I had to schedule another trip to the Green Zone for a doctor’s appointment (a minor health issue had developed, just one of those nagging things that couldn’t be addressed by the medic at the academy). Arrangements for a PSD were made for a visit to the CSH, the Coalition Surgical Hospital, located near Saddam’s Palace. As it would necessitate an overnight stay, I packed a small bag with just a change of underwear and toiletries. If for some reason my stay was extended, I’d just pick up a new set of duds at the PX.
There were no problems during the PSD ride to the Green Zone, and after I was dropped off at the Adnan Palace I grabbed a vehicle and headed to the CSH for my appointment. It was something of a surreal experience. The CSH was surrounded by high concrete blast walls, sandbags, and HESCOs, and there were dozens of armed people wandering around inside—not something you would see at a hospital in America. Painted arrows on the floor directed you to the particular medical section you were visiting. I followed the yellow arrows and checked in with the nurse. After sitting around in the waiting area for a while I was met by a medical person who discussed my ailment, gave me an examination, and released me with a clean bill of health. The problem wasn’t anything to be concerned about and could be taken care of once I returned home. I would just have to put up with the nagging until then.
Since I was in the Green Zone, and the military finance office was also located near the hospital, I decided to walk over and cash a personal check. If I’d thought it was surreal walking through a hospital with so many armed people, imagine standing in line at the teller’s window in the finance office carrying a 9mm pistol on your hip and a fully automatic M-4 carbine slung across your shoulder, while surrounded by others standing in line who were also armed to the teeth. This was certainly not something you would see at a bank in America, unless the person carrying those weapons was also wearing a mask.
When I got to the teller, I slid my check and CAC card through the slot in the window and a minute later I was walking out of the finance office with a wad of cash in my hand, enough to last a few hands in one of the high-stakes poker games at the academy.
After leaving the finance office I headed back to my vehicle. It was a common sight on the street where I was parked to see Iraqis selling DVDs and other trinkets. On this occasion, as I walked towards my vehicle I was approached by a small Iraqi boy of maybe 10 or 11 years of age, yelling out “Porno! Porno!” I chased him away, only to have him return a few seconds later offering me first-run Hollywood movies that weren’t even out on DVD back in the States. The quality of the DVDs was never very good, hence the cheap price—three or four DVDs for only five bucks. Sometimes the pirate copies had been made by setting up a video camera in the back of a theater and videotaping while the movie was playing.
If you bought one, the quality was likely to be really bad, and it might just stop half way through the movie—oftentimes only half the movie had been recorded. Needless to say, there was no way to get a refund, you were very unlikely to ever find the same Iraqi kid again, particularly since our trips to the Green Zone were few and far between. He may also have moved onto other areas, and even if you did find him, it’s doubtful he’d give you your money back anyway. The good English he spoke when you bought the DVDs would have disappeared and he would suddenly only speak Arabic, and even if he did give you your money back, he would simply put the returned DVD back into his inventory and sell it to some other poor soldier.
There were businesses and restaurants operating inside the Green Zone as well, including the Chinese restaurant that I had been told to try. After all, Baghdad was still a functioning city and businesses had been allowed to reopen once the Green Zone had been cordoned off and fortified. There were Iraqi homes and apartment buildings as well. After walking down some narrow alleyways and making a few turns I finally found the restaurant. I had been told the food was good, but the absence of dogs and cats, normally very common in Baghdad, convinced me to skip dinner.
I returned to the Adnan Palace to stay in the tent once more. I hooked up with my PSD escort the next morning to return to the academy, and the trip back was as uneventful as the trip out, which was always good news—there were no explosions and I didn’t get shot at.
I returned to work, only to be confronted with a problem that none of us had dealt with before. If we had learned anything in our careers as police officers, it was to expect the unexpected and always be prepared to respond to and resolve a problem, but Baghdad pushed our abilities in this area to the limit at times.
I was chatting with Ronnie (who oversaw security at the academy) outside the AA building one afternoon, following the lunch break. All of a sudden his walkie-talkie started crackling—one of the entrance guards needed help.
“Ronnie, I need you down here right away,” the soldier said. “I have a group of clerics with a sheep. They want to ritually sacrifice it on the academy grounds to bless the new class of cadets.”
Ronnie looked at me and just kind of shook his head and said, “Only in Baghdad.” He headed towards his vehicle to drive down to the gate by Palestine Street. I’m not sure how Ronnie resolved the issue, because I got distracted by another ‘fire’ that had to be dealt with. As I said before, those of us charged with trying to run the academy always felt much more like firemen than police officers. Our days were filled with solving one problem after another. Keeping everyone happy was not likely, but that was the goal, and ideally problems should be resolved without killing anyone, which at times was also a real challenge.