Reflections on my '91 deployment to Iraq

From April to July of 1991, I was a Military Police Officer deployed to Zachu,Iraq for "Operation Provide Comfort". We were there on a humanitarian mission. Basically, the mission was to keep the peace very shortly after the first Gulf war ended, and to insure the safety of the Kurds who lived in that part of Iraq from Saddam, who had previously gassed them. We kept watch over food shipments for the Kurds, which was in short supply. We also patrolled the town. I alternated from driving to being the M-60 gunner in the turret of our Hummvee.

I was a very naive 19 years old. I did not understand the way the world worked, and why it was so unfair. My experience in Iraq would do much to teach me about the way of things.

Seeing the results of war in a country very different from the US was quite a shock to me. The sight of young children with bloated bellies was never something I grew accustomed to, nor did I want to. Still, I recall their smiling faces chasing after the Hummer. They would tap the inside of their forearm with the side of the opposite hand and say "Mister, chocklata, Mister, chocklata!" The arm tapping was their way of begging. Though I was female, they called me "mister" just like all the other troops. It was explained to some of the children by my boyfriend at the time, along with the prop of his nightstick, the difference between a "mister" and a "miss". I can still remember the laughter of the kids when they understood what he was saying.

Many times we would hand out water and M&M's from our MRE's to the children. I was struck by how often, even in the poorest areas of Zachu, that we were offered bread and food by the people. The generosity of these folks who were devastated by war, poor sewage, and a lack of food amazed me.

One day, while returning from the Turkish border with two fellow soldiers, a young girl was struck by a truck. The driver took off. The girl was badly hurt. A man offered to take her to the makeshift hospital in his car, and we followed in our Humvee. We carried the girl up the steps into the hospital, which was really more along the lines of a field clinic for the Kurds in the town. The mother of the girl was praying, and yelling to Allah. After a short time, which seemed forever, the doctor told us that the girl probably passed as we were carrying her up the stairs. She was eight years old. As they told her mother, she screamed hysterically. I could only imagine the pain of this woman. I gave this woman a cross I had in my pocket, and told her that my God mourned for her daughter too. I have no idea if she understood me.

We returned to our base, and I was yelled at by my Sergeant who said he heard that I ran over the girl and killed her, and that I should have told him we were leaving. I wasn't even driving the Humvee, and I notified my Lieutenant before we left. My sadness over this girl's death was compounded with anger over being blamed for it.

Fourteen years later, my mind still wonders back to Zachu, the mother, the children chasing, begging and smiling. I wonder if the mother had any more children. I wonder if the children that I gave M&m's to are parents now. I wonder if the lady who removed her veil to cheer me, a woman MP with an M60, voted, and if her candidate won. I wonder if the mother still remembers me.

I think often of these people, because they taught me about life, in all it's unfairness and complexities. I am worldly now. I know through this experience, that the good guys weren't always good, and the bad guys aren't all bad. I learned of all the colors and shady areas between black and white. These people, who had so little, gave me so much.

I no longer believe in God the way I did then. I do believe in the resilience of people to overcome huge obstacles. I believe in the human capacity to give when there is nothing to give but hope, memories, and a smile. I hope that these people who so changed my life still have that hope. Maybe I gave them some hope, caused them to smile. Maybe, that mother holds that cross and knows that someone far away still thinks of her, and her daughter. Maybe, hopefully, I gave something back to the people of Zachu. That is my wish.