Dust to dust

Temperatures are now topping 100 on a daily basis here in the 100 Acre Sandbox and stepping outside is essentially walking into God’s hairdryer. The heat is a jolt from the office because they are kept at icebox level, to the point where I keep a blanket, thin Nike hoodie and my LL Bean bedroom slippers at my desk.

Early this morning, I wished I’d had the blanket, because I did a 4-hour leg of work that was as boring as watching paint dry, probably because it was literally watching paint dry. One of the offices is being redone with new carpet and paint, and the freshly-painted door had to stand open for 24 hours. Since the office was one that required a security clearance to enter, someone had to guard the door as the paint dried. My shift was at 4 a.m. this morning; it’s been a long day! It wasn’t too bad but I’d worn capris and flipflops and my feet were so cold. I didn’t think to stop by my office and pick up my blanket. Man, I missed it, but overall the shift wasn’t horribly bad; there was a little loveseat and I positioned it where no one could get by me (like there was foot traffic at 4 a.m.) and catnapped.  

The dust storms are getting more and more frequent, too. Everything turns red and visibility stinks. We aren’t allowed to take photos on compound, but the dust storms have been bad enough to make the news, so this is what it looks like, except we don’t have motorcycles, although we do have a lot of people riding bikes and wandering around with grocery bags from the little store here. Due to the dust storms, we’ve had a couple of our flights delayed and we’re told it might happen more frequent this summer. Joy. It’s bad enough we can only get out of here certain days a week; now if we get a dust storm and the flight’s delayed, it really messes up travel plans.

Hopefully, nothing screws up my second R&R, which is only going to be a regional trip. Looking at a trip to Tunisia in August, which is completely the wrong month but the only option available to me. If the Star Wars tour doesn’t go, I’ll just hang out in Tunis for the whole time. Crossing fingers on being able to go. Travel, not just from here, has just gotten so complicated. 

When we’re not on R&R, we have to make our own fun. Today there was a beach party, although I am so messed up from the early morning shift that I skipped it. Last week, we had the most amazing thing ever in a macaroni and cheese cookoff. We have a cafeteria here and it doesn’t occur to me to cook, but there are some who do and about a dozen people entered variants of mac and cheese. Everyone was welcome to taste and judge, and my guess was there were probably close to 75 people who did. The winner was someone who smoked his. (Same guy who routinely BBQs for big parties.)

Not everyone is super social but they still manage to have fun in their own ways. Recently, I noticed someone had put up a notice for a dog that was missing. Since we don’t have pets here – just the occasional stray fox or cat, I moved in for a closer look and discovered that someone had posted a photo of a dog, saying the cute little dog wasn’t really lost, but the person who had posted it was the owner and missed him. It made me smile. I’ve no idea who did it, but obviously someone in this place has a sense of humor.

Sock Hop

At the beginning of March, American Airlines threatened to eradicate all my frequent-flier miles because I haven’t flown them in so long. Somehow, I don’t think it’s possible I haven’t flown them in a couple years, but whatever. My R&R had been canceled in January and I had a flight scheduled but it went kaput and to avoid losing the miles, I placed a $35 order from Walmart.

I felt there was a chance I’d have them by my birthday, and still I wait …

I ordered two bottles of conditioner, which was a mistake because of rules for shipping liquids. It was too much. Still, sometimes they slip through, but after getting a random refund from Walmart, I went to check the order and it appears it got turned around. Oh well, so much for that.

Because, though, nothing is ever shipped together, I am still awaiting a package of socks. These are not special socks; they were just socks enough to push me to the free shipping level. I really didn’t need socks so much as I did $35 in merchandise, and shippers have drastically eliminated things that they’ll ship to me, such as Junior Mints. No dice on candies, so I settled for socks. I think they have polka dots. As of Memorial Day, I have not seen these socks.

The socks, however, have seen the world. In checking their journey so far, they’ve covered more territory than a Flat Stanley. They started near Tampa, then ventured through Chicago, and Cincinnati before heading overseas, where they visited Bahrain before going to Copenhagen and Vilnius. Not finding me there, apparently they decided to head back to home, albeit not in a direct path. They’ve now meandered through their domestic stops again, but the last known update was on April 5.

