Great Illusions/Delusions and Insomnia

Ever have one of those nights where no matter how tired you are, no matter how much your body cries out to sleep, you just can’t seem to grasp it? I am having one of those nights.

It is a little after 3 A.M. on the morning of our new flight plan. Tomorrow we leave for Amman. We will not arrive until the next day sometime around 10 A.M., which is about two days from now. Anticipation, trepidation and good old curiosity hang thick in the air. I can tell that the others are up as well, but none of us dare intrude; we are too deep in our own thoughts.

And Scotty is piss drunk.

People deal with emotions in very different ways, and if drinking your thoughts into oblivion works for you, I say go for it!

“Don’t leave.” I turn and stare at my best friend and ex-boyfriend. His eyes are pleading with me. I thought he had gone to sleep long ago. After meeting up in Richmond, which is only a short drive from D.C., it was decided the group would stay with Wes at his home, instead of grabbing a hotel. Now I am rethinking that decision. I am rethinking a lot of things.

I merely stare at him. He knows that in the morning Scotty, Brandon, Jay, Mickel and I will still leave for Amman and, ultimately, Iraq. He, and I, also knows there is a good chance one, if not all, of us will not return. But I can’t think like that; if I do then death is almost certain.

“Hey, you know me, I’m carefully stupid.” He shakes his head and pulls me closer. I kiss his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth and he smiles, though I know he is still not happy. I can feel his eyes still watching me as my mind begins to wander. For the most part I think about everything I packed. I go over the list again and again making sure I have everything. Leaving for another country, a country that is very much deep in war, is frightening enough, but finding out I didn’t bring enough of the only type of soap I will use, or lotion I love, or any other crazy life necessity that cannot be found in said country, and suddenly everything is beyond bad.

As a woman in Iraq, I will have to be polite and respect their views of women and how they should dress and act, even if I do not agree. That said, I have brought plenty of conservative clothes. Most women in Iraq dress extremely conservatively. I doubt I will go that extreme. For example, a very conservative woman might wear a long black garment called "abayah" that covers her body from the shoulders down to her feet. Under this cover she could be wearing a traditional Arabian dress in full body length with long sleeves or she could be wearing the latest style from an internationally known designer. In addition to the abayah, a very conservative woman would also wear a face and head cover while some others would not.

I will not go that far, but I definitely will not disrespect the people by wearing shorts, skirts, or anything else that is revealing, which will include tank tops and short sleeve shirts.

Along with the correct type of clothes I have also brought about 50+ bars of soap as I doubt Dr. Bronner’s is sold at any retail outlet in Iraq. Next is sunblock. As I have said, I am a cracka’. Meaning, I am damnnnn white. I glow under black light.

Literally.

Back to the list. I have wet wipes, gum, hair scrunchies, lots of toothpaste, and about 20 2Gig cards for my camera, along with a laptop and transfer/card reader, so we can dump all pictures onto the hard drive and upload them onto a server when and if we have a good enough internet connection. This way we will definitely have backups. I also brought 3 SLR cameras, 2 crummy digital cameras and my Canon EOS-1D Mark II with a broad array of lenses. This is my baby.

Cigarettes, the international form of money. We each brought around 20 packs knowing that these would serve as our best bet for gaining trust and acceptance into certain areas.

Finally I brought some reading material. As I am limiting myself to 2 bags, at most, I had to keep my book selection was limited. Thin paper backs won out above all else.

Next stop, JFK. From there we will fly to Frankfurt, and finally we will arrive in Amman. Our hope is to reach Iraq by the middle of the week, Thursday at the latest.

Despite all my anxieties, I slept fairly well on the plane to Frankfurt. When sleep evaded me I thought about what lie ahead for us. What would we really end up doing? I knew what Scotty wanted to happen, but wanting something and actually getting it are totally different things.

Brandon, Mickel and Jay seemed just as nervous, especially Jay. I could only imagine what must be going through his mind. This will be the first time he has gone back to his home since he left back in the 90’s. I know all too well how hard it is to return to a home that often does not want its inhabitants to leave. Russia always give my family and I trouble. I do not doubt Iraq will react in the same manner. Remember, dictators think alike.

Mickel has a wife back in California. She is 4 months pregnant. She is also very upset about Mickel’s decision to join us; I would be just as mad. Brandon has a girlfriend of almost 6 years waiting for him back in Seattle. Their relationship has been rocky, but they always seem to find one another. I say he loves her, but he will never admit it. Maybe this trip will give him that push and he will discover his true feelings.

Scotty, on the other hand, is passed out. He drank himself through the first part of the flight, nursing his hangover from the previous night. I smile as his head lulls to the side, coming to a rest on my shoulder. The smile slips from my lips as he starts to drool on me, and my cashmere sweater.

Oh hell no…

I pull my shoulder away and snap it back into place, effectively ramming it into his forehead. Oops, he woke up. Doesn’t look too happy either. No skin off my back.

