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Authors: Gretchen Berg

I Have Iraq in My Shoe (2 page)

BOOK: I Have Iraq in My Shoe
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My extremely limited knowledge of the Middle East, juxtaposed with reasons I should absolutely not go there:

  • FACT: Women, typically, do not live alone.

  • FACT: I had lived in my own apartment for eight years.

  • FACT: Conservative Muslim women wear black fabric covering their heads and entire bodies.

  • FACT: Black makes me grumpy.

  • FACT: It is illegal (at least in Saudi Arabia) for women to drive.

  • FACT: I started driving when I was twelve years old.

Living, dressing, and driving were all very important things to me, a girl born in the era of Gloria Steinem. I was raised on
Free to Be You and Me
and
Our Bodies, Ourselves
and, as far as I know, neither of those has been translated into Arabic. But you know what has been translated into Arabic?

Gone with the Wind
.

Chapter Two
Knock-Knock, It’s Iraq!

In August of 2007, Warren randomly showed up at my office in Seattle, totally unannounced—like any good stalker would—and greeted me with a “GERRRRRRRRRTY!” and a sternum-crushing hug. I was wearing a heavy, metal-plated necklace that is now kind of imprinted on my chest, but I was more annoyed with the revival of the nickname.

I hadn’t seen him in over ten years, but he looked almost exactly the same, with his stocky, barrel-chested frame, short militaryesque crop of blond hair, and big friendly grin. When I say “friendly,” I mean “shit-eating.” Warren was always up to something.

He had moved on from Dubai and was on a break from his latest “living the dream” opportunity, according to him: teaching English and coaching soccer in Iraq.

Me:
Hanh? Whaaaaa? You’re in Iraq now?

Still me:
Iraq?

Still me, again:
Why?

He said it was a great opportunity; he was acting as educational director or some such thing, blah blah, inconsequential details, whatever. My brain couldn’t get beyond the “I’m living and working in Iraq” thing to actually absorb any of his explanation.

Iraq? Like Iraq, Iraq? Like, the Iraq that was the setting of the war? The Iraq that was hosting some-odd thousand of our troops in some sort of reconstruction effort but was still plagued by violence and bombing and other manner of grave danger to which I’m generally averse? That Iraq? Or was Iraq the name of a posh suburb in, maybe, Vancouver?

If I separated my friends into categories (and I do) like “good for coffee dates,” “fun to shop with,” “only in small doses,” or “always with a grain of salt,” I would put Warren firmly in the latter. Most of what he says is caked in embellishment.

Warren (again):
It’s a great opportunity…

Me:
IN IRAQ?

In Warren’s brain our brief, shared overseas teaching extravaganza must have somehow translated into a globe-trotting life plan. Last year he wanted me to go join him in Dubai, and now he wanted me to teach in Iraq. That was all kinds of crazy. IRAQ. No one voluntarily goes there. They are
deployed
, or
sent on assignment
, or
exiled to
. I am a self-diagnosed mild claustrophobic, and in the CNN footage, the local women of these Middle Eastern countries were all covered, head to toe, with billowing black tablecloths. I’m no psychiatrist, but I could not see “burka” being a sartorial recommendation for the mildly claustrophobic. Even for those of the self-diagnosed variety.

I loved to travel. I had made it to all seven continents. Some considered this quite an accomplishment, although I knew it was just a matter of booking plane tickets and boarding when your group number was called. Despite my love of traveling, I remembered being utterly relieved upon discovering that the Middle East was considered part of Asia. I had already been to Asia! I wouldn’t have to go to the Middle East to complete my continental tour!

No, there would be no Middle East for me.

That was my state of mind pre-recession. In the Good Old Days. When I had job security and knew where my next pair of shoes was coming from.

So, with the recession hovering over me like Death in a burka, I listened to Warren’s allegedly nondrunk message, which arrived in my voice mail in August of 2008, almost one year to the date after he had ambushed me in Seattle, a year during which I told everyone about my friend Warren the lunatic who was living in Iraq. In said allegedly nondrunk voice mail, he slurred things about how I never had my phone turned on, blah blah, but didn’t really say anything of great importance. I assumed he wanted to discuss Iraq. I responded by email
*
:

I got your messages, but I’m not coming to Iraq to teach.

He responded shortly after:

Hey Gerrrrrty
[dear God, why did he insist on calling me that?],

That’s fine about you but if you know anyone please let me know. We are in Kurdistan—Northern Iraq. Its very safe here so if someone is interested in the adventure let me know and I can take a look at them. Lots of time off and great pay in the safest part of Iraq…

Here he inserted a link to a story CNN had done on the university, complete with contrived “casual” footage of Warren jocularly interacting with a few Iraqi students.

Great link with some really good-looking people that work here…. ;)

W

I replied:

No thanks, but send me the details and I’ll see if anyone I know might be interested.

Hey, Gerts
[ucchhh],

I have teaching and admin jobs. I am the Director of this unit and hire them myself. A teacher will make $70,000 and pay no taxes. We pay for a new villa (no roommates in a 4 bedroom house), transportation, security, etc…the only thing not paid for is food which is around $300 a month. I’ve been here a while and saved about 96% of what I made. Plus crazy travel opportunities… when we leave here for all these breaks we go to Amsterdam, Greece, Italy, Turkey, Vienna, Germany, London, and home.

