Baghdad Tragedy

Last week started out as a good social week, but ended on a sour note, punctuated by the fact that I missed the only chocolate shipment that has come in since my arrival. Quelle tragédie!

The only problem with my social activities is that they all conflicted with my kick-boxing class, to which I am trying to be loyal, if only to interact with people who do not want a visa from me!

I was invited on Wednesday night to the Green Zone Cafe by a Lebanese-American for whom I had facilitated the issuance of a visa. He and a number of his friends were going to break the daily fast at this restaurant, which boasts a real Lebanese chef. I cannot explain what it was like to sit in an actual restaurant, eat food that was especially prepared for us, and not placed out cafeteria style for all to pick through. Of particular note were the desserts--none sweet like we tend to like in my family, but all tasty.

The Green Zone Cafe was destroyed last year by a suicide bomber, as the picture demonstrates. The owner has rebuilt, and customers are coming back. Unfortunately for him, during our two hour sojourn there, he was given notice by the Iraqi government that he will have to vacate the property. It turns out that rents inside the International Zone are approximately $16,000 a month and many private business owners are being squeezed out. I’ve not heard what has happened in the intervening days, but my host was busy calling all his contacts to keep the restaurant open.

After dinner, I watched “Battle for Algiers” at the invitation of a USAID friend. The movie is set during Algeria’s struggle for independence from France in the 1950s. Parallels to our current occupation of Iraq are impossible to ignore—although I would guess that the independence movements through Africa in the late 50s and early 60s make for better comparisons. It is a pretty smart movie compared to what we get these days from Tinsel Town, and I would recommend it without reservation.

The very next day I was invited to the Bunker Bar. It is run by RONCO, a U.S.-based demining company, and one has to be escorted by a RONCO employee to enter. I have a sneaking suspicion, though, that women would be welcomed sans escort! I followed the rules, and went with a RONCO employee that I know from Rwanda. He is Ugandan by nationality, but Indian by ethnicity. It just happened that one of his bosses was in town, and was a person with whom I had exchanged emails, but never met. We got along fabulously, and were both surprised when the last call bell was rung. Can you imagine me, closing out a bar! I must be desperate for intelligent conversation. The crowd at Bunker tends to be a little bit more international, and they work in sectors that have an immediate impact on the quality of lives for Iraqis. That being said, I did not meet a single person all night who actually did any demining...hmm!

My sour note began the next day. I had been invited to dinner at another Embassy, not to be named. A friend there sent me an email, stating that a number of people had cancelled and could I invite a few friends, specifying women. I suddenly felt like a pimp--it did not matter who they were, only that there were females around with whom to interact. I also realized that I actually don’t know that many women--only two work in my building, and at parties, each woman is surrounded by a group of men, making it impossible to meet them. It is not an environment in which I thrive—I’ve actually had a person walk away mid-sentence, after mentioning something about “my husband”. Mid-sentence. IZ urban myth has it that every man is lying about his significant other status. This male-female dynamic is not unique to Baghdad, but I am not normally at the center of it. Little do they know what a waste of energy I am for them—I’ve already told my host from the foreign Embassy that I do not intend to bring women to his parties. The joys of cross-cultural communication.

Now, the real tragedy. I saw someone walking out of the PX (military store) on Friday night with M&Ms. This is a rare sighting, since with the temperatures as they have been, no chocolate has been imported. The M&M owner said the first shipment of chocolate had just arrived. All night I thought about my trip the next day to the PX, where I could peruse my favorite candy bars, stock up for any potential dry spells in the future. Arriving Saturday around lunch time at the PX, I was horrified to see two empty shelves. I asked my PX buddy Art where he was hiding the candy. “All gone, ma’am. Sold out almost immediately”. I think I must have fainted right there. When I came to, he was offering me one of the Snickers Bar that he had bought from the shipment. What a gentleman!