by for a few days, or meet her for coffee, or take her fishing, or send her a snow blower, or.... whatever. It would be most appreciated.

I have no clear notion as to how international communications will be handled during this period, although I hear that internet access is swift. Presumable, either the Company address or the Yahoo! address will do the trick. I'll send a note when I discover the answer. Regardless, I'll tell you all about it when I return, or through various posts during the assignment.

Disclaimer: A wise old white guy once said, "No international assignment is assured until you land there." So don't count on any souvenirs just yet. Read More......

Who's Your Baghdaddy?

A few years later, and the internation work takes an interesting turn, this one mostly, mainly, Middle-East.

Also from the vaults, and with limited commercial interruption,....

Who's Your Baghdaddy? Read More......

Coda

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READERS BEWARE – Omniscience abounds within (as if).
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I have long believed that my principal professional responsibility is to the Health, Safety and Welfare of the Public. This demigodly accountability could explain why enrollments are down at most Civil Engineering Schools (or maybe it is because we are not exactly the best paid branch of the sciences). Regardless, public obligation in this instance tends to outweigh massive personal gain. There are fiscal success stories, to be sure, but I would surmise that the majority of us typically care more for the work than for the pecuniary rewards. So, as my influence with this project winds down (as with any past project, successful or no), I review it in light of these primary professional principles.

Improved public Safety is probably the easiest of the three to examine. For this project, I think safety is a slight positive. The new highway is wider and smoother than the old. We worked to eliminate blind corners and major roadside obstacles and to develop our facility to First World design standards. I fought to establish as much of a clear zone as possible, to develop traversable sideslopes, and protect the motorist from hazard (although the squatters are already moving in immediately adjacent to the roadway in some areas, and lack of funds may prohibit the completion of all of the foreslope grading in the eastern third).

Sadly, the minimal to non-existent enforcement of traffic laws results in no limits to the speed of the motorist (beyond the physical limitations of the conveyance), so the accidents that are becoming commonplace will trend far away from the death-defying end of the bedlam spectrum. This is evidenced by the half dozen fatalities in the past few weeks, all a result of loss of control while driving at excessive speed. Fortunately, only the idiot operators have been buried so far.

Improved public Health is marginally positive. In light of the above, the quality of the gene pool has been enhanced. For the cows, it is a definite improvement. Most of the project is fenced now, and if we can get gates constructed, and the entire length maintained, local livestock should remain in good health safely away from the road…. provided someone bothers to move the cattle back into the pastures before closing the gate.

Improved public Welfare is the tough one. The trip to Negril that previously took more than two hours can now be done in less than one. The tourist saves lots of time. For them, this is time better spent on the beach getting a second degree sunburn and buying trinkets. However, the construction cost of this facility is over one hundred million borrowed dollars, monies that could have been borrowed to build schools, or sewers, or goatherd training institutes.

During the extended construction period, labor surely benefited, especially since this two year job has taken five years to complete. In a land of high unemployment, any work is appreciated, especially long term, low skill positions. Elsewhere on the planet, the money spent on highway work is said to benefit the community three to six times over, as wages and material costs get spent and respent locally. This benefit will be much smaller here, due to the large volume of imported materials, but there will still be some residual advantage.

At the end of the day, improvements in Health, Safety, and Welfare boil down to a better Quality of Life.

The primary planned effect of this highway was increasingly safe and speedy travel for tourist traffic between Negril and Montego Bay. If this pleases the tourist, she may have less to complain about once she gets home, and may actually recommend Jamaica as an agreeable destination. If her friends are so convinced, they may decide to vacation here and spend some dollars, which might result in a few more jobs. The money from these jobs can be used to support local economic activity and maybe pay a tax or two. Should this continue, a stronger local economy will go far towards reducing poverty and crime, which can translate into further gains in the tourist sector.

