Oct Iraq Tour: DAY FIVE
October 21, 2008
DAY FIVE: Tuesday October 21, 2008
In the morning, lost again in a maze of concrete T-walls on my way to the female showers, I ask for directions from a group of soldiers standing around smoking cigarettes. “You’re the singer!” they say. “We’ve seen your posters up around camp!” On the way back they stop me for group photos despite my protestations of wet hair and makeup-free face. As payment, I make them promise to bring out all their buddies tonight.
I’ve got two shows scheduled today: a solo performance at Camp Echo in the afternoon, and a band show at Kalsu tonight. My plan going into this tour was to take music to the farthest reaches I could get to. That meant that while I’d do the full band show at night in a Forward Operating Base, in the daytime I’d take helicopter rides with only a small amount of cargo space to outlaying patrol bases. Preferred method of transport to these smaller patrol bases: the Blackhawk. A very cool bird indeed.
There is a strict dress code for helicopters — long sleeves, long pants, covered shoes. Before we left New York my manager Alex insisted I buy some loose-fitting windbreaker pants with an elastic waistband. He knows me well – I didn’t own a single pair of pants other than tight cotton yoga pants, which are not exactly what you want to be wearing in a desert sandstorm. And since a skirt was out of the question – my Marilyn Monroe moment might interfere with standard operating procedure – I opted for the men’s section of my local sports store. Equipped with suitable attire, I’m ready for my first Blackhawk ride.
We fly for Camp Echo at 10 am. The flight is a blast – I used to skydive, and jumped out of a helicopter once. I probably won’t ever skydive again – life is risky enough as it is – but it’s nice to be high in the sky with the wind blowing on my face.
Below, agricultural plots and dusty houses with sandy palm trees intersperse with modest muddy brown rivers, straight as irrigation planning. A few cows walk slowly about the levees. The vegetation is green underneath, but covered in a thick layer of burnt umber-colored dust that weighs heavily on the palm trees, lawns, and rusted cars. We land on the small patrol base, Camp Echo, in a whirl of helicopter wind.
Because we were delayed from weather, our arrival at Camp Echo’s cafeteria where I’m set up to play is poorly timed. Soldiers are already finishing their lunches and heading back to their shifts. Despite my best efforts to be brave and play to the back of the room, it isn’t a fun show for me. I worry while I’m playing that they are walking out because they don’t like me. It’s never fun to play head games onstage.
After the show, I sign CDs for the remaining kitchen staff and a few enthusiastic soldiers. I’m pretty tired and bummed out, deflated.
Graciously, the commanding Colonel brings us to the Tactical Operations Center of Camp Echo. Here, I find a tent full of flat screen computers and projected maps. They point out the progress the Army has made in outlaying territories. Several of the soldiers who walked out during my cafeteria performance come up to meet me, and I sign CDs for them. I’m glad to be able to meet them personally – as busy as they clearly are they take the time to thank me for my tour here.
On our Blackhawk ride back to Kalsu, the helicopter pilot asks me if I want a “real” ride. Before the band can even gulp, I say “YEAH I want a real ride!” The pilot swoops us up and down, back and forth. Roller coasters now dim in comparison. We level out as soon as we approach Iraqi civilian areas – there’s no need to worry anyone below with our erratic approach. The land below, although war ravaged, strikes me as more familiar than I would have thought. Iraq has more green lawns and muddy rivers than Kuwait. In some ways, I could be flying over anywhere, maybe if the panhandle of America had palm trees. My preconceptions about the geographic identity of a “war zone” are quieted. Again, though, I can’t see what’s really happening down there from my helicopter. It’s moving by too fast.
Back at the main Forward Operating Base Kalsu, we set up for our outdoor show with the band. The show itself is a blast. The band is finally together, headed in the same direction musically. It’s a wonderful and boisterous crowd, clapping along and dancing when told to. We start a cheering shout-off between the right side and left side of the audience. One guy screams out, “I want to have your baby!” and I politely decline, as life on the road leaves no time for out-of-wedlock action now. The dust picks up. A circle of Ugandan guards dance in the back.
We play over 90 minutes, unable to deny the crowd’s enthusiasm. My gold sequined Tina Turner dress is caked in desert dirt by the end.
After the show, the meet-and-greet line moves slowly, as the soldiers chat easily about their lives in Iraq versus back home. We meet some musically-minded guys – Rattle, who sings us a gorgeous acapella gospel song, and Craig, an aspiring country singer from the South who confides his dream to us: Being on American Idol. They ask me for advice in how to follow their dreams of music. I suggest getting out night after night and simply DOING it. No time in life will ever be perfect; no amount of preparation will ever keep you worry-free. Touring and playing with other musicians is still the best way to earn your experience. Don’t wait for American Idol, I tell Craig. Go out and start now anyway.
After the show, the band and I sign the wall in the trailer – a little message for the next touring act that passes through. The gear is loaded onto pallets, and we wait at the airport hanger for our next Chinook helicopter ride. Tonight we are going to Mahmudiyah, about a 45 minute journey. The woman at the airport hanger yells at us accusatorily. “This is not your mother’s house! Pick up after yourself! Turn around when the helicopter lands! I’m trying to keep you safe, not put something over on you!” Geez.
Finally aboard the large cargo space of the Chinook again, we settle into the canvas seats. Our first Chinook ride (was that only last night!?) was a crowded flight, full of troops being transported to Kalsu. Tonight on our way to Mahmudiyah, we are alone in the cavernous interior. The helicopter crew throw each other Gatorades out of the cooler. The pilots start the twin propellers, and the whole interior vibrates with a heavy effort. The noise is astounding even with ear plugs. Our gear loads in the back of the copter with us. The crew stare out of their helmets through the open windows with their machines guns at attention.
We land at Camp Mahmudiyah at nearly five in the morning, tired, confused and disoriented. A young officer shows me to my private cabin and I stumble into bed.