Yes, life dependent on the diplomatic pouch is as glorious as it seems. I recently feasted on candy corn that had been mis-shipped to someone else; it was supposed to be chocolate. When the customer informed the shipper of the mistake, they told him to keep the candy and assured him he’d get the chocolate. (NOTE: this entire story has taken place in a fairly short time frame that started long after my socks went abroad -- long enough for the candy corn to be eaten, which, admittedly, didn’t take as long as it should have). It eventually arrived, but it was not only wrong, but the box was bashed to heck and had gotten soaking wet somehow. (It had been clearly marked “store in a cool dry place.”) So this is what we overseas put up with for a taste of home.

Hope springs eternal and I’ve just placed a Target order. According to their annoying little happy update messages, they (because there will likely be more boxes than items ordered, go green team!) are scheduled to arrive any moment but in reality, we lose track of everything once it gets thrown into a postal sack and onto a plane bound for overseas. The shipping history mutes; it’s like it’s circled to the dark side of the moon.

The bison's back

Still, one day, I will eventually get mail. It’s always a surprise because by the time the little automated “You’ve got mail!” email arrives, I’ve completely forgotten what I’ve ordered. It’s like Christmas all over again, except Christmas packages usually arrive well past the new year.

It will be a happy day when the socks arrive. (I don’t need them; that’s just how boring my life is right now.) They’ll almost double the number of socks I have, which, sadly has been diminishing. Baghdad is mean on clothes, and I’ve had a couple pairs bite the dust, including cute socks I just got in Belarus.

That made it all the more painful when one of my cool Belarus socks with bison on them disappeared on laundry day. The laundry is down the hall and I traipsed up and down, assuming I’d either left it in the dryer or dropped it, but I could not find it. I’d bring a lot of clothes, and I kept rifling through them, trying to find the little guy. No dice. I’d washed the sheets and convinced myself it had stowed away in the deep pockets, so I double checked there, but it still didn’t appear.

I’ve gotten better about not panicking or freaking out over stupid little things, and, as cool as these socks are, they are stupid little things and I just knew that the little guy had to be somewhere. I kept looking for maybe two weeks and he didn’t turn up and then I went on R&R. I mean, I live in a one-bedroom apartment. There aren’t many places to hide.

Finally, last week, I went to wash my sheets again and when I pulled up the bottom one, there he was. Static cling had gotten him. Guess I should order some dryer sheets.

On second thought, nope. They might wind up in Copenhagen.

Back from the islands

I’m baaack! Well, not quite, but, assuming the COVID test brings good news, I am headed back to Baghdad tomorrow. I won’t get there til Sunday, but I should be en route 24 hours from now.

 

This vacation has been utterly amazing. Logistically, it’s been a nightmare but the payoff has been worth it. After connections in Amman (where I had to get a second COVID test because the airline changed the requirement *that day*) Frankfurt and Houston, I arrived in Cancun on my way to Isla Mujeres. It was my first foray to Mexico, and what a way to go! I went to an event put on by Sam and Gina Densler, who organize music events. They’re nice as can be and have been doing this for years, but this one was a bit different than their norm. See their site: http://www.songwritersisland.com/may-19-island-showcase.html.

 

This show came about when Paul Overstreet, one of my favorite songwriters, had been stuck in the Caymans during the initial COVID lockdown and started doing what became  a Facebook “Sunsets and Songs” little low-key performance, with Julie Overstreet videoing him as he told stories about songs as the sun went down on the island. At some point, either he or his wife asked if people would be interested in attending a little beach show, or series of, and I thought why the heck not? In the end, it got switched from Cayman to Mexico and timed during a time where I could take off, so why not, right?

 

I went and had a blast. There were about 100 people there, and several of the couples were just so awesome to hang out with. I’ve never spent half a day in a pool, but I did there. It was just so relaxing. The people were so nice and the music and stories were just so fun to hear. I mean, I love the guy’s music so I was in hog heaven. The funny thing was, it seems everyone else had attended the little music events there before or knew the Overstreet family personally, whereas I was this random lone chick who showed up from Baghdad, of all places. As host gifts, I’d brought both the Denslers and the Overstreets flags that had been flown over the embassy in Baghdad and both sets were extremely grateful. I was glad because it’s kind of a weird gift, but my options were limited.

