Our Friends, the Interpreters May 13, 2006
Our Friends, the Interpreters
May 13, 2006
Life on FOB Warrior is always interesting, but it is the trips off the base that bring the 101st Airborne Division’s work here into focus. I wanted to go back outside the wire, back to the Kirkuk Government Building, because I knew I would see things I missed the first time.
My second trip to the KGB took place on a Monday. There was a larger group this time, so the convoy was six humvees long. I was driven by Tom Dulak and Ben Lord, two very nice young fellows. There was no gunner, which was fine with me—one less person to worry about. My sense of direction is quite poor, but after about ten minutes of driving in and out of several Kirkuk neighborhoods, I sensed perhaps we had taken a different route this time. We went through crowded city streets where people were shopping in open markets; children waved as we passed by. Cattle grazed in unlikely places. So did sheep and goats. I enjoyed all of the sights the new route brought with it. Of course, the change in route was deliberate. If one route was used all the time, insurgents would know where to focus their efforts.
Once at the KGB, I headed back to the Claims Office to see how Fondow was doing this week. He said the woman who had brought in the shell last week had returned. He had to explain to her that we had not been responsible for the damage done to her house, so we could not pay her claim. He said she had taken the news pretty well, but I’m sure it had not been easy for him to deliver, as it was in his nature to want to help.
Moments later another of last week’s visitors returned to the office. The man with the scar around his shoulder was back, and even friendlier this time around, shaking hands (substituting his left for right, which was still in a sling), and offering to show his scar to anyone who was interested. There were no takers.
It is rare that a claimant understands English. Some Iraqis speak a little English, but most do not. As hard as Fondow tries to do a good job, he could not do it nearly as well without the help of the interpreters, or “terps,” as they are called by the soldiers. There are three working in the Claims Office: Amer, YaYa, and Sarkis. They are intelligent and very personable. They are very good at what they do, though before the war they were all doing something else. The terps truly bridge the gap between the coalition forces and the Iraqi people. Without them, we would be unable to communicate with Iraqis and unable to understand their culture and history except on a superficial level. We would not be able to work toward a common goal because, let’s face it, people on both sides need to feel their voice is being heard. And not just heard but understood.
For as vital a role as they play, the interpreters are easy to overlook. They almost become invisible as they turn English into Arabic, and Arabic into English. There are two terps who work with the Public Affairs Office here at Warrior. Darth and Karso. They spend five days a week on the base, and return to their homes on weekends. Much of their day is spent reviewing local news stories. They let the PAO know what is being discussed, what information is being put forward by the Iraqi media, and they help the 101st translate any information it wants to get out to the Iraqis. They also work outside the wire when required, but they cannot come and go as they please. During the work week, Darth and Karso sacrifice a great many freedoms in order to help us. In the long run, of course, we hope they will enjoy these freedoms again, and many more.
All five of the interpreters I have become acquainted with are people with the same goals, the same desires, as you and me. They want to live peacefully and productively, and they want their families to be safe and happy. By working with us, they are putting themselves at risk. The insurgents are always looking for new targets, and anyone who is trying to make our job easier becomes a target. The terps cannot tell anyone what they do for a living. They might trust their neighbors, but they don’t want to share information that might put them at risk too. Imagine having to keep your job a secret. You wouldn’t be able to complain about your boss. You couldn’t brag about a job well done.
I have been thinking about the terps a lot. I tried to learn some Arabic before I left the States, but I gave up pretty quickly. I admire their ability to speak English so well, and I appreciate their enthusiasm when it comes to sharing stories with me. They are very open and curious, and love to discuss ideas and issues. Their commitment to learning a language other than their own is evidence that they are open to cultures other than their own. Amer saw the movie “The Horse Whisperer,” and talked about his dreams of living in a land like that pictured in the movie. YaYa thought perhaps if they wrote Oprah a letter, she would help them buy the home of their dreams. How many of us have had the same idea?
Darth and Karso were at the KGB on Monday too. I saw them at the end of the day while we were waiting for the convoy to come back for us. They joked with the soldiers, and it was good to see them laugh. They can wear the same uniform as the soldiers if they want to, or they can wear blue jeans and t-shirts (one freedom they have that the soldiers do not). Whether they are in uniform or not, they are soldiers in a sense, risking their lives as the soldiers do, in order to make a difference.
