Summer 2019 Missive

A Missive from Mesopotamia

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When Things Go Sideways

I started this post some time ago, long before things were OBE (Overtaken By Events, as we sometimes say). 

Back then, what you’ll see here in a little bit rang more current than now.  But perhaps you took note of how things changed suddenly in Iraq for those of us deployed there, so here’s a little “inside baseball” recap as we reacted to events well beyond our control, and certainly beyond my experience as I’ve never been part of an Ordered Departure before. 

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Pressure has been building in this region for months, one might even say years, but really intensified as of last year when the president withdrew the United States from the Joint Comprehensive Plan Of Action (the Iran Nuclear Deal) which had been negotiated by the P5 +1 back in 2013.  Combine that unilateral action with the reinstatement of economic sanctions and the designation of the Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps as an international terrorist organization, and mix all of that with last summer’s water and electricity crises in southern Iraq (an area dominated by Shia Muslims and rife with Iranian influence), and the area has been on tenterhooks for months. 

In the midst of last summer’s crises in the south of Iraq, the State Department enacted a de facto closure of the Consulate General in Basrah, and in Baghdad, malign forces launched several projectiles into the International Zone (formerly, and still informally, known as the Green Zone) from areas in the capital known or suspected to be strongholds of Iranian influence.  This spring, in April or early May, information began to indicate we might be reaching a tipping point, and just then the president publicly linked to these tensions the already-scheduled deployment of the USS Abraham Lincoln Carrier Strike Group and a squadron of bombers to the Persian Gulf, which caused the anxieties to ratchet up even further. 

It was in the midst of this increased tension that I flew up to the north of Iraq to our Consulate General in Erbil on a long-planned TDY (Temporary Duty) to help out in the short-staffed Public Affairs section there.  I was scheduled to return to Baghdad on Wednesday May 15, which would then give me 12 days remaining in my one-year tour in Iraq, allowing me to complete my tour and return to the US as scheduled on May 27. 

Iraqi Kurdistan Region from the air en route to Erbil, Iraq.

Outside Grant House at the US Consulate General in Erbil, Iraq.

Scenes from inside the French grocery chain
Carrefour in Erbil, Iraq.

The Erbil Yacht Club is a small restaurant for employees
within the confines of the Consulate General grounds in
landlocked Erbil, Iraq.

Local Kurdish artist showing off his gallery
to us from the Consulate in Erbil, Iraq.

Photos from within the gallery below:

My colleague Rush and I meeting with
grant recipients in Erbil.  Their NGO provides
critical support and needed skills to
women and young girls.

On Sunday of that week (May 12), we were notified that the Consulate General – the entire Mission, in fact – would fall under a nighttime curfew from about 900 pm to 700 am, as a result of the aforementioned increasing tensions and the four bombings on four oil tankers that had occurred earlier that day in the Strait of Hormuz.  (The Strait supports the flow of some 18.5 million barrels of oil – roughly 20% of the world’s supply – through their narrow waters every single day, so this was a big deal.)  As the fluid situation changed from hour to hour, other security measures were contemplated or instituted, both in Erbil and in Baghdad, and leadership and security teams worked with Washington to enact predetermined plans, put in place in the event of just such crises.  By Tuesday evening, it became clear that trip wires in that planning document had been crossed and that an Ordered Departure (OD) was imminent, although this was only internal information and nothing had been formally announced to anyone, including those of us on the ground at post.  A full staff meeting was scheduled for the next morning when presumably the course of action would be explained, and details of what was next shared. 

An OD is one of several options for moving American employees and their families out of a country to safety, and when the decision is made requires the evacuation by commercial means of all “non-essential employees.”  Which positions fall into the category of “essential” involve decisions made long prior to when an OD happens, which is just smart planning in a sometimes dangerous and unsettled world.  If the two of you haven’t figured it out by now, my position is, or rather was, considered non-essential, along with hundreds of others.  (Another common evacuation is called an Authorized Departure – Haiti has been under an Authorized Departure since early 2019 – which essentially involves keeping all American employees on the ground but mandating the evacuation of family members only; there are no American spouses in Iraq who are not already employed by the Mission, and there are no children allowed at all.  There are other evacuation options as well, the most extreme involving the emergency evacuation of Americans by any and all means necessary.  The situation in Iraq was – still is – serious, but not that serious.)

The wrinkle in all of this, personally, was that I was not actually at my post of assignment (Baghdad) if there was going to be an evacuation, I was up north on TDY, and I wasn’t sure that the planners of an OD were completely cognizant of what to do with me in such a situation.  So on Tuesday evening my friends and I shared concerns and speculations, as well as a glass or two of wine, and returned to our rooms so as to be indoors by the time the curfew set in, with no knowledge of what might happen overnight or what decisions might be made about our immediate future while we slept.

Given these tensions and conditions, few of us slept soundly those couple nights, particularly overnight into Wednesday as there were quite a few additional helicopter patrols taking place low over the compound from the nearby commercial and military airport.  Combined with all the uncertainty of the situation and the threats coming from Iran or Iranian sympathizers, many of us woke on Wednesday more groggy than normal.  I reported to the office as usual, and prepared for one form of departure or another, as for me it was pretty simple:  I had one weeks’ worth of clothes and supplies, as well as the various required electronics of modern life, and was packed and ready to go – I just didn’t know where I was supposed to go.  I wanted to return to Baghdad, mostly to complete my tour but even if I was to be evacuated, I at least wanted to swap out some items and prepare my apartment for an eventual – hopeful – pack-out, especially if I was not going to be present to supervise it.  (In extreme circumstances, as happened to colleagues of ours who closed down the embassy in Sana’a, Yemen several years back, occasionally one might never get back what they can’t carry out the door.)  What I expected was that my wants would be subservient to the needs and desires of the State Department, which would be made clearer (we all hoped) at the Mission-wide meeting to be held at 1000 am Wednesday.