 

One afternoon, we had a pool party that was hosted by one of the daughters, Summer, who is in a band called the Chattahoochies. She was phenomenal, too – I told the dad she made some new fans. Her stuff is a bit edgier than his – he’s got “She Only Likes Me for My Willie” but she has “I Take the ‘O’ Out of ‘Country’.” I need to track down some of her singles, because I really enjoyed them. (See if you can find “Itchin’ for a Bitchin’, “I Dodged a Mullet” and “Talledaga 10” to see what I mean.) Another daughter, Sky (there are six kids total, but AFAIK there were only two there), also joined her sister in singing. It was fun to watch the proud parents during the kids’ performances.

 

When the event was over, I headed to Cancun for two nights and had gum surgery (for a mere $800) and went to Chichen Itza. Cancun wasn’t the destination for me – too Vegas-like -- but I liked the ruins. Living in Istanbul does that to you. I’d totally do the same event again, though if I did, I’d aim for Cozumel as a side trip next time, plus coordinate the dentist a bit better.

 

Next up, after a short visit to Tallahassee to see Mackenzie graduate from FSU (but not Jameis Winston, because we left a little early), Leila joined me for a bucket list item of the Key West Songwriters’ festival. I say bucket list item, but at this point, it’s a must-do annually – I had that great of a time. Now, I’m not a Key West partier, but I enjoyed the heck out of the music and atmosphere. I popped in on the free shows here and there – Jeffrey Steele was great – and bought tickets for one show. I’d bought them for Chuck Cannon, barely even realizing it’s set up as having three sets of performers doing an hour show each.

 

We’d found a store that was going out of business or something and had everything for $5, so we dawdled there and arrived halfway through the first show, Trent Tomlinson and Clint Daniels. We’d looked up everyone before hitting the show, but I pretty much forgot what all they had written because there were so many. Each set of performers played so amazingly well off each other. It was fantastic.

 

Chuck Cannon, who had the middle set with Tommy Simms, did a hits medley with most of his ones with Toby Keith plus “The Way You Love Me” and then went to some of his “I wrote this for me, not for others to record” stuff, including something about the fox watching the henhouse. It was great – quite a sing-a-long.

 

And did I mention the seats? I had bought them about an hour into the sale, and somehow I landed a table literally at the stage. At one point, I dropped my phone and was scared that, in trying to pull it back to me, I was going to unplug something necessary. We were so close that I could see a hole in the crotch of someone’s jeans. Leila managed to make eye contact with the middle performer of the third set and motion him for an autograph afterwards. I could see fingernails. It was just that close.

 

The third set of performers – Chris Tompkins, ERNEST (yes, that’s how he writes it) and Craig Wiseman – totally played off each other. ERNEST was freestyling off Tompkins’ stuff and Wiseman dusted them all. He was the “old man” of the group and had so many people record his stuff that he wouldn’t even let the announcer list them all – we would have run out of time before they even started! He did “The Cowboy in Me” (which Jeff Steele had also done) and “Live Like You Were Dying,” which had us all singing along. Tompkins had written (or co-written) Carrie Underwood’s hit “Before He Cheats” and it was pretty amusing to hear that from a guy who had a completely different range than Underwood. It was fantastic.

 

Since I have no idea what is on country music radio now, I hadn’t heard “Flower Shop,” which ERNEST had written (or co-written). Leila – or at least RJ – definitely knew this one, so Leila FaceTimed RJ during it. Then, after ERNEST came right over to sign an autograph for her, Leila FT’d her again and he was nice enough to say hi to her, which totally made her evening, as well as her mom’s.

 

Leila also embarrassed the heck out of me. I couldn’t get tickets to the Scotty Emerick/Dean Dillon paid show and hadn’t noticed there was a free show when I bought the Cannon tickets, so I missed my chance at seeing my No. 1 favorite songwriter perform. We went to the venue before it started, hoping to score a ticket, but at that point there weren’t any available. After venturing to hear some music at other venues, we circled back (Dillon and Emerick were on stage last that evening) and were appalled that people were LEAVING before those two performed. I mean, it was like, hello, this is DEAN DILLON. Yeah, Emerick is my favorite, but Dean Dillon is a flippin’ legend. Anyone leaving before that set should turn in their country music lover card.