A few hours later we are in Frankfurt. Our flight has been delayed and we now have a three-hour layover. We are only a few hours away from Amman, Jordon, which will serve as our point of entry into Iraq. My mind is bustling with activity as it attempts to figure out what I have exactly gotten it into. First and foremost I imagine a country that is severely in the depths of chaos. There will be exhausted Iraqi’s whom are weary from the war. And then there will be the American soldiers whom will be battling a mixture of emotions. I know if I was a soldier I would feel as though I was an alien placed in a whole new world. I would be tired of the heat, the constant fighting, the bickering, the fear—not only fear of attack, but of everything around me—tired of always being on guard.

Images from the news only reinforced my beliefs of what I thought I was about to see. I expect to immediately see burned cars, bodies, and tanks chassis’ along the sides of the road. The heat would obviously be unbearable. The people would be despondent about their ruined, war-laden country, however they would remain strong, insistent that Iraq was still salvageable.

Questions also flitted through my mind.

Who would I trust?

How will I photograph and take notes and write about everything that I see when I know that I will want nothing more than to close off and react as any human would when placed in this position: to protect yourself. Fight or flight.

At least with CIVIC we had some level of protection. The people knew we were not there on some religious crusade or to even save them. We were simply there to try and make their daily lives better; to stop the growing mortality rate. Above all else, we really were there for the children.

It is midway through our flight from Frankfurt to Amman that my mind really starts to spin out of control. I can feel myself slowly slipping away, trying to escape what it believes is my maker. I wish I could tell myself not to worry, that everything will be okay, but that would be stupid and I would only be feeding myself a lie. Instead I stare out the window and attempt to even out my breathing. My eyes close momentarily as the words of my monk friend float over me, effectively calming me, acting as a balm to my frazzled nerves.

If only Jerry was here with us, after all, no one would hurt a monk.

Actually, no. Not Jerry. If only those kung fu monks were with us. Now that is protection.

We head toward the dying light that is slowly rising from the horizon. A stunning band of orange, red and yellow slowly dissolves into the indigo sky that stretches into the great beyond. Banks of clouds roll past looking like immense waves that freeze solid the moment they crest.

Despite the calm that the sky shows, there is a lot of turbulence and even more apprehension among the people of the plane. We watch in agony as the emergency light blinks on and off next to the emergency door. The pilot comes on over the intercom and suggests we “buckle up.” A moment later the plane suddenly drops. My stomach drops with it.

We don’t fall far. But the hush that falls within the cabin is enough to show that everyone is just as afraid as the next person. The pilot doesn’t even try to explain.

One of the flight attendants comes and fiddles with the blinking light. She smacks it hard with the palm of her hand. For a moment it turns off. The entire cabin exhales a sigh of relief. But our joy is short lived as the light re-illuminates.

Great.

The flight attendant shrugs, gives everyone a smile and returns her attention to the soft drinks she was attempting to serve.

Luckily nothing happens.

I was lucky and was able to fall asleep for the majority of the flight. When I woke up, Scotty was in the bathroom puking—the attendant had refused to give him any more liquor. I turned and stared at Brandon, Mickel and Jay. The three were cuddled together, sleeping. Too bad all my cameras were packed otherwise I would have definitely taken a picture.

Outside it is murky. There is a beautiful crescent moon just above us, its silhouette etching through the overcast sky.

With all its serpentine streets and boulevards, the city looks like a nest of asps that has been set on fire. It is an extremely beautiful and exciting vision. We land and queue up at the cambio for some Jordanian Dinar. The American dollar is weak no matter where you go. It's .70 Dinars to the dollar and 10 JOD for a visa into Jordan.

We are asked no questions at passport control. The nicely coiffed guard is more intent on stamping our passports with the right amount of desk rattling force, it seems, than knowing our business in Jordan. This strikes me as more than a little strange. Traveling from California to Washington, D.C. we were asked more questions, and we are all American citizens. Somehow this system seems a little off.

As we arrive at the baggage claim an army of red-jacketed boys greets us. They offer to collect our luggage. Jay does not answer (I think it is because he is nervous) and I am left to tell them no. They all agree, however, not a moment later, one of them -- Kahtaan -- shows up behind me with a cart and so much swaggering cheeriness that I break down. We don’t need to be killed or thrown in jail just yet.

We end up giving him 6 JOD for getting us through customs so easily. Supposedly the guard is his uncle. We simply roll past. Kahtaan also helps us arrange a taxi ride to the Shmeisani district. Our hotel it is conveniently located across from the Shmeisani Safeway Shopping Center, which comes complete with Internet cafes.

The moment we leave the airport and get our first real glimpse and smell of Amman, we all recoil. All of us except Kahtaan.

Kathy Griffin was right when she said this place smells like a fart.

My god.

As we finally lie down in our beds, we hear the cry of the muezzin. It must be 11:30 in the morning (1:30 A.M. in California), but again, I can't sleep. After so much planning and waiting, we are here at last. My mind is racing, however one thought is prevalent among all else.

I have never been as scared as I am right now.