Good bye, good luck, miss you, email me soon. I will send pics asap. Love you. This is Fifi signing off.She left the following morning. It was quite a sobering thought, to think about her getting on a plane and leaving for a war zone. That she was no longer even in the same country as I was. And that I will be following her soon.
Life here is a bit strange. You get into a rhythm of waking up early, doing whatever they tell you to do, and doing whatever it takes to get out of this place. Conversations between people of different units start with "Where are you going?" You learn to look for roadside bombs. I can't tell you how many times I've watched videos of people dying, bombs exploding. I've learned how to detain and search a person. They've told us not to trust anyone, not to have personal discussions or form bonds with third country contractors. People are afraid, and they don't understand -- and no amount of culture classes will help with that. Everyone is looking for the bad guy that may or may not exist, but we have to.
I've heard stories of the contractors learning and greeting soldiers by their first name when they come through for chow. MeuAmor does the same thing when people come through his register at the grocery store. It's good manners to him, making people feel welcome -- what's not to say that these contractors are doing the same? But what's to say that they're not selling information?
When it all comes down to it, we're afraid. We're out of our element, we're dealing with language barriers, we're interjecting ourselves into a culture not like our own. And as much as Mother Army tries to educate us about it, we're really only getting the tip of the iceberg. Mother Army says to treat others -- regardless of nationality -- with dignity and respect, but how can you instill that while teaching soldiers that everyone is a potential enemy?
Je ne comprends rien. Je ne suis qu'une soldate.
Dear Fifi, I miss you.
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