 

But we still had no tickets, even though others had left. The security guards were really nice and at one point did this “hint hint” thing that the last performance was running a little late because the performers were having a drink in the parking lot before. Wink wink. I’m dumb, so I didn’t get it but Leila essentially drug me to the back – the guards had previously told us that when the show started we could probably hear it from there anyway, so I was for that. But I hadn’t caught on that Leila was dragging me for a photo op with Emerick. I was utterly mortified she did that and don’t even think I looked at him or said thank you (which haunts me). She just basically drug me over there, said could we have a photo and he took the camera in a failed attempt at a selfie before one of the nice people from BMI took it for us. (It’s hard to get three people of varying heights without a selfie stick, and I would shoot myself before buying a selfie stick.) I have no memory of anything else, other than making a comment about Emerick only having one beer or something like that. It really bothers me that I don’t think I had the presence of mind to say thank you – I didn’t even register that he’d walked away.

 

I did, however, park my butt on the stairs and listen to the show, which he opened with “Conchsucker,” a song Paul Overstreet, who had co-written it, had performed on Isla Mujeres.  Emerick told the ticketed crowd they were the "first to hear it" and I was thinking, "nope." I sat there the whole show, while Leila stood, star-struck, three feet from Rodney Crowell, who, for some reason, was also standing outside the venue. (She'd had no issue throwing me in front of my favorite writer but couldn't say hello to another who was in her personal space for the better part of an hour. Go figure.) What I could hear was a lot of fun, although some was overshadowed by the previous set performers spoken conversation going on right outside the doors. I wanted to tell them to keep it down because I was trying to filch a free concert, but it didn’t sound right.

So now that bucket list item is really on the “wanna do again and again” list. It was so fantastic.

There’s a method to it.

At work, our promotions are based almost solely on our evaluations, so there’s a lot of pressure to get them as perfect as you can, however you define perfect. They’re due on May 15, and theoretically, they shouldn’t start to be written until April 15, but that’s never the case. The pressure is so intense, people start in January or February, and some offices insist they are completed by April 15, which is really wishy-washy.

They are works of art, really, with polished writing that make a person sound so much better than the average bear, but we’re discovering that it’s no longer kosher to point that out. Sigh. What is the world coming to, really? Because these things carry so much weight, before they are finalized, they go to a panel of people who are only supposed to tell you if you’ve said something “inadmissible” but, to different degrees, give you pointers on how to improve. And this year, I’ve seen some really questionable comments that encourage parity.

One of the “inadmissible” criteria is: “Anything negative or pejorative about the work performance of an identifiable employee.

That’s all the rulebook says. I’ve now seen comments on two people’s evaluations that say things like “This person has the best work ethic of the 35 people in my section” and “This person shined at a job that would have overwhelmed others” as being “potentially inadmissible’’ because they “may be construed” as being “negative.” And on mine, I called my office “multifaceted and oversized” and was told that “was negative.”

Just. So. Stupid. Saying bacon is my favorite food doesn’t disparage pizza. It makes me so angry because for promotions, the people that read all these things will sort them into piles of high, medium, and low. Egads! Someone will be low! And then, as if that’s not insulting enough, they RANK the high ones. We don’t have 188 valedictorians. We have one No. 1, one No. 2, etc. (They do this because the people who divide into the piles don’t know how many people will ultimately be promoted. They could have 51 in the ”high” pile, but there may only be 36 people promoted; those panels don’t know that final number.)

And calling my office “oversized” is negative? Get real. It IS oversized. The taxpayer in me acknowledges this. It’s also not negative. And, you know what? If it is, so what? My office is not an identifiable employee.

I just feel like people are reading way too much into what’s in black and white and trying to inject things that aren’t there. It’s not like the evaluation says, “This person is the only one of my 35 employees that has a good work ethic.” But you know what, “work ethic” is not the same as “work performance.” Even that (which I’d never say) doesn’t fall in like with what’s inadmissible.

When I brought this up, I was asked how I’d feel if my evaluation was thrown out for that. I was like, bring it on. I’d take it to court because what was written absolutely is admissible.

 Seriously.

But my evaluation is done, thank goodness. I am scheduled to go out on R&R and I didn’t want it hanging over my head.

In celebration (not really) I took part in a couple of the drills we do here. This one staged a mass casualty car accident. In reality, we’d never have one of these in the location we did the exercise, but it could happen on the street outside the embassy.

