Baghdad Beautiful

Waiting for the flight, Cass wondered if she was making a huge mistake. What if they weren't waiting for her at the airport, she didn't even know where the villa was located. She couldn't exactly take a taxi. And she didn't have a local phone though she heard mobiles were working in Baghdad. Did she have any dollars? Would they bring a phone for her? What if they didn't send security? She found herself gnawing on her cuticles as anxiety mounted. Then quickly sitting on her hands as she realized what she was doing, and god knows what bacteria was on them from the airport.

A man in pristine white robes swished by and she studied his headdress but didn't know how to tell one nationality or tribe or sect from another, though she knew that each had their own way of wearing it. And how did they keep their dishdasha so white? She couldn't keep even khakis clean, she always seemed to be a little dusty.

Then a woman in full cover came walking three steps behind him, completely covered except her eyes but wearing fabulous sandals. She loved this shit. Seeing those so different, she was enamored of them all. A Filipino nanny, herding three little princes in their tiny dishdashas, followed the covered woman closely. She pitied the nanny as she tried to control the kids and the parents ignored everything except for giving the nanny dirty looks and short commands.

She realized again that she belonged in the fray, where history was being made. Her friends didn't get it; they thought it was the adrenalin. Frankly, she could do without the war. It was the walking into a meeting with those in the news. But she struggled with being part of something that went against her principles. Was she complicit by being there? No, she was trying to be a voice for change.

She thought about that morning on the treadmill in the hotel gym, she watched BBC news as she did a fast walk. She had figured it might be her last exercise for some time so grudgingly she made it to the gym before breakfast. She was watching helicopters flying Arafat out of Palestine on BBC, it wasn't clear if he was dead or dying. When she looked out the hotel window in front of her and saw the same exact formation of helicopters. Holy shit, she was watching the news as it happened as she glanced back and forth between the TV screen affixed to the treadmill and out the window. That pumped her up; she couldn't wait to run back to her laptop and IM her friends in Iraq and Kuwait.

Then she realized the airport speakers were droning about a gate change and momentarily panicked as she thought she heard "Baghdad". But the gate where she sat still listed the flight though no one was waiting for it. Then she noticed a couple of tough looking guys smoking and lounging across several rows of seats. No one could sit near them as they had army green duffels taking up seats she noted disapprovingly. Besides no self-respecting Arab woman would sit that close to a man.

They wore tracksuits with tight t-shirts and some kind of military boots. And they all had very short hair, almost shaved but their faces showed facial hair so they'd been traveling for a bit. This wasn't the standard Iraq expat security uniform. She listened closely and sure enough they were speaking Russian or some Slavic language. She could pick out a few words. That was her major embarrassment; she wasn't fluent in a single language other than her native tongue. She so envied her friends that could switch off and speak four and five languages, like Dany. French, Dutch, Spanish, he had even picked up a fair amount of Arabic. She knew that she hadn't gone to schools that focused on language and growing up in middle class America surely didn't give one much opportunity. Then when her friends went into the foreign service and took jobs that gave them language training, she refused to be tied down and just floated from place to place and job to job. So she always got a smattering of local language and then moved on without ever perfecting it. She was determined to stay somewhere and really learn the language and Arabic did appeal to her. Maybe Morocco but that wouldn't be a classic dialect.

But the Russian guys again caught her attention, these guys were something else, they reminded her of skinheads she'd seen in Eastern Europe. Then as she watched one of the guys stand up and haul his duffel over his shoulder, she realized, they were mercs and also going to Baghdad. She tired of the American perspective that all security guys in Iraq were mercenaries and of explaining that most were decent well trained former military guys that protected aid workers and diplomats and did not go on the offensive or mistreat Iraqis. But these guys were something else, maybe cheaper than the British and American security personnel. Maybe going for special operations, but certainly not military, as this was the only commercial flight currently flying into Baghdad. They boarded with Cass as the RJ flight finally got called. She watched as they refused to put the duffels overhead no matter how much the South African flight attendant begged them.

Then they began the corkscrew descent to Baghdad International Airport, BIAP in expat jargon. She'd been warned about the landing but she still felt her stomach lift, her temples and her mouth get wet like when you know you could be sick at any second. She knew it was an evasive maneuver to avoid being shot at by a missile, rocket or whatever, but at that moment, fear hit. What the hell was she doing? Flying into Baghdad when everyone else was being evacuated? Between the Fallujah uprising and the Sadrists in the south, the country had moved into all out chaos in the last few weeks.

But as the plane straightened out and landed, and the South African pilot announced a cheery arrival, her fear dissipated and she looked eagerly out the window thinking, well immigration should be a breeze since it's only me and the skinheads. Oh and one blonde obviously American guy that had kept to himself much as Cass did, choosing to sit far from the few others on the plane. That was one of her favorite past times, Name The Nationality. She remembers sitting with some Brits and Aussies, maybe it was in Malaysia on a really hot day. They bet all day on nationalities of passersby. The loser had to buy the beers. She had gotten quite good at it. Checking out the mannerisms, glasses, shoes and socks. All told you something of where the person came from. She had prided herself then on being a challenge for those in the game. While she looked as all American as one can be, her clothes, shoes, glasses, bag, all came from elsewhere. Then the piece de resistance was her ability to turn off her facial expressions, the smile always gave Americans away.

The inside of BIAP was eerily quiet. How often has one been in a quiet airport? The mercs had carried their gear and quickly left after immigration. Only the American guy stood near the baggage carousel. He moved over to her and after looking her up and down said "who are you and what the hell are you doing here?" Cass's anger surfaced immediately replying "working, what the hell are you doing here?" It felt like the big man telling her this wasn't the place for a woman. He said," I'm Erik, I own a security company". Oh, so he belongs here and who announces they own a company, she thought peevishly. He went on, "Lion's Roar, maybe you've heard of it". She almost laughed then, heard of it, most of the world had heard of them since they had their personnel strung up on a Baghdad street. The word was they sent untrained guys on a mission with no maps or weapons. She knew how to put guys like this in their place, so she responded witheringly, "seems I've heard of them". Then realizing she was missing an opportunity, she went off about how his guys had drawn weapons on her in a safe zone as she had blacked out windows on the vehicle she was driving and if they treated everyone the way they treated her, they were causing more problems than preventing them. Oh and they had a turret on top of their house in Baghdad and it was cause for great consternation to their neighbors. He just looked at her.

Then she heard her name being called and realized with relief that her new employer had sent a team to collect her. She joked with the guys asking how they knew she was Cass in the empty terminal. Then looking around, she realized there wasn't a team to collect Erik. She immediately ran back to the carousel and sweetly offered him a ride into Baghdad. She knew he'd say no. And she also knew that eight men might be fired for being late to get the boss man, especially now that she had rubbed it in, but she couldn't resist knocking him down a peg. What the hell was she doing there indeed?