Graveyard of old T-Walls

Among the most ubiquitous things on a U.S. base overseas are security barriers. They range from the lowly sandbag wall to the low, but more stout Jersey barrier to the massive T-Walls. They're used on our bases, out in town to protect Iraqi neighborhoods - everywhere. In fact, the concrete wall-building industry is one of the biggest industries in Iraq right now.

Hesco barriers. A frame of wire and cardboard filled with sand. These are portable, easy to put up and you just add sand. They're better than nothing, but certainly not ideal.

Over in a far corner of our base - so close to the edge that you can look over the wall into a Baghdad neighborhood - is a place where T-walls go to die. Or at least to wait. Most of the early T-walls are about five feet tall and built with long horizontal bases. These served lots of purposes, but they were far from perfect, and were less than ideal when it came to force protection - see my post on the rocket shrapnel that hit my trailer. The military decided, perhaps to the taxpayer's chagrin, but definitely to our relief, to build tall, vertical T-walls that reached up 12 feet or more.

T-walls of the larger variety. These have become such iconic symbols of life in Iraq that generals give miniature replicas out as departing gifts to their subordinates.

But though the trend is moving towards the larger T-walls replacing everything, there are still tons of other kinds around. Many folks have taken to decorating them. At the Baghdad International Airport, there's a row with a T-wall painted with the flag of each of the 50 states, and signed by soldiers from those states. Some of the drawings are crude, but most are elaborate and well-done:

A close-up shot of the previous one.

This one is at the base you enter and leave through in Kuwait. I hope this will be the last T-wall I ever see.

Another one from Kuwait.

Here's a T-wall from the airbase in Qatar.

Back in Iraq, the Military Police do a good job on their T-walls.

More T-walls over at the M.P. compound

But, as I said, T-walls outlive their usefulness at some point. With the Hesco barriers, it's easy. You just dump the sand - which they do over on the golf driving range - and then send the barrier frame to be recycled. T-walls, however, are a different problem, hence the graveyard:

It's not exactly China Lake, California and B-29s, but these desolate remnants to our military past will be a reminder long after we're gone of what it was like at the peak of the war. Walking to lunch one day, an Army captain friend of mine nodded to some of the barriers we passed on the way.

"What do you think will happen to these things when we're gone," she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe they can lay them on their sides and use them for road beds. Or for canals," I said, not too convincingly.

The truth is, there probably isn't any good use for them other than making walls, and hopefully, Iraq will one day get to the point where walls aren't all that necessary anymore. Still, they're big, they're heavy, and there here, and they will likely still be here for generations - if not centuries. Kind of like the Marsten Mats I kept running across in France that were left over from D-Day, T-walls will endure long after the American military is gone.

The Green Zone

A little while back, I had the opportunity to travel to the International Zone - better known as "Green Zone" - in the heart of Baghdad. The former home to Saddam's government, it now houses most of the foreign embassies, many new Iraqi government buildings and many reconstruction programs.

The place certainly is befitting its name. As I stepped onto the grounds of the former presidential palace, my eyes were greeted by a stunning and unexpected surprise - grass. Tons of it. And green too. For someone whose trod on nothing but sand and rocks for the last few months, it was a stunning sight to behold. I wanted right then to just rip off my combat boots, run out into the brilliant, inviting green stuff and...frolic. Maybe jump in it and make a grass angel, like a snow angel.

(Here are some of my photos. So many of the green zone's locations are off-limits to photography, but I figured if CNN can do live shots here, I can take a few photos at this spot.)

The green zone has a lively, decisively non-war lifestyle. Civilians in suits walk around along with contractors in T-shirts and jeans. There are Iraqis everywhere - working and even living in the Green Zone. There's a pool, where military and civilians take a dip to cool off of the brutal afternoon sun. The shops are also nicer, and you can get everything from hookah pipes to belly-dancer outfits to leather holsters for your sidearm. They also have a few artists, and for a small fee, they'll do you up a traditional Arabic hunting scene. They could probably put you in it too, like Lawrence of Arabia.

The nightlife is also pretty busy, although I didn't get to experience much of that. They have parties and such at the pool and there used to be something akin to a bar, although I could never verify whether it was shut down to make the Iraqis happy or got hit by a rocket. One of the two, I'm told.

