Educational Narrative Rough Draft

 Sometimes certain things can push a person to do something that is completely against the grain.  I had a plague that many young ladies could relate to, an unfortunate relationship with the wrong guy.  This relationship reached its head the day after pay day.  I went to fill up my car to find my barely employed boyfriend of the time had spent my entire paycheck on illegal substances, while I had slept.  I quickly addressed the problem and made it clear our lives were forever separate.  His only request came as a shock, “Please just do not join the military; if you do I will kill myself.”  This thought had never crossed my mind before, but it was growing on me. At just twenty years old I joined the army, and if you had known me just two weeks prior to enlistment it would not have seemed my style.  Some would have even considered me an antiwar animal loving hippy, and it was not very far from the truth.  Three days later I was shipping off for basic training.  So when asked why I joined, throughout my military career I had the pleasure of spiting the bastard again, “Because my ex-boyfriend said he would commit suicide if I had joined.” The truth though of course was more complex.  I was escaping my problems, and needed a fresh start at life.  The military held promises of discipline, education, and new life experiences.  In the end the promises held true, but in ways I would never have imagined.

Basic training was like being thrown from a warm bed into icy cold waters.  It was pretty obvious from the start that I did not belong, but at least from looks of disbelief and fear in the eyes of others I was not alone.  Drill Sergeants knew who did and did not belong, and made a point of picking on those who didn't.  It was their jobs to turn undisciplined civilians into soldiers, and sometimes that required breaking someone down to nothing and building them back up into something or someone else.  Luckily for me, I really did not have much left to break down and I quickly built back up into a new more confident person.  Although some of my colleagues back home would consider it unwise to give me a gun, the army found me fit to fight and I graduated from Basic Training.

After learning what it means to be a soldier, we are sent to Advanced Individual Training (AIT). I joined the army to become an automated logistical specialist, fancy words for a supply clerk. Advanced Individual Training was designed to teach me how to perform my job in the Army. AIT was like a college campus, with one big difference: the drill sergeants. Everyone woke up earlier than dawn for physical training, and after personal hygiene time and breakfast we moved off to classes for the rest of the day. Our weekends were usually free, as long as everyone followed the rules.

I received my orders to report to Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas. El Paso is a city sitting on the border of Mexico in the middle of the desert. If basic training taught me anything it was that nothing tastes better than freedom. My first year in the military consisted of working hard and partying harder. Building lifelong friendships with my fellow soldiers and preparing for the inevitable deployment.

In the fall of 2009 we deployed to Kirkuk, Iraq. My unit’s area of operation contained the northern part of the country. I was completely lost in the sauce, as were many of my newly arriving colleagues. We were bombed on our very first night and I will never forget the feeling of true terror, not knowing if that night would be my last. I will also never forget the complacency one develops towards the booms in the night; I became so adjusted to mortaring I frequently slept straight through the loud booms and glaring sirens.  Just as I became adjusted to my surroundings the army reminded me that first and foremost a soldier is an infantryman and that our military occupational specialty came second.

One day I was sitting on a wooden box in the supply yard smoking with a few of my team members, when I see my platoon sergeant driving a gator truck in our direction. He made the point that we were sitting on a coffin, and that was bad luck. We were quick to hop off, and seeing as the mood was ruined we began to walk away.  I quickly discovered that the bad luck would be mine when my platoon sergeant pulled me aside to talk privately. I had been voluntold (military slang for you have been mandatorily volunteered) to join a tank unit to search Iraqi women at checkpoints throughout the city of Kirkuk.  I never considered leaving the wire an option, seeing as my job on the forward operating base was considered essential. Within a week I had been outfitted with an excessive number of weapons magazines, and received a refresher course on searching a person.

A refresher course did not prepare me mentally for the unique challenges ahead of me. When I was married with my new platoon I became all too aware that I was in a man’s world, and I was not welcome.  Combat MOS soldiers are not practiced in working with females, and their platoon sergeant gave strict orders to only speak to me if it was deemed necessary. For a few days they would not speak a word to me. Within a week things had relaxed, and it seemed that only the leadership had a problem with my presence. It took a lot longer for the joint force task members to speak to me. They were the police officers of Kirkuk, and their Muslim beliefs forbid them to speak with me. Eventually with the persuasion of our interpreters and a common love for chai tea even broke down their barriers. My love for culture overshadowed the fact that we were sitting at a checkpoint in the middle of the war and at any moment disaster could strike.

At first I had my reservations about taking part in a war I did not agree with, but after working with some of the locals I realized that we actually helped liberate a people known as the Kurds. The Kurdish are a race of people who originated in Northern Iraq encompassing portions of Turkey, Syria and Iran; their roots can be traced back several thousand years.  Throughout the twentieth century hundreds of thousands of Kurds became victims of genocide, many escaped to other countries while some stayed and formed a military unit known as the Peshmerga. The arrival of US troops to Iraq marked a turning point for the Kurds, and the Peshmerga played an important role in the support of the Iraq War. Our checkpoints were of no exception, and with the Iraqi Elections on the horizon our fellow joint force task members began to show their true colors. In order to stamp out discrimination among the police force, the Iraqi officers were forbidden to show their allegiance to any particular political party.  In silent protest they would stuff their party member’s flag in their back pocket. Almost every officer had a red white and green flag with a blazing sun in the center, the flag of Kurdistan peeking out of their back pockets.  The interpreters later informed me that the Iraqi team we were coupled with were actually undercover Peshmerga. This would explain why they were willing sit, speak, and drink tea with a woman such as myself.

Being assigned to the checkpoints was a blessing in disguise, and there was nothing I appreciated more than meeting the women of Iraq. Due to religious reasons our male counterparts were forbidden to speak or even look upon an Iraqi woman, and that is where my job came in. In the process of searching females for explosives I came upon the unique opportunity to speak with a people who were otherwise silent and unseen to the world. Most women would dress in black from head to toe, and in the presence of their men remained completely silent. Once separated from their men it was like night and day, they uncovered their faces and the silence was broken. After searching my group of females I always stole a few moments to answer their questions and ask a few of my own. More often than not I was questioned as to why my family would allow me to come to such a dangerous place, or if I would marry their sons. They were shocked to find out that I had the freedom to choose what I did or did not do, and of course I never did accept a marriage proposal. Election Day was a big day for the Iraqi women, and everyone who filed in to my search area proudly showed a black finger. For the first time in their lives they were allowed to vote.

By the end of deployment I am proud to say I was never once shot at and one tried to blow me up, but I know I made a difference in people’s lives. More importantly I will never regret the sacrifice our soldiers made in Iraq, and although we went there for the wrong reasons I know some Kurds who will always be grateful that we helped make their way of life possible.  By the way, my ex boyfriend never did commit suicide and is working on becoming a better more sober person far away from me.