Master Sergeant Liza Victoria was born in Panama. Her MOS is 68 Whiskey, which is a health care specialist. She is still on active duty.
When we arrive at the village, all the female medics file into a building. The rules of Iraqi culture dictate that male medics can’t treat the local women, and we have to follow the rules. The husbands will wait outside while we treat their wives.
We have security all around us.
Because I have a bit of a Middle Eastern look, the women all try to talk to me. I try to explain to them that I’m Spanish, not Middle Eastern, and I don’t speak Arabic. Most of them want medication. We can give them Tylenol, Motrin—stuff like that.
They’re nice to me and grateful. So, so grateful.
I respect them because they’re human beings. It’s hard at times because while they’re so nice, I know some of these women want to hurt us—the American soldiers.
The children have beautiful brown eyes and long lashes. One boy has a big scar from, I’m guessing, a recent surgery. The scar goes all the way around his head and across his face from a wound likely caused by an IED.
Seeing the boy reminds me of growing up in Panama.
I was a young girl when the Just Cause invasion happened in mid-December of 1989. Someone came into my room in the middle of the night, woke me up, and said, “We’ve been invaded by the United States. Go look out the window.”
I did. The sky looked like it was on fire.
I lived with my family on the fifth floor of a building. Every time we had a war or an invasion, people would start breaking into houses and businesses to steal things. The security guard made everyone go to the stairs. Then he barred the door.
Panama is very hot. The next morning, in the middle of the city, with airplanes and helicopters flying across the sky, I saw American soldiers wearing ghillie suits that made them look like walking bushes. I was convinced that these huge men were there to hurt us—to take over our country.
Then I found out the truth: the Americans had come to get General Noriega, who was hiding.
Everyone in Panama knew he was a dictator. A bad, bad person who had his hands in a lot of awful and dirty stuff. But it was a lot easier to ignore him rather than go against him. Everyone knew Noriega had people killed or made them disappear.
I moved to Houston, Texas, in 1992. While I was at Houston Community College, I met an Army recruiter who asked me if I was interested in learning a new skill and getting money for college. I joined.
And now here I am, an American soldier, in Iraq.
I feel so close to God.
I ask Him to protect me.
I don’t want to go, but if you want it to happen, I’m ready. I say it every night.
I hope and pray it’s not my time.