For much of the duration of the insurgency, the Green Zone has been an area of relative peace and calm within Baghdad, although it got hit multiple times in March and April. Things have gotten quiet now, and when I was there, the alarms only sounded once - for a shot that missed.

Among the sights you see in the Green Zone is this strange tree, which has brilliant red flowers growing on it. I noticed this while walking when I nearly stepped on some of these flowers which had fallen from the tree. Then I looked up and was stunned to find that they did in fact bloom right on the tree.

Back in the old days, of course, Saddam Hussein had his image everywhere, such as the above likeness of himself as an Arab warrior (picture from the Internet, not mine). Of course, like Lenin and Humpty Dumpty, Saddam had a great fall, and now his statues lie in an equipment yard, where I found them, facing downward to the earth where he now dwells:

I'm not sure who this guy is, but somebody clearly didn't like him any more than Saddam. They painted his eyes and mouth the color of blood:

Many of Saddam's palaces and government buildings are now in use by the coalition, but others are used by the Iraqis. Some are ruins. This one took a few too many cruise missiles:

Finally, my tour of the Green Zone complete, and with visions of the lovely green grass still floating blissfully in my head, I climbed back aboard the Rhino for the trip back to Camp Victory:


A few of my photos along the way. It's hard to be a tourist and watch for vehicle-borne IEDs at the same time, so these were quick and not particularly aimed:

Fishing in Baghdad

There's really not all that much to do for fun around here. There's a movie theater - movie room actually - but I've only gotten to see half of one movie in nearly a year here. There's the MWR, but there's only so much to do there.

As you learned in my last post, this complex is practically teeming with fish, and naturally, I have been taking advantage of this opportunity as much as possible. There are at least a dozen lakes, multiple canals and lots of little pools. All of these were intentionally stocked by the Ba'ath Party folks to give the elites of the old regime a place to relax.

Naturally, all of this is still here. Some of the infrastructure is crumbling. Many of the elaborate aqueducts and water lifts and piping are damaged or abandoned. Algae and weeds proliferate - especially in the summer when they bloom in the ever-present sunlight.

And in this environment, the fish live and thrive. As you saw in my last post, the Saddam Bass - the aggressive breed of carp that live over by the palace, grow to very healthy proportions indeed. Elsewhere, the fish are generally smaller, but in a few areas, they're actually bigger. One photo that's going around via email shows an Army Sergeant man-handling a massive fish whose head alone is a foot long, and when stretched out, is as tall as he is. That fish was caught at Camp Slayer, a few miles away. Judging by the hefty fish-hanging hooks left over from the old antebellum days (below), there used to be a few of those around this base too. Most of the giants, however, are gone or too crafty to be caught by the likes of me.



I generally go fishing with my friend Chris, who is a Marine Captain from Montana who works with me. Here he is trying his luck on a pond on the Northwest side of the base. This particular spot was not too good for us. We saw a couple of big ones - leaping out of the water to catch a bug or swimming close to the shore in a clear area. But they didn't bite.

The fish, it seems, are very smart, and since these waters are so full of pollutants and bacteria, Americans only play catch-and-release with them. Thus, many of the bigger fish have likely been caught more than once and thrown back. Perhaps they learn. I would.

The Camp Victory fish seem to have very little interest in lures. I've caught a few at a place called Lost Lake with them, but outside of that area, they simply don't bite. I've watched my lure cross right in front of the nose of a two-foot carp and he simply ignored it and kept on about his merry way.

So Chris and I have scouted out dozens of locations (Chris looking for a new spot above) and tried a variety of baits to get them interested. There are no worms in sand, so that's out. I've seen a grand total of about 2-3 lizards ever, so that's out. Chris even had his dad ship him two kinds of special bait from back home. Neither seemed to work.

What does work, as I learned eventually from talking to the old-timers around here, are pop tarts and bacon. This we grab on our way out of the dining facility after breakfast and then go in search of a good watering hole.

This was the first fish I caught, back in April.

Chris caught this fish by the Al Faw Palace. Directly behind him is the bridge where the "Saddam bass" (see previous post) go to feast.

Fishing should never be about catching fish unless you're trying to live off of them. For the most part, fishing is about getting outside, relaxing, taking your mind off of work and just watching the wind blow softly across the water and the birds sweeping by from palm tree to palm tree. Chris and I generally talk politics or history. Very rarely do we talk about work or the war.


