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Living in Iraq
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Editor's note: The 152nd Maintenance Company of the Maine Army National Guard arrived in Iraq in April where members are engaged in security missions and maintaining engines and other equipment. Soldiers were asked by the Portland Press Herald/Maine Sunday Telgram to submit their observations about life at Camp Liberty. Specialist Sri Lausier of Portland gave an in-depth look into her mission, life at the camp and her thoughts of Maine so far away. Her letter is reprinted here in its entirety. I will be celebrating my birthday on Friday the 15 and will be a 27 year old female who has been living in Portland for the better part of 7 years. I am a full time student at USM working on my BA in Physics with a double minor in Math and Chemistry. At least, I was before this deployment, and plan to pick up right where I left off upon my return home. I was also a part-time bartender in the Old Port at a couple of the establishments on Wharf Street. In my adolescent years, though I lived over an hour away in Waldoboro, I traveled to Portland faithfully 4 or more times a week after school to dance at the Maine State School for the Performing Arts. I was in the corps de ballet with Maine State Ballet, and danced at Merrill Auditorium for several years (the mid 90's) in ballets and other performances such as the Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Don Quixote, and the Best of Broadway. At that time I went by Sri Dhyana Williams, and though I am not technically a Portland native, it has always felt like home to me. You can imagine my excitement when my platoon leader, LT. Pantalone, told me that she would like me to write something for the Portland Press, my hometown paper. I am in Baghdad, Iraq, and to tell you the truth I (personally) can barely tell the difference between this place and Ft. Bliss, TX where we spent about 2 months training up to come over here. It is hot, sandy, and there are soldiers everywhere I go. The job I have been assigned for the time being is Force Protection. Basically I am a sentry in our FOB (forward operating base). I am what people call a Fobbit, because I never leave the "wire." That is to say, I stay inside the FOB at all times. If there is a place where 25 or more soldiers or civilians can gather, we have to safeguard it. In a way this is a somewhat meaningful job for some of us considering we lost 3 soldiers from our unit in the chow hall incident in Mosul just before Christmas. We are the ones doing our best to ensure that nothing like that happens to us or anyone else again. It is, however, a fairly thankless job. Most soldiers don't like it when you tell them that they can not enter your facility with out their weapon and proper ID, and the civilians, contractors don't always appreciate being searched no matter how graciously you do it. But these are the measures we can and must take to ensure everybody's safety. This sounds all too easy. I am a 140 lb girl, but with all of my gear on, I tip the scales at over 200 lbs. That's right ladies and gentlemen the ballistic helmet, and vest with plates, M16, and full basic load of ammunition weigh over 60 lbs. Outside all of this gear it is usually about 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. I don't know how much hotter than that it is inside that vest, but suffice to say that it is hot. We usually work 12 hour days, and I am on the day shift, so I get to stand outside all day in all that gear for the better part of the heat. It has not rained since the first week we were here in April, and it's not scheduled to rain for a few more months. There are plenty of rumors going around about what will happen to us during the rest of our tour, but as far as I (a specialist) am concerned, there is no telling until the time comes. I don't put much stock into the rumor that says we will go home early, but what we will do is a total mystery to me. Working 12 hour days in the heat 6 days a week doesn't leave a lot of time for many other things. LT Pantalone tries to get us as much additional time off as she can, so it's not always that intense. I personally spend most of my free time running, biking, and studying calculus and physics so I don't forget what I was working on at home. Exercise is the only stress relief around here for me. We are more restricted here than I personally ever have been. There is no partying going on around here. We joke that if its fun, it's against the rules, and if it's not, it will be tomorrow. We live in huge trailer parks and trudge through loose gravel everywhere we go. Home is a 6 person trailer with no bathroom, running water, internet or comforts of home. There are 3 rooms per trailer and 2 people to a room. These rooms came with 2 beds, 2 wall lockers and 2 night stands. We have community bathrooms, they're trailers too. Taking a shower during a sand storm is almost pointless, as you are as covered in sand and sweat when you get back to your room as you were when you left your room. I usually walk back to my room with my towel over my head as though it helps. Water trucks sometimes spray down the roads to try to keep the dust down, but that doesn't really do much good either. There are palaces and lakes to run around. The lake closest to where I live is about 3.5 miles around - a distance I am quite accustomed to running that reminds me of the Back Bay. There is one big hill to do my hill sprints on; it reminds me of Munjoy hill. At the top, you can see for miles and miles around... trailer parks, the airport, then the wire, then the outside world... Baghdad... I have made some good friends here that do go outside the wire on patrols, raids, and other missions. They share their experiences with me as much as they can. Last week a friend received something like 300 soccer balls in the mail. I helped him blow some of them up so he could give them to the kids while he was out on patrol. Though I can't meet them and see their smiles first hand and hear them call out "mista! mista!" I can still help put the smiles on their faces and give them some warm fuzzies on some level. That's a good feeling. Life here is surreal. Webster's definition is having the intense irrational reality of a dream. I know that 7 months ago when I said the words war zone I was usually using them to describe what the bar looked like at the end of a Friday or Saturday night, or what my house or my car often looked like after finals were over. I joined the National Guard 5 years ago to help pay for college, but never really imagined that I would one day find myself in an actual war zone. But my commander in chief called for my assistance, and here I am defending freedom, a thing many of us take for granted all too often. I can honestly say, I miss my hometown more than I ever thought possible. I miss running and biking around the bay in the spring time, and flying my kites in the parks. I miss surfing and playing at Higgins and Pine Point. I miss the peaceful, sunny afternoons in the shopping and arts districts, and Sunday brunch on the hill with my friends. I miss Guinness and pub fries at our fine Irish Pubs, and Sunday afternoon football games with the colorful locals who will share their life stories with you in trade for your own (but only during commercial breaks and half time). I miss our cobblestone streets and the chaotic crowd that covers them after dark with their rambunctious antics; and maintaining patience with them and a smile to boot, even when they get a little out of hand. I miss the quad lite-mocha soy latte that the little fish coffee shops so graciously made for me with a smile, and the local clothing retailers that would pick a new outfit for me when I was feeling indecisive. I miss the fish chowder and buffalo wings. I miss crisp autumn days that mean the start of a new semester. I miss the parking bans (believe it or not) for the pure and simple reason that they mean snow and lots of it (though I am sure you are perfectly happy to not have to think about those again for at least a few months). I was with you all in spirit during the Old Port Festival. I miss the sunrise with the salt air and seagulls. Portland, Maine and the greater Portland area hold every ingredient required in the recipe for making a happy girl. In short, I guess you could just say I'm homesick for Portland, my home town.
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