Something I did not know about myself: I am a fantastic method actor. I was totally into it. For the first one (we did one for night shift and one for day), I had a hurt arm and was not cooperative patient. First, I stumbled out of the car and then, waiting on medical care, got agitated and tried to walk to the doctor’s office. Quite honestly, in reality, I can see myself doing that: I was mobile and conscious, and I knew where the office was. Why wait for help?

When they steered me back to where I was, I saw another “patient,” who was lying on a stretcher. I then turned it up a notch and flipped out: I started screaming "That's my friend! Cary, are you OK? Talk to me! CARY? Oh, no, she's DEAD! She’s dead, isn’t she?” Just over and over. The finally took me to the health unit (which wasn’t the one I would have walked to, so they were right to head me off at the pass!) and they brought her in, on the stretcher, at the same time I’d just gotten up to go back to be “examined.” I fell back down, crawled over to her and started tugging at her arm, begging, “Please say something, please talk to me.” It was quite a performance, and later she told me it was all she could do to not burst out laughing.

The next morning, I got to be the driver with two injuries, and I just faked massive pain. The poor guards, who are the first people on the scene, did such a great job and will probably never look at me again. They’d been told to keep talking to me and one asked if I had kids and I just screamed no but it couldn’t be more pain than this. I’d double up with pain and then just sob. I honestly have no idea how I did it.

Since the stretcher thing didn’t work out – I don’t know why – four people carried me to the transportation, which was a Bearcat. This was cool, because I have wanted to ride in one, but it was not a fun ride. Once they loaded me in – with me almost choking on my badge, for real, and getting a bit queasy, they shifted me to a litter and then taking off – slowly – but still over speed bumps. I honestly thought I was going to toss my cookies.

 

Finally,  I was brought into the health clinic and just kept it up. They gave me some kind of drugs (mimed this, I mean) and I asked (out of role) what would happen if I took it and the doctor said my mental state would deteriorate so I went with it. Gosh, it was so much fun.

They told me I was the best role player they’d seen! And I was honestly nauseous after it. It took about an hour for my stomach to settle down. But man, it was so much fun.

The illusion of cooking

 The 100-Acre Sandbox is a self-contained city. We have a power plant, a water facility, road construction and the like. In addition to those things you just have to have to survive in the middle of a desert, we also have some fixins of a much nicer place, like a couple of gyms, pools and a wonderful corniche where people hang out at lunch and after hours.

We have a couple of little stores, but they’re not really grocery stores. One has a limited amount of food for sale, but that’s mostly for stuff like Red Bull and Copenhagen, which seem to be hot sellers. They also have toiletries and an ever-changing variety of “Embassy Baghdad” clothing and lots of booze.

There’s really no need for grocery stores because we also have a cafeteria and two snack bars that have food available from morning to late in the evening. Last time I was here, there was food available 24/7 but they’ve cut back, but boy, there is still enough.

So far this tour, though, I’ve tried to back off a bit. First, I was pretty much sequestering myself so that I could focus on the degree, but I’ve now gotten into the habit of doing lunch in my apartment. Since the portions are sized for He Man Security Team Members, there’s generally enough for dinner, too. Plus, since I was essentially jettisoned from Minsk, I wound up with lots of staples left from there. I’ve been cooking, in a limited fashion, rice and lentils for awhile now and just eating on it as the week wears on.

I’m nearing the end of the stockpile, though, and I’m kind of sad. There’s more satisfaction in eating when you prepare it yourself, but it’s hard to justify buying ingredients when there’s a cornucopia right in front of you. However, the food’s pretty routine, especially after the six-month mark, which I hit on March 15.  Since the cafeteria is halfway across the compound from me, I usually just go to the snack bar, and their menu hasn’t changed since I arrived. Although there are cold sandwiches and usually a boxed salad available, the hot dish is the same for whatever day of the week it is. I’m good with Sunday – chicken sandwich (not even close to Chick) and Wednesday, “fried rice” day, but other than that … meh.

Some days are worse than others. Tuesday is some kind of chicken day in all the facilities and I’m just not a fan. But that’s the one night where one of the snack bars – the one that has a Fred Flintstone-sized Buffalo wing-like drumstick – has carrot and celery sticks. So far, if I’ve run out of Minsk food for the week, I’ve gone and gotten a cup full of them and then a soft-serve ice cream for dessert.

