More Iraqi Courage

As I mentioned in my last post, my friend General Ashraf's son was kidnapped and held for ransom, with constant threats to his life and his health. The kidnappers called regularly with threats and ultimatums. Ashraf, in turn, called his friend Colonel Hassan often, and as I passed by on one occasion I could hear his sobs on the other end of the phone.

One time the kidnappers called up, and said "We want more money or we will kill your son."

Ashraf pleaded: "Please, I'm not a rich man, I don't have much money. You can take everything I have, just give me back my son."

"No. What you have is not enough. If you don't get more, we will take your son to Ramadi and videotape his beheading."

"Fine. Take my son to Ramadi. Cut of his head. I will take all the money I have collected for his ransom and use it to throw a big party after his funeral."

This bold reply caught the kidnappers off guard. There was a pause, then "uh, we'll call you back later." <>.

Two days later Ashraf's son was released.

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On an average week I make at least one, and sometimes two, trips out of Baghdad on a helicopter. It's become almost as repetitive as a commute in the US used to be. But of course I realize that's a result of my skewed perception of reality. When flying so low you have to climb over palm trees is just the irritant of a weekly commute, things aren't normal.

One of my observations is this: what is it about the genetics of cows versus sheep that makes one animal stand still and another break and run as a helicopter flies ten feet overhead? Cows, even in herds, just stand there munching away on the grass, not caring what's going on above their heads. Flocks of sheep, on the other hand, immediately take off, running across field and road for all they are worth.

It must be a major irritant to shepherds on regularly-traveled flight paths. On my outward trip yesterday we crossed over a flock of sheep as they were being herded down a narrow lane. They immediately abandoned their shepherd and took off cross country, he chasing after them as fast as he could, waving an angry fist in the air. I'm sure it wasn't funny at all for him, but I did have to grin to myself.

On the way back we passed a grazing flock of sheep in the same area. Amidst the sea of white was their shepherdess, a girl perhaps 14 years old, in the crimson and purple robes that are common for young females in many of the rural areas of Iraq. Well, naturally, the sheep took off at the first whir of our rotors. Amidst this stampede the girl paid no notice to her flock. Instead she bent down, picked up a rock, and hurled it at the helicopter with all her might, frustration and anger evident.

I'm not trying to draw any lessons. We need to get around the country, and to do so we need to fly low. And the most common response to the helicopters are waves and thumbs up. Sometimes children chase the choppers in hope of candy falling from the sky – a not uncommon occurrence.

Still, I'd be interested in a survey comparing attitudes towards the Coalition of sheep farmers versus the rest of agricultural Iraqis.