At this meeting, the chargé d’affaires (basically the substitute ambassador when the actual ambassador is absent for whatever reason) and several other members of our leadership and management teams explained what was happening.  An Ordered Departure had been authorized by Washington overnight and would begin in a matter of hours that very day.  Questions were addressed and a list of names was read off as to who would depart immediately, and if those people hadn’t already begun making preparations for this OD, they now had about two hours to return to their apartments and prepare to leave post, possibly with no opportunity to return.  (Ordered Departures are congressionally allowable in 30-day increments, up to a maximum of 180 days.)  Anything of importance in offices or apartments that was absolutely essential to carry by hand would need to be collected and packed – in just about two hours – and everything else would have to stay behind.  An additional complication when evacuating from Baghdad specifically is the means of departure:  The initial flight would be by helicopter from an Embassy helipad as was normal, but with so many people to get to the airport in a very short window of time, weight limitations were scrutinized far more carefully; whereas in the past there might have been a bit more flexibility on this point, these next couple of days were going to be very tight in terms of the flight manifests and weight limitations.  Consequently, those leaving from Baghdad were limited to one suitcase of 50 pounds and one carry-on of 20 pounds, and absolutely no more.  Extra bags and extra pounds were not an option, and some colleagues had the unfortunate experience of having to pull items as they prepared to board the helicopter, leaving an extra pound or two behind, hopefully to be retrieved later with the rest of their personal property still sitting in their offices and apartments. 

Not being in Baghdad, and assuming other people also recognized I was not in Baghdad, I did not wait to listen to the announced list of employees who were supposed to leave immediately.  Unfortunately, my name was indeed on that list.  Colleagues in my office in Baghdad quickly noted my situation to the powers that be, and I stayed put for the time being up in Erbil and wondered what I should do.  Ultimately, I worked with the management officers in Erbil, who gave to me the same information they had given to Erbil colleagues scheduled to leave right away on Wednesday, and I followed those instructions while I waited for airline tickets as well as a formal decision as to whether I was leaving the country or returning to Baghdad. 

The first shuttle bus from the Consulate General in Erbil to the airport was to leave the compound at 145 pm for a scheduled Austrian Air flight to Vienna at 330 pm.  By about 1100 am or so I had submitted the required paperwork, and then I waited.  I cleared out my inbox, returned items borrowed for the week to the office where they lived, had a bite to eat, discussed with colleagues their plans, deleted more emails, said goodbye to local staff, and generally wondered fruitlessly when I would be notified as to my travel plans.  At 140 pm, I finally messaged the travel office in Amman, Jordan, and asked rather urgently whether or not I was supposed to be on the shuttle to the airport, which was scheduled to leave in five minutes.  The travel technician immediately responded, indicating that yes, I should be on that shuttle as I was ticketed on that flight to Vienna.  Nice of them no notify me with plenty of time.

The rest of my departure story is not quite as dramatic.  I flew from Erbil directly to Vienna with whatever I had in my possession for the prior week, had a nice dinner at a Jamie Oliver restaurant, and stayed the night in a nice hotel in the city where it was about 60 degrees cooler than in Erbil (as it was over 100 F there and I kind of left in a hurry, I also had no coat and the suitcase with all my clothes was checked through to DC).  The next morning I flew to Washington.  Memorial Day was my original departure date from Iraq, and since that has come and gone, my tour in Iraq is now officially complete. 

Fortunately, I had left some clothes here in Arlington where we were living prior to leaving for Iraq, so I’m not left with just what I had in Erbil, plus, you know, there are plenty of stores nearby and I have a credit card, so that also helps.  Given that I wasn’t there to personally supervise the movers packing my things, some items were left behind (presumably donated to needy moving company dudes) and some things can’t be shipped back to the US once they’ve already been shipped overseas duty-free, so any consumable items I had intended to, you know, consume during my last two weeks were also donated, but this time the half-dozen bottles of wine and various food and cleaning items were just donated to the cause of those colleagues left behind.  (You’re welcome.  And thank you for packing me out.) 

Once again I find myself fortunate for any number of reasons.  My tour was almost over when the OD occurred, so the disruption to my professional life was minimal.  After I arrived in Washington, I had five business days remaining in my tour.  I spent them helping out in an office related to Iraq and Middle East public affairs issues, but the reality was that this office wasn’t going to assign me any big projects or anything, and since I was nearing completion of my tour anyway, even doing remote work related to my job back in Baghdad was not going to be very helpful.  So I did what I could, worked on the paperwork necessary to process my Ordered Departure and subsequent Permanent Change of Station (PCS), passed along whatever key information I could to the office staff working here in DC, and completed my tour.  Because I was already scheduled to depart before the OD decision was made, I had several key items arranged prior to heading to Erbil, the most important of which was the plan to have the movers come and pack up my apartment.  Luckily for me, those awesome colleagues who remained behind agreed to pack up my office documents and supplies, and to supervise the movers as they packed up my things.  (Whatever the movers packed of my stuff arrived in late June.)  Since I was first in the queue it all went off fairly easily; colleagues who departed with me in those first few days but aren’t scheduled to complete their tours until later in the summer aren’t quite so lucky, and will be working on all those arrangements for weeks or months to come.  And they may have left behind significantly more consumable items than I did if they had several months left, unlike me.  That is just the pits.