But this past week, I got an idea. I’m going to start scavenging for ingredients and pretend to cook. One day had cream of mushroom soup. That’s not a meal to me – it’s something you put in rice. So I got a cup and came home and froze it. Then Tuesday rolled around and I snagged carrots and sautéed them and tossed in with the soup. (I got celery too, but I also got hungry and then the celery was no more.)

The next move is to head to the other snack bar, which is closest to me. It always has this dahl soup and unseasoned steamed white rice. It’s probably the plainest and flavorless rice ever, but the plan is to take a bunch, toss it in a pot, add some spices (which I have from Minsk) and then add the carrots and cream of mushroom soup. Then I can shred one of the Sunday chicken breasts and have a real meal.

It’s no exactly home-cooked meal, but it has the illusion of one, and that’s a nice change of pace.

Jack of all trades, master of two

 

After what seems like an agonizingly long time but really was just over a year, I finished my second masters degree! Yay! I am done! In the end, it will likely turn out as useless as the first, but my hope is that it helps me get an “excursion” tour in HR after I finish up my tour here. Technically, it isn’t needed, but the idea at the time had been to secure an HR tour after this, do it for three years and then apply as an HR officer down the road. (Waaaay down the road.) Circumstances may change, but that’s still an option.

And oh man I am just so glad it’s over. Let’s just say that the theoretical world of academia doesn’t fit into the real world of the Department of State. I’ve endured a whole bunch of “this will work in your organization” while I am thinking, uh, no, that doesn’t happen.

But now I can check a box and, hopefully, will be able to apply for our student loan reimbursement program. I’ve never had a student loan before and technically could have swung this without one, but the idea of it costing $3k rather than $13k was a lovely thought, so I took out a loan. My God, that’s an insurmountable amount of paperwork. I barely had the patience and can’t imagine how complicated it must be for kids to maneuver through it. How about this – lower the cost of college tuition so people can afford it without mortgaging their future?

But anyway, the coursework is in the past – for now. In an ironic twist of fate, as soon as my final class started, I got word that I also was accepted to a separate certificate program through work. It’s a diversity and inclusion certificate out of Cornell and is a shadow of what the masters program was. All four classes combined should be complete in eight weeks, which is the amount of time that one of the other courses took.

Gosh, I am just so relieved it’s over.

This weekend – and my weekend is Friday-Saturday – was wonderful because I didn’t spend half of it in the office doing coursework. (The internet is better there, and I have a giant computer screen instead of the little laptop one, so I can get more done.) On Friday, we had a practice drill with some defense stuff so I got to hang out outside (albeit wearing an armored vest and helmet) and on Sunday, we did a large-scale medical drill and I got to drive around three visitors. Both were out-of-the-ordinary things that were fun to do while not having to stress about writing some academic paper.

I also read a book strictly for pleasure, which I haven’t had a chance to do in awhile. (Come Fly the World: The Jet-Age Story of the Women of Pan Am.) Now, I plan on just totally vegging out and watching TV for a bit, just to detox my brain. We also have a St. Patrick’s Day run on March 18, after whatever even there is on March 17.

At some point, I really should take a stab at playing guitar; the one I bought for my last go-round in Baghdad is sitting again by the sofa, just waiting. But right now, it’s back to R&R planning. America is not the No. 1 plan this time but is a secondary destination. No. 1 is Mexico, where I hope to go to the dentist. That wasn’t the original plan, but now that I’ve learned Mexico is a dental tourist destination I’m kind of excited because I haven’t been in probably a year, and then it was only a cleaning. It’s a little sad that I’ve never been to Mexico at all and instead of researching Cozumel or whatever that I am looking at dentists! But I figure Cozumel will be available once I get there; the dentist is something I should line up first.

Key West is also on the agenda; the songwriters’ festival is a bucket list item. So stoked for that. I hope everything comes together. There’s still so many obstacles in the way; I wrote out a timeline of every movement that has to happen and it was a bit daunting. But one day at a time

Today is my lucky day

Chair Saddam sat in
during his trial

It doesn’t get any better than this. I opened my spam email today and discovered I’ve won gift cards from Bank of America, T-Mobile, Sam’s, Best Buy and Costco! And, so that I look good doing all that, I can get discount invisible aligners with my new Mastercard! However, I have to move fast to not miss out on my senior perks or fear I miss out on some vague number of limited prizes. I should probably consider buying a lottery ticket, huh? 

