Missions change all the time here. Trying to coordinate them and keep track of who is going where is like herding cats. Almost on a daily basis we make numerous phone calls, send countless emails and arrange convoys of trucks for transportation to this place or that place just so that we can get Iraqis and coalition forces to talk to one another. We attempt to use things like video teleconferences (VTC) or phone teleconferences to avoid a lot of unnecessary travel, but nothing replaces face to face interaction, especially in a culture where your word is more important than your signature.
Planning meetings in Iraq is very similar to planning a family reunion. First, you have to find a date. It has to be a time that you’ll get the best turn out and won’t interfere with Uncle Tony’s back waxing our your nephew's trombone recital. Then you have to find a place to have it, making sure that it is available on the date you want (more importantly, that it will accommodate your rowdy relatives). Then comes the food. Are you catering this thing, or is Aunt Ethel bringing her famous apple ambrosia? Then, you send out invitations and wait for RSVPs, hoping that your family knows what those initials stand for. After everyone has responded, you focus on transportation and lodging. Will your cousin from Po-Dunk, Idaho bring the family in their 1974 Winnebago? Who will house your crazy sister and her flavor of the week companion? Then, when everyone gets to the event, what activities do you have to keep the relatives from just getting drunk and screaming at each other? Horse shoes? Croquet? Lawn Jarts? Maybe you ought to find some activity that does not involve potential weapons.
Now, to give it an Iraqi flavor, let’s complicate the date by adding a thousand other commitments. Can’t do it this day because General So-n-So has a briefing. Can’t do it that day because the WNBA cheerleaders are going to be town at the USO. Locations for meetings are hard to come by because despite the US and Iraqis “helping” one another, neither one trust the other enough to allow free access to each others bases. Feeding this gaggle is tough because you have to take into consideration the different cultural quirks, not to mention that it’s not as easy as calling the pizza place and have them deliver 10 pies and couple of two liters. Domino’s doesn’t deliver in Baghdad? What’s up with that? Now, for those of you who don’t know it, an RSVP is actually a French abbreviation for “respond please”. Want to completely confuse your translator? Tell him that we American’s occasionally use French words and see the odd look he gives you. Some trips require overnight stays due to the distance that must be covered. There are no Red Roof Inns or Ho-Jos in B-town. And if you think that your inebriated Aunt and Uncle don’t get along, then you’ve yet to see how the “cordial” interactions between different departments of the Iraqi military, police or government can sometimes lead to gun play. Speaking of guns, everyone in the meeting will either carry one or they will have 6 of their homies in the next room who have more weapons than the A-Team (although their rides won’t be as cool). I pity the foo who starts a heated argument in that gathering. And did I mention that we’re in a war zone, where roads are littered with IEDs and mortars fall like explosive bird crap? Yeah, that tends to complicate little get-togethers.
So, as I am writing this, the fluid environment that we swim through is getting choppy and the mission we’ve been working on for the past week is changing. We’re jumping through hoops to make it happen because frankly, that’s what we’re expected to do here in the world of headquarters and staff. It’s not a glorious job, but neither is herding cats.
In other news, all operations in our section came to a screeching halt this morning by the presence of an intruder. Somehow a stray cat got into our building and was traipsing around like he owned the place. In a matter of a few minutes, a slew of field grade officers were in hot pursuit trying to grab him or shoo him out. At one point it got stuck between a desk and a wall and he hissed like a cobra at anyone who tried to retrieve him. Once free, he ran into the chief of staff’s office to hide behind a file cabinet, followed by a horde of “cat herders” who were determined to catch this thing. Eventually he was shown the door, but not after 15 minutes of crazed excitement in the building.
Like my boss says, “You can’t make this stuff up.”
The picture of the four legged interloper. He looks like a relative of P-Cat, but with a little more spunk.
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