And so that’s the way an Ordered Departure goes when it goes smoothly.  We didn’t depart from the roof of the embassy by climbing a rope ladder into the helicopter under a hail of gunfire or anything even remotely like that.  Due to good planning, a modicum of luck, and great staff who essentially worked miracles to pull of the departure of a very large percentage of American staff in just a couple of days, everyone who was supposed to, departed quickly and with a minimum of complications, despite the herculean task before them.  I’m very grateful to work with such professionals.

The mountains of Kurdistan to the Turkish border
from the air as I departed Iraq for the final time.

"The Kurds have no friends but the mountains."  - Kurdish adage

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming!

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Hello once again!

Welcome back to the proverbial crosshairs, mes amis.  No doubt you’ve noticed this region has been back in the news of late (well, not like the area ever left the news, I suppose), and if you’ve been following along with me the past 11+ months, perhaps you’ve spent a few passing moments wondering how this might be affecting those of us posted here in the Cradle of Civilization. 

The short answer is that, while no doubt geopolitical events have made necessary certain precautions amid a heightened security situation, life and work have largely continued apace, and most of us have not had serious changes in our daily routine.  Living where you work and working where you live – surrounded by many who are here expressly to protect us and our interests – means that even under such circumstances (even worse in some parts of the world) we continue to do our jobs.

And so the programs continue to be administered, the grant applications are examined and discussed, and plans toward something akin to normalization continue.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, I had a chance once again to hang out and share a meal again with my friends Naz and Wafa.  And also once again, they had invited several people from outside the Embassy to do a little shopping at the Post Exchange store and then to stay for a bite to eat.  I haven’t had the chance to join Naz and Wafa since last fall – partly due to my R&Rs, partly due to their respective travels, or just because the timing didn’t work – and so I hadn’t seen the Serbian or Greek Ambassadors for some time. 

Serbian Ambassador Balov was previously an advisor in several areas of the government of the Federal Republic of Serbia, and Iraq is his first post with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.  The Greek Ambassador, however, has worked for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of his country for several decades, and like the Romanian Ambassador (who was unable to stay for dinner this time), he is a seasoned raconteur. 

As Naz was putting the finishing touches on dinner, several of us enjoyed a glass of wine and were chatting, catching up a bit.  The Greek Ambassador was sharing stories from his long career living and working all over the world and how at one point back at the beginning he was offered a job with the US Embassy in Athens, which he declined as he had recently passed the exam to join the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) for his own country.  He then paused nostalgically, chuckled to himself, and shared a little witticism that was told to him many moons ago by a seasoned colleague.  He recounted a saying they have in Greece that not only do you have to be stupid to join the MFA, you have to take a test to prove it!

Ramadan Kareem!

We’re in the midst of the holy month of Ramadan (actually the name of a month in the Islamic lunar calendar, just like December or June) all across the region at the moment.  Well, all across the world of course, but it’s felt more acutely in this region where a large percentage of the worlds’ one billion Muslims live and which is the birthplace of Islam. 

It’s likely that you both know a little something about Ramadan, but I would wager it’s a bit less likely that you have experience with how the nuts and bolts of celebrating Ramadan really go down.  It really becomes important to know more when you work in a Muslim country or with Muslim colleagues whose work schedules may need temporary adjusting, or when one’s own attitude and outlook might need a bit of adjusting to accommodate colleagues who are perpetually hungry and often tired.

For Muslims of the world, Ramadan is one of the most highly anticipated times of the year.  Not unlike major holidays of all the worlds’ religions, greetings are one of the most common rituals.  Even in non-Arabic speaking countries with large Muslim populations (Indonesia, for example, the largest Muslim nation on earth) it’s common to hear Ramadan Kareem (basically have a generous Ramadan) or Ramadan Mubarek (blessed Ramadan), both of which are Arabic phrases. 

Beyond simple greetings, the one thing most people likely associate with Ramadan is the act of fasting, or sawm, one of the five pillars of Islam.  Like anyone, Muslims fast for a variety of reasons, but for the devout fasting is meant to bring worshipers closer to God through steady remembrance, reflection and sacrifice, similar to why Christians fast during the 40 days of the Lenten season.  Part of the requirement is to abstain completely from all eating, drinking, and smoking from dawn until dusk, every day during the lunar month of Ramadan (about thirty days).  Sexual intercourse is also forbidden during fasting hours, and Muslims are encouraged to refrain from gossip, arguments and idle time. 