I drove back to the FOB with three soldiers: Bobby Milholland, Patrick Hansen, and Richard Gilbert. Once again, all nice boys. The list of people to care about and worry about in Kirkuk continues to grow. The list of people I admire and respect here grows just as fast. slm101st@yahoo.com
May 13, 2006
Life on FOB Warrior is always interesting, but it is the trips off the base that bring the 101st Airborne Division’s work here into focus. I wanted to go back outside the wire, back to the Kirkuk Government Building, because I knew I would see things I missed the first time.
My second trip to the KGB took place on a Monday. There was a larger group this time, so the convoy was six humvees long. I was driven by Tom Dulak and Ben Lord, two very nice young fellows. There was no gunner, which was fine with me—one less person to worry about. My sense of direction is quite poor, but after about ten minutes of driving in and out of several Kirkuk neighborhoods, I sensed perhaps we had taken a different route this time. We went through crowded city streets where people were shopping in open markets; children waved as we passed by. Cattle grazed in unlikely places. So did sheep and goats. I enjoyed all of the sights the new route brought with it. Of course, the change in route was deliberate. If one route was used all the time, insurgents would know where to focus their efforts.
Once at the KGB, I headed back to the Claims Office to see how Fondow was doing this week. He said the woman who had brought in the shell last week had returned. He had to explain to her that we had not been responsible for the damage done to her house, so we could not pay her claim. He said she had taken the news pretty well, but I’m sure it had not been easy for him to deliver, as it was in his nature to want to help.
Moments later another of last week’s visitors returned to the office. The man with the scar around his shoulder was back, and even friendlier this time around, shaking hands (substituting his left for right, which was still in a sling), and offering to show his scar to anyone who was interested. There were no takers.
It is rare that a claimant understands English. Some Iraqis speak a little English, but most do not. As hard as Fondow tries to do a good job, he could not do it nearly as well without the help of the interpreters, or “terps,” as they are called by the soldiers. There are three working in the Claims Office: Amer, YaYa, and Sarkis. They are intelligent and very personable. They are very good at what they do, though before the war they were all doing something else. The terps truly bridge the gap between the coalition forces and the Iraqi people. Without them, we would be unable to communicate with Iraqis and unable to understand their culture and history except on a superficial level. We would not be able to work toward a common goal because, let’s face it, people on both sides need to feel their voice is being heard. And not just heard but understood.
For as vital a role as they play, the interpreters are easy to overlook. They almost become invisible as they turn English into Arabic, and Arabic into English. There are two terps who work with the Public Affairs Office here at Warrior. Darth and Karso. They spend five days a week on the base, and return to their homes on weekends. Much of their day is spent reviewing local news stories. They let the PAO know what is being discussed, what information is being put forward by the Iraqi media, and they help the 101st translate any information it wants to get out to the Iraqis. They also work outside the wire when required, but they cannot come and go as they please. During the work week, Darth and Karso sacrifice a great many freedoms in order to help us. In the long run, of course, we hope they will enjoy these freedoms again, and many more.
All five of the interpreters I have become acquainted with are people with the same goals, the same desires, as you and me. They want to live peacefully and productively, and they want their families to be safe and happy. By working with us, they are putting themselves at risk. The insurgents are always looking for new targets, and anyone who is trying to make our job easier becomes a target. The terps cannot tell anyone what they do for a living. They might trust their neighbors, but they don’t want to share information that might put them at risk too. Imagine having to keep your job a secret. You wouldn’t be able to complain about your boss. You couldn’t brag about a job well done.
I have been thinking about the terps a lot. I tried to learn some Arabic before I left the States, but I gave up pretty quickly. I admire their ability to speak English so well, and I appreciate their enthusiasm when it comes to sharing stories with me. They are very open and curious, and love to discuss ideas and issues. Their commitment to learning a language other than their own is evidence that they are open to cultures other than their own. Amer saw the movie “The Horse Whisperer,” and talked about his dreams of living in a land like that pictured in the movie. YaYa thought perhaps if they wrote Oprah a letter, she would help them buy the home of their dreams. How many of us have had the same idea?
Darth and Karso were at the KGB on Monday too. I saw them at the end of the day while we were waiting for the convoy to come back for us. They joked with the soldiers, and it was good to see them laugh. They can wear the same uniform as the soldiers if they want to, or they can wear blue jeans and t-shirts (one freedom they have that the soldiers do not). Whether they are in uniform or not, they are soldiers in a sense, risking their lives as the soldiers do, in order to make a difference.
I drove back to the FOB with three soldiers: Bobby Milholland, Patrick Hansen, and Richard Gilbert. Once again, all nice boys. The list of people to care about and worry about in Kirkuk continues to grow. The list of people I admire and respect here grows just as fast. slm101st@yahoo.com
posted by Shelby Monroe at 12:14 AM
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