Fishing is also a good excuse to visit parts of the base we never see. This place is so big, and has so many hidden spots, that even though I've been here for 10 months, I haven't seen 75 percent of it. Going to work, or the gym or the chow hall, you just kind of see what's on your way. Walking around, looking for fishing spots, we find some pretty interesting places. At one hole - which a British soldier had pointed out to us, we found a small golf driving range. But this wasn't your ordinary range. A few spots were set to tee off and the targets were in the middle of the lake.


The first target was a small platform about 3 feet by 3 feet, set off about 15 yards from the shoreline. Jutting out from the middle of this setup is a small Australian flag. Strewn about the platform are about two dozen golf balls, testifying to the fact that some people can actually make the shot. I grabbed a club - not being a golfer, I can only say it was the kind folks use in sand traps - and tried my luck. I took a couple of practice swings, then dipped my hat into a chest full of golf balls and brought out a dozen or so. I tried and tried, but never could quite hit the island. A few of the balls came close, but plunked wide right mostly. Some skipped across the lake. One I hit so hard it skipped three times, then went right up onto the small island behind, slapped across the driveway and struck the small building. No one came out to look, so I was safe.


Out at a considerably-larger distance was another small island just like it, this one with a small American flag flapping away from it. Probably 50-60 yards off. As one might expect, the number of golf balls aboard this island was considerably smaller - two or three. I took a couple of shots at it, and seeing they were futile, then selected a driver and aimed my club at the tower over at Baghdad International Airport - about two miles off. I hit about a dozen balls and watched gleefully as they skipped across the water. With amateurish form, half the balls were duds, but one or two seemed to sail on forever. Didn't strike any airplanes, I'm sure, but it was fun.

Caught this guy with a pop tart. Blueberry.

This little fellow, I caught with Corn Pops.

I usually go fishing on Monday mornings, when I have a little time off work. Back earlier in the year, you could go fishing in the afternoons, but with the heat of the summer bearing down on you, you really don't want to stay outdoors too long once the sun climbs up to its mid-day peak.

One day, before things got too hot, however, I did go out and planned to stay around until noon. It was good to see the sun. Working nights, I never see it, and I need that Vitamin B. Or D. Or whatever.

It was a beautiful day with relatively low smog...for Baghdad. It was a pleasant, relaxing time: Helicopters flying overhead as I'm casting towards a small island holding a palace that was blown apart by cruise missiles in 2003. There's no action here now, but there are pillars of smoke rising off in the distance in Sadr City, and the sound of F-16s overhead give me a clue as to the cause.

The distant battle aside, it was a pretty calm and quiet day in my little bubble of a world. I was close to the wall and there was an Iraqi neighborhood just a couple hundred yards away. I didn't even have a watch to tell the time, so I just idled the time away blissfully until I heard the call to prayer from the nearby mosque. I knew then that it was lunchtime and packed up my gear. As I walked back down the powdery sand trail, I heard the Imam singing in his warbly tunes. He was calling on the faithful to pray and reflect on life. They were shuffling towards his mosque, and I was shuffling away. Sorry man. I just got done fishing. What better way is there to reflect on life?

Palace Wildlife, Part II

The Palace complex features a dozen or more interconnected lakes, canals and other waterways. Half the water in Iraq must be here. The largest of the lakes, however, is the one that surrounds the Al Faw Palace. Big enough to go water skiing on, it must have been some recreation spot back in the day.

Saddam Hussein's cronys who built this place also stocked the lake with a unique breed of very large, very aggressive fish. Specially bred, I'm told, they're called "Saddam Bass" though they appear to most off us to be some kind of carp. They range in size from the young about the size of your hand to monster adults the size of a human's leg. The larger ones are surprisingly large.


When you come to a particular spot along the bridge, the bass come running. That's because every day, around breakfast, lunch and dinner, the Americans come. Like Pavlovian dogs, the bass know what that means. I don't know if fish salivate. Maybe they blow bubbles instead. Either way, these fish are clearly excited.

A few of my friends - two contractors and an Air Force gal - feeding the Saddam Bass. Passers-by bring a variety of food for the fish - mostly cereal and bread. Like the geese of the Al Faw palace, the Saddam bass will eat just about anything.