So to wrap up, it is 100% safe here in the North, crazy cash, no expenses, and lots of travel opportunities. I respect you don’t want to come, but when you are talking to people, tell them I feel it was the best decision I ever made—how else can you save a ton of money in one year and also travel the world?

Take care, Gerts, and thanks for the help (or effort anyway).

W

He had a point there. He actually had several points: seventy grand, no taxes (there is some fantastic law or decree that U.S. citizens may work overseas and make up to $86,000 a year, tax-free), close proximity to Turkey, Greece, and the rest of Europe. I wanted to go to The Rest of Europe. Plus, Miss Teen South Carolina had vehemently stressed that our education over here should help The Iraq. Or something like that.

Supercrap.

I was starting to consider it.

I had been unemployed before, and it was not a good color on me. (In my mind unemployed was a pukey shade of rust, which totally washes me out.) The Harry Potter books had saved me from becoming completely suicidal, but those were still some dark times. December, and the end of my copywriting contract, was fast approaching, and there was nothing else on the horizon, except the credit card bills, which were hovering around $39,000.

Yep, that’s a lot.

Please don’t tell Suze Orman.

My credit card debt was not a result of reckless shoe shopping, which is probably what you’re thinking.
You’re so mean.
I had started a travel-planning business in 2002, which was
expensive
. Expensive, and ultimately unsuccessful. Reckless shoe shopping would have at least produced something tangible and wearable. I was unemployed, paying $1,000 per month in rent, and spending exorbitant sums on things like brochures and flyers and hospitality booths at trade fairs, not to mention automobile insurance, health insurance, food, and gas, and
look what you’ve done
, now I’m crumpled on the floor again, sobbing into my Scarlett O’Hara apron.

After a year of hoping and struggling, I had given up on the travel business dream but was so exasperated from living hand to mouth that when I finally got a paying job, I thought, “Cannot. Eat. Cereal. For dinner. Anymore!” I wasn’t willing to tighten my belt to pay down the debt. My belt had been tight for a year, and belts, like ankle straps, were just so restrictive. Suze would have been positively livid and would have spent several years screaming “YOU CAN’T AFFORD IT!” at me.

I was still carrying a weighty credit card balance that mocked me, monthly, from my statements. Neener, neener, neener—you owe us money! I had watched Suze patiently, but forcefully, explain how you needed to come up with a debt-elimination plan—you were supposed to sit down and plan how long it was going to take you to get out of debt. With $39,000 of debt, I couldn’t bear the thought of even trying to figure that out. It was paralyzing. A lot of debt, and no jobs on the horizon. The deafening cricket chirping was making my ears ring and my brain hurt.

With this new opportunity I was envisioning my crushing debt being swept away, me flying off wherever I wanted to go, and NEW SHOES! And I might even be able to finally start a savings account. That should probably come before the new shoes, but it probably won’t.

I wiped my eyes with my Scarlett O’Hara apron, pulled those sorry, few carrots out of the barren earth, shook them at the sky, yelled something about not liking vegetables, then emailed Warren:

I can’t start until March.

*
 All emails, text messages, and other written communications in this book have been copied as they were written, including spelling, grammar, and syntax errors.

Chapter Three
Details, Details

I chose March because I wanted to make sure I was mentally prepared. I needed holiday time with my family and mental time for myself, but in the meantime, I began grilling Warren about anything and everything related to The Iraq. Warren explained a bit about the location of the university, which was in a city called Sulaimaniah
*
, in the middle of the Kurdistan region of Iraq.

Warren said Kurdistan was the “safest” part of Iraq and was far from Baghdad and other violence-filled locations. So I was Googling “Northern Iraq weather,” mainly because I wanted to know what kind of clothes I should pack. Along with various weather reports were other kinds of reports:

18 hours ago: Gunmen kill 4 police officers in Northern Iraq.

Now wait just a minute, that doesn’t sound safe. The story detailed the growing unrest in the city of Mosul (a city in the allegedly safe Kurdish region of Northern Iraq) and how Christians were being killed. Another story popped up about the increase in female suicide bombers. I decided to stop reading. Ignorance really is bliss. Or, in my case, ignorance will help you proceed with your plan to get out of debt, start a savings account, and travel to places like Turkey, Greece, and The Rest of Europe.

Warren had said I would be able to start in March, and then asked me to send him an email with “what I wanted” in my contract. I had no frame of reference for this, so I asked him, “What do you
mean
, what I want?” He continued to speak cryptically and said, “Just email me with what you want—you know, like salary, etc.” But he had already explained to me the salary and vacation, hadn’t he? I was confused, so I just sent this:

Okay, ideally I would like:

A contract for 1 year

$75,000

July/August off (plus the standard time off you mentioned: 2 weeks in October, month of December off)

2 weeks off after each term (how long are the terms?)

A pony

How’s that?

I had always wanted a pony.

Warren responded:

Gerrrrts,

Now, the money—okay, extra time off between sessions—maybe okay depending on starts of upcoming programs, and we already have a pony here for you.

The pony is a big responsibility. As the main means of transportation in and out of the city, you will have to care for “Tyrone” every day and make sure he is happy. I am sure you will do fine.

So, let’s wait and see now. Maybe a repeat of 1995/1996? Hope this works!

W

I responded:

No repeat of 1995/1996. I don’t want you skipping out two months after I get there.

BOOK: I Have Iraq in My Shoe
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