Fasting anywhere and at any time can be challenging, of course, but this challenge is heightened in an area of the world where the heat is hot (did I mention it gets hot here?) and the days are long.  As the Islamic calendar is lunar, the months of the year “travel” throughout the year marked by the Julian calendar, so in some years Ramadan occurs in the summer here, some years in the winter, and in others everything in between.  When Ramadan began on May 5^th this year, sunrise was pretty early in Baghdad (a little after 5:00 am and getting earlier) and sunset occurred relatively late (a little before 7:00 pm and getting later). This means fasting would take place for just more than 13.5 hours each day (it doesn’t get much longer, either; the calendar day with the most hours of sunlight – the summer solstice, June 21 – has 14 hours and 21 minutes of sunlight this year).  If you were going to eat at all to manage your day, you’d have to get up before sunrise in order to do so or suffer an extremely long, very unhappy day until you could break the fast at sunset.  I suspect the first few days of Ramadan aren’t too difficult, but later in the month must be quite an ordeal.  Many of my colleagues report rising in the wee dark hours, pre-dawn of course, eating a big breakfast (suhoor), and then going back to bed for a couple hours before coming in to work, which must be a whole different challenge.  Obviously if you live in the southern hemisphere December would be the most difficult month for Ramadan, and if you lived at one of the poles, well then that would just be unfathomable if Ramadan occurred in the summer!

As with nearly everything, there are exceptions to these rules, so many young children, the elderly, the sick, and pregnant or nursing women are exempt from the rules of the fast, as are athletes competing in tournaments or people in the midst of travels.  I wonder how someone on the International Space Station would fare?

Each day at sundown – specific times for sunrise and sundown are determined by Islamic scholars despite modern science – immediately after the evening call to prayer (the maghrib), an iftar is held, which is the evening meal breaking the fast.  Many will use this opportunity for communal dining, and often organize iftars for students, travelers or the poor, as Ramadan is also a month for focused generosity and almsgiving.

The end of this month of intense prayer and worship is marked by a grand holiday, Eid al-Fitr, a day for gift giving and celebration.  Of course eating during daylight hours is now finally allowed, so on Eid families will often host elaborate feasts in parks, picnicking outdoors in the sunlight for the first time in a month.  I suspect relief accompanies these festivities as well, for I’m told it can be a long 30 days when one has to work and conduct all the normal business of a modern life when even a sip of water or a single almond or date will violate the fast during daylight hours.  My local colleagues tell of a non-Muslim American officer from some time in the past who was intrigued by the idea of fasting for a month, and decided to take on the challenge in solidarity.  Evidently he made it into the first day before he couldn’t take it anymore.  It must be quite a challenge indeed.

Baghdad Today

When I meet people who know or learn that I am living and working in Baghdad, the response is a nearly universal mixture of concern and curiosity.  I always explain the living conditions we have as diplomats in a post-ISIS conflict zone, and tell of my ability to get out beyond the wire and the basics of remaining safe in such a zone.  I hope that, if nothing else over the past year, I’ve managed to convey that while the country and city is certainly in a difficult transitory period that may last years or decades, it is vastly different (better) than it was just a few short years ago. 

Do residents of Baghdad live just as they once did twenty, thirty, forty years ago?  No, but who among us citizens of the world do?  Is it completely safe?  Is danger lurking around every corner, causing stagnation and the cessation of “normal” life?  Also no, to both.  And while danger does exist, so do many of the signs that the city is returning to something akin to normal, albeit in fits and starts.  Where the international community can, we try to give the Iraqi people a hand in moving forward.  Progress may be slow, but progress does, in fact, exist.

I conclude with this small anecdote to illustrate the point: 

A few months past I was talking to a colleague who had served multiple previous tours in Iraq with the US military, and who was now in his fourth or fifth tour here, this time as a security contractor.  He was describing the road linking the Green Zone in city center and the airport, once called “Route Irish” and an extremely dangerous route in the years after the invasion of 2003.

Routinely the site of roadside bombings, drive-by and random shootings, as well as suicide bombings at checkpoints along the route, my colleague compared what he experienced and saw back then (around 2006) to today, here in 2019.  Back then, International Coalition military vehicles would make contact with fighters and IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) along the entire route, starting immediately within the first 100 meters after leaving the airport. 

Now, as we drove that same route together, we passed working water fountains and underground sprinkler systems watering the grass in the median, and young men in yellow reflective vests, not suicide vests, picking up trash all along the route.  He considered the difference thoughtfully, noting “It’s really good to see” this progress.

Indeed it is.

Until Next Time

Back in April, I had a fantastic final R&R to Dubai, Portugal and finally to Spain where I met up with the entire Team and some good friends, but stories about that wonderful adventure will have to wait until we can sit down together and break some bread or share a nice bourbon.  Give a call, we’ll see about getting together.  We’ll be living in the same apartment outside of DC from prior to my departure to Iraq, so let us know when you are in town and we’ll make it happen.  Would love to see either of you when you’re here visiting our nation’s capital.

Given that the next 10-11 months of my life will be solely spent in training, I won’t be providing Foreign Service updates until the time comes to PCS for Istanbul.  Once we arrive in Turkey, be prepared to be regaled with tales about the boat “Hiawatha,” which was once owned by the Consulate in Istanbul and still provides excursions out on the Bosporus for Consulate employees; and how the old Consulate General building (now a swanky Italianate hotel in a thriving district in the European side of the city just across from the Golden Horn) was “won” in a game of poker.  Seriously.

In the meantime, enjoy your northern summer or southern winter, stay in touch, and be well.  We are happy and healthy, and hope you can say the same.

Working visit to a 9th century Abbasyd school in Baghdad
with my friend and colleague Mohanned.

Working with Public Affairs colleagues for a TV interview
given by the Consul General at a
local five-star hotel in Erbil.

(Total coincidence that I'm wearing the same shirt.  These photos were taken months apart!)

-30-

The opinions expressed within are my own and not those of the U.S. Government.

Please do not disseminate widely without permission.

Riding in the newly liberated old city of Mosul, December 2017.
Award winning photo by Salam Musa of Baghdad.

