Iraq.......by Julianna Rowe (2003)

"Iraq: Foreign Exchange Sales Teams"   (Written in 2003)  PART I 

Our sales team had entered a nationwide contest called “The Greatest Sales-Team in the World.”  We won, and were chosen under the guise of “Foreign Exchange Team” exchange and that was against my better judgment or rather against every fear I could think of.

Sales is something I enjoyed doing within reason of course and this certainly seemed to be without reason. Do you recall in High School when we exchanged Foreign students? Well that crazy idea came up on a message from the leaking bowels of our manufacturing Human Resources Department. They chose to exchange Sales teams with Iraq of all places. I was thinking someone wasn't thinking. Seems they decided to be the "undertakers" of this grand new idea for peace and harmony between countries.

Why me? Although when I rethought that, throughout history people have said why me while they are in the middle of a battlefield, be it cancer, or some terrible accident that leaves them paralyzed, or Human Resources trading sales teams with Iraq.  P-l-e-a-s-e!  But then, I was one of the best who passed the test so there I was in the middle of going to the Middle East. Not that I considered that a prize for my excellent sales ability.  What ever happened to a Mediterranean Cruise or Porta Vallarta? 

My standard of living had become quite lucrative and I rather enjoyed it, but not to the place of lending myself to harm? Yet everyone involved reassured me all would be well in the Middle East for this trip. I was thinking, all is never well in the Middle East. My only hope was I wouldn’t be the lucky one to run into Saddam or that other bearded person, Osama bin Laden. And of course, I didn’t suppose they would allow my gun to pass through any airport.  I was known for using my sense of humor during stress related issues such as even the relaying of this memory.

I recall I remembered my working days back in Texas when I was selling insurance late at night or even during the day in the back woods walking to a client’s front door among a herd of longhorn cattle. Back then I packed a pistol indeed but times had changed, crime was up and guns weren't allowed to protect one's self. Or if one did protect oneself, one ended up in the "Big House" named criminal. 

A new trend had infiltrated our country called judgment.  If a child was kidnapped, the parents were instantly the guilty ones! If a woman was murdered, her husband was immediately implicated.  The world had changed.  It was no longer innocent until proven guilty, it was guilty until you prove yourself innocent. 

Back to the Middle East Peace Plan Human Resources USA Sales team exchange trip. My team chosen!

Yes, I tended to be somewhat tenacious and that is why I was good at what I did which is why I ended up on that flight from New York to Paris and then on to Baghdad. My heart was beating so hard on that last flight as it circled for landing I questioned my intelligence once again causing anxiety to show it ugly uncircumcised head. Not that I never had second guessed myself before. Breathe I said to myself. The other fellows didn't seem as emotional about our quest as I. But then they were men and I was a woman, a blonde woman. I had heard from a close friend who married a Muslim man that they love blondes. Especially American blondes with a slightly larger derriere. Oh good, I will be sought after by Muslim men in a foreign rather unfriendly country as I am selling my "wares." Go ahead, imagine that as an 8x 10 glossy? On the other hand, possibly, my life would be spared because of my "other end."  Quite the odd reference wouldn’t you say?  In other words, my ass might save me.  I could live with that.

We were greeted at the Baghdad airport, which had been nearly destroyed during the recent bombings. Seeing it from the air left nothing to the imagination. The pain and fear emanated through the rubble as though the dead were rising in masses of grey mists leaving behind and all around them clouds of the fear felt at the time of their instant obliteration. I started to feel something other than my usual self. I began to feel the lives of the deceased strongly as I spiritually becoming one with Iraq as the landing gears descended. I secretly wondered if the others I was traveling with were feeling any of the same classified emotions.  And then among my thoughts and sensing’s from the mist of the dead one’s that filled the space surrounding us who had passed on, we landed.

The men were quiet as we were escorted to a black Limousine. Not one of those long stretch Hummers like back home. More a snub-nosed classier version like president’s ride in. We were taken to one of the only hotels left standing. Once inside it was breathtaking. The tile work and gold inlay all about us spoke of immense wealth, yet the city that had stood for the spirit of hope through God was in shambles. What did anyone expect us to retrieve from such despair and destruction?  Surely God had a plan somewhere among this disarray. Were we God's two thousand five-hundred-piece puzzle? But what if he wanted to place the pieces and we didn't let him! I had taken off on one of my imaginary mental travel junkets. 

At that point in time I wasn't being anything but somber, confused, and intimidated, considering I was quite the minority. I was blonde, buxom, and donned a large derriere, as well as I was not concealed like most of the women who covered their faces with Berta's. They didn't have to since the war ended, but fear still gripped many of them. American soldiers were everywhere. Some taking their surroundings more seriously than others which was normal for our human race in any situation. More than once I wished I had one of those black garment Berta's or Niqab’s to cover my entire body only exposing my eyes. I wanted to hide. Hide wasn’t going to happen for me at that point, in fact, before long we were to be presented to the heads of the company we were playing foreign exchange sales team with.

The feast presented us was unbelievable. Huge festive bowls of every fruit imaginable. Wines served in gold goblets. Gold on every item we touched everywhere. The people of Iraq have a deep appreciation for their own cuisine. They presented very expensive meats at nearly every meal. This meat can be sheep, roasted lamb, chicken, beef, goat, or Masgouf, a fish eaten all around Iraq and often referred to as the national dish of the country. I found out later Masgouf was Carp!  Tomato and chickpea stew, served with rice. Nuts, seeds, dried fruits, pickles, a large variety of homemade breads. Kleicha is a traditional Iraqi cookie that's prepared for special occasions as this. The cookies are made with flour, butter, yeast, cardamom, fennel, and nigella seeds. They are traditionally filled with walnuts, sugar, cardamom, or dates.  I was in awe of the presentation before us.

I also found the people very accommodating towards all of us and I was starting to feel more comfortable, when into the room came a much older man drawing my attention completely as if I knew him personally. His salt and pepper hair carried dreadlocks past his wide shoulders onto a tall thin frame. He was quite charming yet seemed physically frail.  He was dressed of wealth and conservatism, almost as though he didn't belong there. His eyes moved toward me several times with a depth that added honor of me. But why? I considered it might be my derriere but I was sitting and had been the entire time.   My mind was having trouble understanding the look he gave that appeared to come "into" me. While trying to remain busy and avoid his look I eventually over ate myself into a state of lethargy. Like when you go to a function where you do not know many, therefore due to the social discomfort you waltz around the buffet table overeating for as long as possible. The wine certainly added to the creeping out introvert part of me, I am sure.

He disappeared as quickly as he appeared leaving an immense sense of, "Who was that man?"

(To be continued in tomorrow's blog post)