Sadly, marginal gains in this sector can be easily wiped away by one successful terrorist plot, one journalist kidnapping, or one posse killing in the States. Any bad press at all shoves the tourist industry further away from success. Yet the government relies more and more heavily upon the success of the tourism product to save the entire island. Mining and agricultural sectors are hobbled by inefficiency and increased global competition, so they are little help. The only real and consistent local money maker is cocaine transshipment, but those profits appear to leave the island.

Certainly, saving Jamaica from herself can be a complex matter, but one that I can easily solve with a few bashes on this here laptop.

Education is critical to the success of this island. An educated population will be more attractive to outside investors, can be more self disciplined, and may refuse to put up with the antics of this government. Unfortunately, I fear that this establishment, like so many others, already knows these truths, and conspires to maintain current levels of illiteracy, ignorance, and ignominy.

Mon, if I were king of Jamaica,…

T’ings be different, fi sure. The hundred megabucks spent on this road could have built 1,000 rural schools, or could have paid annual salaries for 10,000 teachers, or could have purchased 100,000 hybrid uber-goats to advance the scattered herds and develop Jamaica into the Dairy State of the Greater Antilles.

Instead, Frat-boy Tommy and ten thousand of his drunken friends save some time on the bus ride to Negril and get two more hours to chug beer in the foam pit at Margaritaville.

In the few short hours that I would have as king (before the CIA took care of me shortly after lunch that first day), I would decree the bah-jesus out of this place. I would default on all foreign debt, thereby raising the funds required for the rest of my program. I would provide class space to every child to age sixteen, reconstruct and maintain every school and grounds, reduce class sizes, pay teachers more and demand results, expand the libraries, increase public information campaigns, increase skills training and adult education, and encourage literacy. I would make corruption by any government employee a treasonable (i.e hanging) offence and force them to be regularly audited by offshore entities. I would legalize marijuana. I would enforce a quality based national development standard, promote environmental issues and develop renewable energy resources. I would ban spear fishing. I would encourage sustainable development, family gardens, and the consumption of local produce. I would put a deposit on plastic bottles, ban Styrofoam lunch boxes and recycle the junked cars. I would give every voter JA $500 at the polls, distribute a plethora of free condoms, develop more public spaces, and enforce property rights. First thing, though, I would build a moat of jerk stands around the castle.

Immediately, everything would be better.

Well,… lunch would be better.

If the CIA (or JLP, by extension) were on their toes, and I only had the morning to rule, I would have to limit my decree-lations; default on the debt, educate the masses, legalize ganga and kill the corrupt.

BA and I used to play a little game in the food service line at Friley. We would identify the contemptible and sentence them to ten seconds on a tropical paradise, followed by instantaneous transport to the bottom of the sea - a benign and peaceful respite followed by a most heinous crushing (we never solved the instantaneous transport problem, so droves of the unworthy are still out there). From what I understand, transporters are still Beta devices, so I bet they have their share of bugs, plus a real high cost of operation. However, if used locally, the cost of this anti-corruption scheme would be halved, as the locally corrupt have already had their tropical paradise, lacking only the painful crushing. Yet, even those dollars are not available, so I can add this proposal to the overwhelming list of funding shortfalls.

Jamaica’s success is a poser to be sure - one I no longer have the time to figure out. You see, the road has achieved practical completion. I am going elsewhere. Someone else will have to be king.

Hell.

It would be nice if I could wrap up the past three years in some poignant paragraph. One that would make you all feel a little weepy-eyed about the hardships that will continue to face Jamaicans for a very long time to come.

Heck.

Maybe some sarcastic statement would do the trick. One you can write off with the rest of this saga. Just a wave of the hand and a, “well, that’s the Third World for ya.”

Hommina hommina.

I would probably prefer the wry comic closing. Maybe find that one little joke to express the bizarre delight that the gods must take in thrusting me into the world at large. “Okay. A lama, a mullah, and an engineer walk into a bar,…”

Hmmm.

All told, the bottom line is quality of life. As for mine, the commute that once took over an hour now takes but twenty-three minutes.

My work here is done. Read More......