November Missive

A Missive from Mesopotamia

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Welcome! / mar-Ha-ba! / مرحبا!

October is upon us, and up here in the northern hemisphere that often means shorter daylight hours, cooler temps, changing leaves, and post-season baseball.  We can watch the post-season ballgames here on Armed Forces Network, but it’s tough to watch live given the time difference, although I can sometimes catch the last few innings of a game with my morning coffee, if it was a night game.  (Being a Milwaukee boy originally, I was up at 400 am to watch the Dodgers ruin the chances for the Brew Crew to get back in to the World Series.)  And while daylight hours are shortened, there aren’t too many leaves to change (palms don’t drop orange and red fronds to the ground), the temperatures are still high, and we have seen only about five days which were not bright, cloudless sunshine.  If the weather app on my phone is accurate, today will be the very first day since my arrival more than 130 days ago with a high temperature under 100 degrees Fahrenheit:  99 today and 98 tomorrow, and then back up over 100 until next weekend.  Later in the month we should see highs only in the 80s.

Time to break out the parka!

Baghdad from the air.  When traveling to and from the embassy, we take a helicopter (!) to the airport and back - 

and I was facing out to the side THROUGH AN OPEN DOOR.

This is the Tigris River with a power plant in background.

The Tigris River and city of Baghdad.
You can see evidence of the heat from the rotors of the helicopter on the left side of this photo and the next one.

The Babylon Hotel on the right bank of the river is directly across from the embassy compound.
I see this hotel from my apartment window.

A blue-domed mosque nearby as we prepare to land.

The Wedding of the Century

I had one condition upon accepting this job in Baghdad back in January (leaving aside the fact that I actually had no leverage upon which to make conditions):  Of course I needed to be able to return to the US for the big day – The Wedding of the Century.

There are innumerable reasons why I consider myself to be incredibly fortunate, extraordinarily blessed.  One reason in particular in relation to this life and career path I’ve chosen is that I have had the opportunity to be home for important family events.  Some of my colleagues, particularly those in the military, are not so lucky to be able to return for major holidays and life events.  So far I have two university graduations and now a wedding under my belt, and I will remain forever grateful to my colleagues for supporting my time away from post at these critical moments. 

I was among hundreds of family members and friends who invaded the small town of St. Peter, Minnesota in late August to join Jenna and Tommy on their big day.   It’s hard to imagine events surrounding the wedding and all the supporting activities going more perfectly, in large part due to the efforts and planning of Jenna and her family.  Their meticulous planning and hard work over the many months prior to the wedding all came together smoothly, and with basically perfect weather on the big day, meant a nearly flawless event.  Maybe a napkin was folded improperly, or a flower lost a petal or two, but if that happened I didn’t notice, and I don’t think anyone else did either.  Everything about my time back in Minnesota was perfect.  We were able to see and spend time with so many friends and family members, and we had more fun than should be allowed under the law.  What a blast.

If you were there, thank you for your support of Jenna and Tommy, and for spending your time with us.  I certainly appreciate it, and am certain they do as well.  Thank you.

Bachelors, Beers and Bogies.

Meeting up with his brothers from BUD/S after several years.

All the duffers at the 19th hold.

Rehearsing.

Rehearsing.

The Team picked up a 'ringer.' 😀

Cousin, Grandma and Aunt.

Aunt Amy, Uncle Eric, Cousin Danny, and Grandma.

Three Mrs. Panettis.

The Best Man and his gift - a broken paddle from
BUD/S, signed by their crew.

Everybody’s Working for the Weekend

Big hair, headbands and cut-off t-shirts of the early 80s rock band Loverboy notwithstanding, it’s basically true amongst all of humanity that we work to live, particularly for the weekends, rather than live to work.  Or we should, anyway.

But how does one define a weekend, anyway?  And was it ever even up for debate?  It turns out this part of the world doesn’t follow the same ‘rules’ about silly things like when a weekend should be, actually.  In Islam, the holy day (or gathering day, as described by the Prophet Muhammed) is Friday, as opposed to Sunday in Christian religions and Saturday in Judaism.  Even though our embassies are part of the US federal government, the bulk of our employees at embassies around the world come from the host country, and so therefore we often follow local customs and traditions when it comes things like this.  Here in Iraq, our workweek starts on Sunday and ends on Thursday, and the weekend is Friday and Saturday.  (Although some countries in the region designate Thursday and Friday as the days of rest, and some have adopted the Saturday-Sunday structure.)  This can create some confusion when dealing with Washington, where of course everyone follows the Monday to Friday workweek, but mostly everyone just adapts and it works fine.

Seems obvious to observe that not every country or culture in the world practices the same rituals or behaviors, but perhaps the two of you never thought about the weekend being different before.  Admittedly, I understood Friday to be the holy day in the Muslim world prior to my arrival, but never gave much thought to the practicalities of how it works before.  Like NBC says:  “The more you know.”

Iraq is a Muslim majority country, of course, and some Muslims practice pretty strict rules when it comes to interactions between men and women.  Knowing that, what happens when an American male (or really any adult male) is formally introduced to an Iraqi Muslim woman in a professional setting?  More practicalities I never gave much thought to before.  The answer to this seeming conundrum is actually quite simple:  just take the lead from the woman.  (What a novel concept!)  At the time of introduction, if the woman reaches out to shake hands, then of course reciprocate.  If she prefers not to shake hands, she’ll place her right hand over her heart when saying “nice to meet you” or what have you, and includes a slight bow of the head.  In such cases the male should simply do the same.  It happens quickly, but all one has to do is pay attention and follow her lead.  The same is true when taking leave at the end of a meeting, for example.  Often men will do the same thing even after shaking hands, after the greeting or leave taking is complete and the hands have been shaken, the right hand goes to cover the heart.  It’s really quite a nice gesture.

