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Wednesday, March 16, 2005
The Art of Candy Tossing
Iraqi kids are aggressive. In this wide-open, almost Darwinian region, this is not surprising, since in this place you either take something for yourself or someone else does.
For example, one day on guard duty the most adorable little girl, probably around four years old and with pigtails, kept standing behind her wall and saying, "Hullo! What is your nam?" The next day, I came prepared with lollipops. The minute I held them up and pointed to them and then her, her eyes bugged out of her head and she started yelling for all her other friends. They all ran up to the base of the tower and I started to try to throw one each to each individual kid. Well, this little cutie suddenly became Ms. Aggressive Bossy, yelling at the other (larger) kids, pushing them out of the way, throwing hip-checks, grabbing as many Tootsie Roll lollipops as she could. When I came up one short and told (gestured really) her to give one of hers to the kid without one, she pretty much just ignored me and then tried to grab the last one that I found in my pocket and tried to throw to him (luckily he got it).
One day on patrol, I was in the gunner’s turret and loaded to the gills. I had a big ziplock baggie full of candies, a packet of these little spinning whistle things that our friend Jean (a school principal from Boise) gave me, along with two packets of little bendable monsters, also from Jean.
Our first stop was near a school located next to the site for a new clinic. We stopped so an officer could inspect the site for the groundbreaking ceremony. Soon our Humvees were mobbed with scores of boys (schools here are either segregated by sex, this one for boys only) who poured out of the school grounds and off the nearby soccer field. Immediately (and as always), they started asking for chocolate ("Mistah, mistah, shock-o-lat?"), food ("Mistah, fud?"), watches, MRE meals, cameras, and anything else they could see on our vests or inside the Humvees. As always, I kept saying ‘no,’ while also trying to chat and ask them their names and make broken, gesticulating attempts at small talk.
While they horded around the officer, I turned and yelled to the gunner in the truck behind me, "Hey Wilson, when we pull out, let’s toss some candy, okay?"
SPC Wilson, who was armed with his own bag of candy, replied, "Yeah, but not now, not until we pull out."
Knowing the mayhem that would ensue, I completely agreed. When we finally started to pull out, we whipped out the bags and started chucking handfuls of the stuff off to our right, into the throng. There was a sort of collective scream/yell and the race was on. As we bumped along, leaving the school, masses of boys ran along side, clamoring for the candies Wilson and I were launching out of the turrets. Unfortunately though, we took two more right turns, almost back into the mob, finally just accelerating away from the sprinting, wild-eyed kids.
The next stop was on a side street and I was able to give the whistles to SPC Shriver, who was dismounted on the ground, and he could hand them out in threes and fours to passing kids. They were nice enough to stop for a picture too.
The last stop for the day was to link up with some local police at their station. Our Humvee was parked on the other side of a barricade, and soon there were 4-5 boys on the other side, asking me the usual questions. Generally, their questions are (in order): Mistah, what’s yor nam? [I tell them my name and they attempt to repeat it.] Klis? Klris? [Pause, look up and down the road, confer with friends, pause… look back at me.] Mistah, give me chocolate. Mistah, give me food. Mistah, where are you from? [I say Idaho and they look at me, puzzled.] Mistah, give me money. Chocolate? Money? What is that [glasses, flashlight, whatever]? Give me.
I did my usual parry to their requests, which gets tiresome at times because a group will approach, ask you the usual questions seventeen times each, finally get tired and just move on down the line to the next Humvee. Then a new group of kids (almost always boys) will appear and the process starts all over again, to be repeated sometimes several times, with the same groups actually coming back again and again, with the exact same questions. (I credit one kid on this particular day as he at least had a new one: Mistah, you give me Atari?)
I kept telling them no, until we started to pull out. Then I grabbed my bag, the monster toys started to fly and the melee ensued, kids pouring out of everywhere. My mistake, was again not knowing our path out. As they kids started to swarm, we slowly serpentined out of the parking lot, swaying back and forth between large earthen barriers, and again we turned right, back toward the kids. I put the bag of monsters down and turned traffic cop, shoeing kids away from right in front of our vehicle and/or right up against our very large tires.
Kids, and people in general, here in no way have our kind of regard for safety and aren’t afraid to push the limits of their personal safety in order to get something that we throw (some kids in country have been killed by being pushed into U.S. vehicles). Because of this, we have to be very careful when and how we distribute goodies to the kids.
Regardless of that, the look on these kids faces, kids that have to little, when they realize that the candy or toy in your hand is for them, is just amazing (and perhaps a little sad too). Their eyes just about bulge out of their face, in a look of both total excitement, joy, and perhaps a little bit of desperation. After all, as an Iraqi kid, you’ve got to be quick. Here, you never know when a little four-year old cutie in pigtails might just hip-check you like an NHL defenseman out of contention for that Tootsie Roll.