Saddam swung here

Even better than that, though, is the fact that I’m officially four weeks from finishing this last class, which is killing me. It’s this whole “theoretical framework” kind of thing and I live and work in the real world. It just doesn’t work like that, which makes it frustrating. I’ve selected a real issue but the whole “let’s go through this pretend exercise like it would really work” is futile. I know how I would approach the problem if I had the power to fix it, and it’s not theoretical.

I hate it so very much but I can see the end. What’s somewhat ironic is that after I finish this, I have five days off of classes before I begin a new certificate program. This one is through work and is only two months long. It’s a diversity and inclusion certification through Cornell. I’m going to be the most educated person without a Ph.D. Maybe one day I will use some of this knowledge. Inchallah.

Last stairs Saddam climbed 

Right now, it’s tough coming up for air. Work is insane because we’re doing a staffing review on top of everything else. I’m up for this since I am weirdly stoked by HR stuff (hence the pursuit of a second masters’ degree) but I work in a place where the right hand doesn’t speak to the left hand. It’s kind of frightening with your HR department asks you what your staffing situation is. You’d think they’d know. I sent a query for something, say X, to the head office and got back an email asking me for X. Sigh. Fun project.

In other news at work, I got to take a short field trip. It was the third time I’ve been allowed to leave the walls of the 100 Acre Sandbox and the destination was closer than the other two times but oh man, it was far more fascinating. Our office is located at the site of one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces, and it’s next door to the court where he was tried. Presently, there’s a small museum that houses a bunch of artifacts related to his case.

By that I mean it’s mostly paperwork – paperwork used to convict him. Evidence, like rosters of people he’d executed, pictures of mass graves and records from trial. They even showed us seven containers (think semi-truck) that were still filled with paperwork that they had yet to record, and a storage room filled with shelves upon shelves of boxes containing files. It was just so sad. 

In addition to the paperwork, though, they had the gallows where he had been executed, complete with “FBI evidence” sticker on it. There was a replica of his hidey-hole (which was underground), and several display cases of the stuff with him when they found him. Think Q-tips, prayer beads and corn pads. They also had the clothes he was wearing as well as his sunglasses and knife. It was really creepy. 

Torture chamber used by 
Saddam's son to punish
Olmpic athlets who
didn't perform well.

There was also an iron maiden-type torture device that one of Saddam’s sons found at their Olympic training center. He tortured athletes and fed poor performers to the tigers. The device on display was an iron cage, and he would lock people in and hang in in the sun like some giant Christmas ornament, or hook up to electricity and shock them. There was still electrical tape on it.

That was just a very bad family.

Then we went into the courthouse, which hasn’t been used as a courthouse since 2012. I can see it from the embassy and wondered what it was, although people probably have told me before. I mean, this place is literally right across the street from the 100 Acre Sandbox. That street is al-Kindi and the traffic just zooms by. Anyway, both the museum and the old courthouse as essentially in the same place and the museum will eventually move into the same building.

Like in Belarus (and I guess a lot of Soviet countries), defendants are kept in cages, but unlike the Soviet ones, they are merely playpens and not the whole cage. In this courtroom, there were four rows of cages, each with two seats.  He showed us the one where Saddam was caged, next to, I guess, his attorney. Apparently Saddam had told that guy for years to burn the evidence, but he didn’t and that’s what got him convicted. 

View from front

View from rear

In the Iraqi court, the judge (and maybe jury?) sit on a raised platform. There’s a “scales of justice” thing on the back end of the wall. To the judge’s right, there’s a long row for the prosecution and o the judges left, there’s what looks like a large changing room. It is a box with curtains; it’s the witness stand. The entryway to the witness stand is from the next room over; it’s so that the witness can be hidden from the view of the defendants, who sit in their caged playpens in front of the judge.

There are no observers in the courtroom; instead, there are two rooms at the very back, one on that floor and one on the floor up. (Speaking of which, there is no elevator in the building and I think we went up five floors to get to the top.)