My part of the United States isn’t particularly diverse, as you might know.  (2010 US Census data indicate Minnesota’s population is about 85% white, 5% black, and 4% Asian, with the balance made up of two or more races, other races, Native Americans and Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders.)  Of course like the country as a whole Minnesota is becoming more diverse as time goes by, but nonetheless it hasn’t been particularly common in my part of the Twin Cities to see many women wearing hijabs or other culturally appropriate garments for Muslim women.  Here in Iraq, of course, it’s much more common, as you might expect.  However, it’s inappropriate to paint the entire region with the same broad brush about culture (or anything, really), meaning that many women in Iraq choose not to wear the hijab.  Some of my Iraqi colleagues do, and some don’t.  In riding around the city, I have seen some women wear the niqab (like a hijab but with the more complete face veil), others not; some men wear the dishdasha (ankle length robes), some don’t; some men wear the keffiyeh (a scarf warn atop the head) or other head coverings, some don’t.  Even the words for them are often different based on the country or region.  Like Christianity and Judaism, Islam is monotheistic but not monolithic – each country, each region, each family has its own practices based on a whole host of religious interpretations, historical factors or individual ethnicity or preference.  It’s just the way it is.

If you remember your world history or comparative religion courses from college (or whatever), you’re likely familiar at least a little with the Five Pillars of Islam.  These are the five basic tenets of Islam that the faithful practice, if they are able, and are the foundation of what it means to be a Muslim.  The first (shahada) is a declaration of faith, simply stating a belief that “There is no god but God (Allah), and Mohammed is the messenger of God (Allah),” the essential element in declaring oneself a Muslim.  The second (salah) consists of prayer, typically understood as the five daily prayers.  Third is the act of charity or almsgiving (zakat); if a Muslim is able they are obligated to ease the economic suffering of the less fortunate.  Fourth is ritual fasting (sawm), which is obligatory, if one is able, during the month of Ramadan in order to seek nearness to and forgiveness from God, and to show gratitude, atone for sins, and remember the needy.  The fifth is the pilgrimage (hajj) to holy city of Mecca, which Muslims are to do at least once in their lifetime, if they can.  As in culture or just about anything else, other than agreement on these basic tenets, Muslims belonging to different sects will have different names for them or different practices, specific to their sect or region.

We don’t go live and work representing the United States in foreign lands in order for everything to be just like home; such an expectation is really just silly.  There are many things about living in a Muslim-majority country that might be quite different from the United States, but with security the way it is in a mostly post-conflict, mostly post-ISIS nation, it can be difficult to observe personally.  But culture doesn’t stop at the entrance to our compound just because we have a wall here.  Sound, for example, wafts over the wall, reverberates off the buildings and throughout the embassy grounds daily, and I don’t mean the just the sounds of traffic.  There are several mosques in the Green Zone and nearby to the embassy, and of course historical practice and ritual in Islam is for the muezzin to sing out the call to prayer from the minaret.  Modern life means mostly this is done via pre-recorded song over a loudspeaker, and so five times each day we can hear the haunting, beautiful adhan, or call to prayer, reciting fairly standard phrases such as “God is great, there is no god but God, Muhammed is His messenger, and prayer is better than sleep.”  There is variation in what is recited, but it’s fascinating to hear as we walk to lunch at noon or home at the end of a long day.

You know by now that the majority of employees at any embassy come from the host country, and so obviously they bring their culture with them to work daily.  Our embassy has a prayer room for the devout to use, although it can be complicated to go there since it’s a big compound and can be quite far away from whatever office a person is working in.  So occasionally, I’ll see my faithful colleagues lay out a prayer rug in a semi-private space and perform their daily prayers and rituals, of course facing Mecca as is the rule (since we are actually just north of Saudi Arabia here, prayers are actually performed facing south).

Culture is a powerful force everywhere you go.

The World is Complicated

We all have stories to tell.  And what is history if not stories?  They are really a basic building block of human relations.  Here are a couple of stories that I find worth noting.

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It should be clear to you both by now that the local staff who work for the US Embassy in some countries take calculated risks to work with us.  Almost all of my colleagues here with whom I’ve had this discussion have said they generally keep this association very close to the vest, not wanting to invite unwanted attention (at the least), suspicion, or threats.  ID badges are concealed, paths to and from work are circuitous, and security precautions are diligently followed.  One local colleague recently told me that, even though she has been with the embassy more than ten years, neither her spouse nor her father knows the details of her work, and in fact they don’t even know she works for the embassy.  Just imagine that for a moment, and consider that the work she does is not particularly sensitive to US or Iraqi national security or anything, and yet this devoted employee comes to work and does exemplary work for us every day.

