Faces of Amarah

By LTC Melanie Meier

Recently I met a young specialist assigned to a Civil Affairs unit from California. His unit spends its days with the Iraqi people, conducting Civil Military Operations, such as his latest mission to deliver and set up water purification units throughout the Province. As inspector general at Camp Adder, I do not get many opportunities to leave the security of the "wire" to visit places like Amarah, which is a few kilometers east of here situated between Camp Adder and the border with Iran. However, I do meet young soldiers who spend their days outside the "wire" like the specialist from California.

So, I asked him what he was thinking as he traveled out and lived among the Iraqis.

"Scenes like this remind me of home, but in an unconventional way," he explained. "On more than one occasion, for reasons I acknowledge fully and embrace with good humor, I have been mistaken for a local national. So much so that in the middle of one particular mission, an Iraqi pointed out that if I were to wear a dishdasha (a man dress) and a yashmagh and agal (Arabic head dress) I could pass for an Iraqi."



While talking not long ago with a diverse group of men and women, he was asked his opinion about Iraq. After expressing "my hope and goodwill for Iraq and its people, I was then asked by the group, via the interpreter, which part of the Middle East I was from."



Amarah is the capitol of the Maysan Province in Iraq. In 2003, the city made a final stand as a center of resistance to Saddam Hussein. Once liberated by the British, the local residents hired diggers to unearth bodies in a mass grave Saddam's regime left twelve years before.



"For me, Iraq and the Maysan Province have a sweet and innocent sense of home. It is on many of these foreign dirt roads that I find the pieces and faces of home. Amongst the crowds of happy children, who are grateful to receive pens, paper, backpacks, and blankets I tend to see, for a split moment, the face of my young niece smiling and full of joy, like when I would hug her and she would hold me ever so tight in the warm embrace of her smiles. Then she is gone, only to reappear again in the arms of a woman veiled in black, or perhaps peaking through a slightly open iron gate, rusted and faded from green to lime, waving and cheering as we pass by. It's a beautiful thing to be able to find traces of home, love, and faith when distance and longing for a loved one grips your heart."

I am thankful that this specialist shared his thoughts and feelings with me. I feel lucky to be able to meet and serve the fine young men and women who have volunteered to join our military and come to Iraq for a mission so much bigger than themselves, and yet so very personal. Like the specialist's description of the colors that surround him.
"The ancient rhythmic colors of Arabic gold and blue, and how red and green define an essence of life that paints the walls, homes, and people of Amarah. When driving along unimproved streets and roads the town reminds me of neglected fifteen century frescos from another time, another place."