The fish slowly circle, eyeing their benefactors on the bridge above. Occasionally, they poke their heads above the water and make a gasping sound, as if pleading for the succulent morsels of waffle bits, Corn Pops and Count Chocula. As excited as they become, you would think it nothing short of ambrosia that awaited them.


The food is thrown into the abyss and for a brief moment there is a tense, suspended air about the lake. Within a second, however, the still waters of the lake are transformed:

Leaping, darting, thrashing and biting, the Saddam bass tear into the precious few drops of food. The scions of a dictator's hubris, they are remoresless, brutal and violent. Breaching from the waters over the backs of slower fish, or shoving their way through the crowd like a grandma on a shopping spree, the fish zero in on the food.


The frenzy reaches its climax and the thrashing of the water is loud and constant. A lone goldfish - a foot long and sluggish - is swamped by the more aggressive Saddam bass, who push him, struggling, to the bottom, like the fat kid with glasses who perpetually receives the tormenting blows of a bully. The scene is so primitive, so viscerally brutal that first-time viewers are taken aback and stunned by the suddenness by which the placid lake is transformed into a scene from a horror movie. Pirannahs, one would think, might go hungry here.

Indeed, the very nature of Saddam's rule makes one wonder just what exactly these fish were eating before the Americans arrived. Did Saddam - whose favorite movie, by the way, was "The Godfather" perhaps feed these fish himself? Seeing the brutal carnage, one can imagine Saddam standing over a trembling, terrified minion who had displeased him. One imagines Saddam holding out a cigar cutter and asking for the man to stick out his fingers.

Haunting, disturbing perhaps, but that's the image that one of my friends called up upon seeing the Saddam bass for the first time. We laughed at the picture, but then the more we thought about it, it really didn't seem that improbable.

Either way, these fish are one of the most unusual and entertaining things in this dismal, dust-filled oven known as Baghdad. And as this diversion runs its course, we turn our backs on this acquatic "Lord of the Flies" and go back to work.

Random photos, Part III

Once again a few random photos...

Why does Saddam's architecture always look like a bad set design from a Conan the Barbarian movie?

A close-up over the window. This looks like a quote. Probably from Saddam, since nobody else is worth quoting in Iraq, apparently.

What in the world could be cooler than a concrete swan?

Except, perhaps, a concrete chicken...

This is the abandoned mosque on base. Something blew it up between the first time I went by it in October and now. Most likely a rocket, and it was probably months back, since we've had I think two rockets on the entire base in the last two months. Good work Jihad Joe. I think if you blow up a mosque you pretty much ruin your chances of getting into paradise.

The Rhino Runner making its morning trip. I've done this a few times, and fortunately, it was a quiet ride.

When we just drive around the compound, however, we use more conventional transportation: a Ford Ranger or Ford Explorer. The next few pictures are from a trip we made to another base also in the compound.

If you don't have access to a vehicle, there are bus lines.

The roads are pretty poor where they are actual roads. They're constantly working on them, and we often have to take a detour through sand. Fortunately, they've finished this section here.

But they aren't going to make progress if the Pakistani guy is sleeping on the job. To quote Blazing Saddles, "It can't be more than 114!" Actually, I checked about an hour later. It was 113, but that thermometer was in the shade.

Our truck, by the way can cool the air down with its A/C unit down to about 105 before it gives up.

Oh, those nice folks in the Army safety office really know how to give you nice happy thoughts. This sign reads: "Narrow Roads + Fast Driving = Death!" Thanks. Happy happy, joy joy!

On the other side of the wall, there's a billboard for the Iraqis, which is at least more inviting. Beautiful blue skies and clouds and a green blob of Iraq. I'm sure it probably says something like "Calling in the tip line and reporting evil men will make Iraq a happy place again. With fairies dancing and lollypop trees!"

A bunch of MRAP Vehicles. These are some mean SUVs. They crush lollypop trees.

Wind + ubiquitous trash + miles of barbed wire = a fenceline strangely reminiscent of a Mexican border town.

I say, anyone for tea?


Sorry, no time for it. These guys are about to go down IED alley with nothing but up-armored Chevy Suburbans. The next time you hear some politician going nuts about how much contractors make in Iraq, ask them if they'd like to put their faith in an up-armored suburban. When your gun turret is an open hatchback, you know you've got some serious intestinal fortitude to ride in one of these things.