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Sadi was driving a cab in New York, so the story goes, on 9/11.  As an Arab-American, he felt humiliated that the terrorists were Muslim, and he felt a need to do something.  He heard that the US military was looking for linguists and cultural advisors, and he left his family behind in New York to serve in Iraq.  A Palestinian-American and heritage Arabic speaker, he worked as a cultural and political advisor to US Army Brigadier General Frank Helmick not long after the Iraq War began in 2003.  Shortly thereafter, he became a linguist and advisor to David Petraeus, then a major general in the 101^st Airborne.  He has returned to Iraq multiple times since then, due to his invaluable skills and history advising the military and civilian leadership of the United States.  He and I struck up a conversation one evening over cold beers (this seems to be a pattern), and he shared story upon story from his time working side-by-side with Petraeus and others throughout his long history in Iraq.  I tried to buy him a beer but instead he wound up buying me one, and then he proceeded to launch into joke after joke, most of them inappropriate for this family show, but ultimately rather funny given the somewhat surreal circumstances in which I found myself.  Sadi is a unique character, and by all accounts is able to bridge the divide among the various sects and political parties here in Iraq, all of whom evidently will take his call even late at night.  I believe we are quite lucky to have such people on our side.  Perhaps we would be well served by his skills back home at this point in history.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Years ago, “Hamza” fled his home due to violent conflict in his country and was living in a refugee camp in Saudi Arabia.  He is a Muslim, but more secular than not, and occasionally drinks alcohol (incidentally, the word alcohol likely is of Arabic origin).  Living in a refugee camp can be incredibly difficult, boring yet dangerous.  To pass the time and find a way to entertain themselves in a country where alcohol is generally prohibited, he and his friends pulled a “Hawkeye and Trapper” and built themselves a still where they made their own hooch.  Problems developed when their source material, cologne containing alcohol, began to run low in the camp and attracted the attention of the authorities.  It didn’t help that his friend, probably the less bright among the group, made miscalculations causing the entire thing to explode, exposing their operation.  Not so funny at the time, they laughed about it now when retelling the story over cold beers on a warm fall evening.

Hamza later immigrated to the United States, resettling in a major northeastern city.  He recalled to us with a certain amount of wonder how, not long after his arrival in the US, friends invited him out on the town.  Shortly after leaving his apartment, he stopped short and wanted to return to his room since he had forgotten all of his immigration papers.  His comrades all laughed at his naïveté, for he thought there would be checkpoints along the way, or that random police officers would stop him and ask to see his papers as routinely happened in his previous life.  His pals had been in the US longer than him, and of course knew that such things didn’t really happen, and even it were to happen, the consequences would be few since he was, indeed, legally in the country, and therefore free to generally go where he pleased without interference.

The world sure is full of interesting people.

What’s Next?

Perhaps you recall that I’ve written about the somewhat crazy, always puzzling, occasionally opaque, and sporadically transparent process we in the Foreign Service go through for acquiring our next job.   The short summary is that we have a computer application which shows every single job in the world, both overseas and domestic, and if searched correctly, one can see which positions are available at which point in time in the future.  The trick is to search for jobs one is qualified for based on one’s current title and rank, previous experience, and future plans, and then actually apply for, interview for, and receive an offer for that job.  It sounds an awful lot like finding a job in any marketplace, I suppose, and in a sense of course it is.  And once an FSO has reached the mid-level or above (basically the third tour and after), we are no longer directed into positions by others and essentially have to go through all the effort of finding an onward assignment by ourselves.  Every two years or so.  It’s a stressful process; exciting sometimes, but stressful.  Imagine:  The world is your oyster!  The possibilities seem endless!  But sometimes, depending on lots of factors, you wind up with a Rocky Mountain Oyster instead. 

My job here in Iraq is a one-year tour (May ‘18 to May ’19), and I accepted the position in this high threat post (we call them PSPs, or Priority Staffing Posts, which are in places like Iraq, Pakistan or Afghanistan, or not actually in but covering the issues for Libya, Syria and Yemen) without a linked assignment.  Links occur when officers agree to a PSP job, and before they’ve even left for that job have secured the job after that, precisely because they agreed to work in a tough place.  It’s a controversial practice for a number of reasons, but in my case I didn’t have the opportunity for a linked assignment due to the timing of my position becoming available, and so I came here without that security.

There are a number of other benefits to taking a PSP job, but for me the priority was to be able to do the job I signed up for seven years ago, and to do it overseas.  All FSOs know that we are generalists and will certainly work outside our chosen field on occasion, but I had yet to work in my chosen field (Public Diplomacy) since I took my oath, and this was that chance.  My second priority was to be able to find a follow-on assignment that I liked, doing interesting work in PD and in a place I wanted to serve, based in part on the fact that I volunteered to serve in a PSP job, despite not having a linked assignment.  In my case, I had the promise only of “the possibility of an early handshake,” which meant that if I went through the process of finding a job I liked, and getting post and the associated bureau back in DC to agree to hire me for that job, they “might” agree to give me a conditional offer (what we call a handshake) in advance of when the official handshakes are publicized.  Formally, this was my only advantage in the bidding process, that “possibility.”  Unofficially, I hoped that having volunteered for a PSP job would carry some weight with the decision makers, but this is not quantifiable and can’t be known in advance, and obviously is only really helpful if I’m actually doing a good job while I’m here.

So I went through the process of looking for my next assignment like a normal human being, seeing what jobs were going to be available at the right time in the future, calculating the amount of time needed for training (language and the like), contacting the person currently in the position, later contacting the supervisor of that person, contacting decision makers back in Washington, preparing my Foreign Service resume and associated documents, finding people to write letters of recommendation, and on and on and on.  (Recall for a moment we do this every two or three years.)  The standard bidding season, as we call it, starts in mid-September (for those of us who transfer from post to post in summer months), and officially ends by the last week of October when official handshakes are offered, roughly five weeks total.  However, to make the process work to my advantage, as much as that was possible, I started laying the groundwork way back in April, seeing what jobs were available, contacting people to make my name known, assembling references.