For example, one day on guard duty the most adorable little girl, probably around four years old and with pigtails, kept standing behind her wall and saying, "Hullo! What is your nam?" The next day, I came prepared with lollipops. The minute I held them up and pointed to them and then her, her eyes bugged out of her head and she started yelling for all her other friends. They all ran up to the base of the tower and I started to try to throw one each to each individual kid. Well, this little cutie suddenly became Ms. Aggressive Bossy, yelling at the other (larger) kids, pushing them out of the way, throwing hip-checks, grabbing as many Tootsie Roll lollipops as she could. When I came up one short and told (gestured really) her to give one of hers to the kid without one, she pretty much just ignored me and then tried to grab the last one that I found in my pocket and tried to throw to him (luckily he got it).
One day on patrol, I was in the gunner’s turret and loaded to the gills. I had a big ziplock baggie full of candies, a packet of these little spinning whistle things that our friend Jean (a school principal from Boise) gave me, along with two packets of little bendable monsters, also from Jean.
Our first stop was near a school located next to the site for a new clinic. We stopped so an officer could inspect the site for the groundbreaking ceremony. Soon our Humvees were mobbed with scores of boys (schools here are either segregated by sex, this one for boys only) who poured out of the school grounds and off the nearby soccer field. Immediately (and as always), they started asking for chocolate ("Mistah, mistah, shock-o-lat?"), food ("Mistah, fud?"), watches, MRE meals, cameras, and anything else they could see on our vests or inside the Humvees. As always, I kept saying ‘no,’ while also trying to chat and ask them their names and make broken, gesticulating attempts at small talk.
While they horded around the officer, I turned and yelled to the gunner in the truck behind me, "Hey Wilson, when we pull out, let’s toss some candy, okay?"
SPC Wilson, who was armed with his own bag of candy, replied, "Yeah, but not now, not until we pull out."
Knowing the mayhem that would ensue, I completely agreed. When we finally started to pull out, we whipped out the bags and started chucking handfuls of the stuff off to our right, into the throng. There was a sort of collective scream/yell and the race was on. As we bumped along, leaving the school, masses of boys ran along side, clamoring for the candies Wilson and I were launching out of the turrets. Unfortunately though, we took two more right turns, almost back into the mob, finally just accelerating away from the sprinting, wild-eyed kids.
The next stop was on a side street and I was able to give the whistles to SPC Shriver, who was dismounted on the ground, and he could hand them out in threes and fours to passing kids. They were nice enough to stop for a picture too.
The last stop for the day was to link up with some local police at their station. Our Humvee was parked on the other side of a barricade, and soon there were 4-5 boys on the other side, asking me the usual questions. Generally, their questions are (in order): Mistah, what’s yor nam? [I tell them my name and they attempt to repeat it.] Klis? Klris? [Pause, look up and down the road, confer with friends, pause… look back at me.] Mistah, give me chocolate. Mistah, give me food. Mistah, where are you from? [I say Idaho and they look at me, puzzled.] Mistah, give me money. Chocolate? Money? What is that [glasses, flashlight, whatever]? Give me.
I did my usual parry to their requests, which gets tiresome at times because a group will approach, ask you the usual questions seventeen times each, finally get tired and just move on down the line to the next Humvee. Then a new group of kids (almost always boys) will appear and the process starts all over again, to be repeated sometimes several times, with the same groups actually coming back again and again, with the exact same questions. (I credit one kid on this particular day as he at least had a new one: Mistah, you give me Atari?)
I kept telling them no, until we started to pull out. Then I grabbed my bag, the monster toys started to fly and the melee ensued, kids pouring out of everywhere. My mistake, was again not knowing our path out. As they kids started to swarm, we slowly serpentined out of the parking lot, swaying back and forth between large earthen barriers, and again we turned right, back toward the kids. I put the bag of monsters down and turned traffic cop, shoeing kids away from right in front of our vehicle and/or right up against our very large tires.
Kids, and people in general, here in no way have our kind of regard for safety and aren’t afraid to push the limits of their personal safety in order to get something that we throw (some kids in country have been killed by being pushed into U.S. vehicles). Because of this, we have to be very careful when and how we distribute goodies to the kids.
Regardless of that, the look on these kids faces, kids that have to little, when they realize that the candy or toy in your hand is for them, is just amazing (and perhaps a little sad too). Their eyes just about bulge out of their face, in a look of both total excitement, joy, and perhaps a little bit of desperation. After all, as an Iraqi kid, you’ve got to be quick. Here, you never know when a little four-year old cutie in pigtails might just hip-check you like an NHL defenseman out of contention for that Tootsie Roll.
Posted by: Unknown / 4:53 PM 
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Chris, had to post that part about the Atari on my Blog. Most kids I know don't know what a cassette tape is. Talk about a different culture!
(This is Sally's cousin Annie)
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(This is Sally's cousin Annie)
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