About a week prior to when bidding season opened, I had what I considered a solid list of options, in places that fit my criteria, and for which I felt I had at least a decent chance of getting a handshake.  We’re supposed to bid on at least five jobs, but no more than ten.  My list included ten PD jobs in places such as Helsinki, Warsaw, Reykjavik, Tirana (Albania), Bishkek (Kyrgyzstan), Rabat (Morocco), and Maputo (Mozambique).  The Deputy Public Affairs job in Bratislava, Slovakia was our top choice for lots of reasons, and we were really hoping that my experience and our connections (yes, it’s now often about who you know more than anything else, at least to get a look-see) would give us a good chance at this job.  One by one jobs began falling by the wayside as a post would find themselves a solid candidate, and then email me with the news that yes, I was a strong candidate, but “we found someone we like better,” or a variety of other scenarios.  The day before bidding season actually opened, I still had several posts from my list in play and had received some positive feedback from them, but knew they were very competitive and so I needed back-up plans in case none of them panned out. 

Then on the day bidding season officially began, a new job popped up on the list that I had not known would even be an option.  No one did until that day.  I immediately contacted the appropriate people and made my desires known, and then the waiting began in earnest.

Once the season officially starts, candidates for those jobs have to dance the delicate minuet of deciding how much attention to pay to those whom we are courting.  A lot of attention to the right decision maker can be helpful to your odds; a lot of attention to the wrong decision maker (those who are annoyed by being pestered) can kill your chances.  The reverse is also true.  And of course it’s unlikely that candidates will have any idea which decision maker is either irritated or flattered by the amount of attention a candidate gives.  The hardest parts to me are not knowing how much attention is the right amount, and the waiting while not knowing how the machine is churning behind the scenes.

I interviewed for several positions, felt they went well and that I had a solid chance for at least one offer, which of course is all you need.  October 1^st was the first day early handshakes “could be” offered for those of us eligible.  The day came and went and October dragged on with no email notification of a handshake.  I vacillated between wanting to email people to check on my candidacy and sitting on my hands waiting.  I talked to or emailed people who are more senior and who know more details about the process, and practiced a lot of deep breathing.  Days went by and still no news.  Just then I took a chance and inquired with Bratislava, our top choice:  No dice.  Needless to say we were disappointed, but this was the game.  I immediately contacted another post to let them know that their open position was my top choice, and I would be very pleased to accept if they offered a handshake.  Lots of emails and text messages with my best girl about what to do in case I didn’t get a handshake at all:  What would we do then?  Where would we consider?  If we cast our net into tougher places (most of Africa, for example, or another PSP post), would a handshake be easier?  Should we consider DC again?  Is that what we really wanted?

October 29^th was approaching, which was the day official handshakes (distinct from early handshakes) could first be offered by the various bureaus back in DC.  (The bureau and each post work together to make decisions but the bureau makes the formal offer.)  Strong hints had been given (in particular one euphemistically, and unofficially but universally known as an “air kiss”) and I felt confident – but not too confident, that’s the ‘kiss’ of death, haha – about one job in particular (the one no one knew about originally), but still the waiting went on.  Four days before official handshakes would first go out, I received the email I was waiting for:  An “early” official offer of a handshake.  (Not complaining really; early or not I did get a handshake, after all.)

I immediately replied with my acceptance, and so now when I’m done with this tour in May 2019, I’ll head back to DC for a year of language and other training in anticipation of a two-year tour (with an option for a third year) as the Cultural Affairs Officer at the Consulate General in Istanbul, Turkey.

We’re pretty darn excited!

R&R #2

It seems like it’s been months since I’ve seen my Team.  Probably that’s because it’s been months.  Over the course of this one-year tour, I calculated that I’ll only see Kate for about four or five weeks total, and the kids even less.  This is one of the reasons such posts are tough, but of course we knew all of this going into it.  Some folks have it harder, particularly my military colleagues.  But FSOs get three R&Rs from Iraq, and number two is coming up next month for me.

Really looking forward to being able to celebrate the handshake for our next tour with my girl in Germany and Austria while hitting all the Christmas markets in Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Munich, Salzburg and Innsbruck.  And of course drinking all the glühwein, too!  Then I get to spend Christmas in Paris with my Dishy!!  Also some friends, and they are important and all, but … Christmas in Paris with my Sophie!!  J

I wish Tommy and Jenna would be able to join us, but the stars haven’t aligned for us this time.  Maybe for R&R number three in the spring we’ll be able to have the whole Team together again.  Already looking forward to that.

Until Next Time!

Well, if you made it this far and haven’t yet fallen asleep or lost interest, I thank you.  Sorry to have put you through all the rigmarole of the bidding process, but on the flip side if you read it all and now know where we’ll be from June 2020 on, you’ll have a place to stay and a Turkish-speaking guide!  Can’t wait for you to join us so we can share some tea, dolma, sarma or döner kebabs together!

All things considered, we are doing well, despite the separation.  We hope you can say the same.

US flag at sunset on 9/11/18.
Consulate General of the United States,
Erbil, Iraq.

The opinions expressed within are my own and not those of the U.S. Government.

Please do not disseminate widely without permission.