Sandstorm in Iraq, 2003, by Andrew Pache

From MemoryArchive

Who: Drew Pache
What: Sandstorm in Iraq
When: 2003
Where: Nasariyah, Iraq

As I sit here, covered in sand flea bites on two hours sleep sitting in 100 degree heat at 10:00 in the AM, I have to say home is still very far away. Last night was one for the books. It got up to 1:20 yesterday then some thunder showers moved thru, but it’s not really rain, mud literally comes out of the sky. Then the winds picked up blowing like hell as I tried to go to sleep in my tent. The wind was hot, about 100 degrees. It got stronger and all the loose flaps were snapping and whipping around, it was like trying to go to sleep in a big plastic bag under a helicopter. I scream F**K and go outside, buck naked with a headlamp, and try to tie things down but without my weight in it, my little nylon home starts to fly away. Being a good Green Beret I quickly tie one side to the truck but the other side, the one where the wind is coming from is bouncing around like crazy. Then, on cue, the dust storm starts. And it’s not a clean dust. It’s dust filled with shit particles and camel piss and Norwalk virus and probably anthrax. At this point I’m starting to lose it, but I think I can manage to settle down enough to go to sleep. I lay down on my dust filled cot, a fine rain of dirt particles falling on me from the ceiling. Then a big gust of wind hits the tent and the whole thing folds in half. A fan hits me in the face and all the dust and shit on the floor of the tent covers me from head to toe. Another gust sends a Cheez Wiz can hard against my temple. I snap. "F**K! SON OF A BITCH!....etc." I rip the tent open, throw my cot outside, throw some heavy shit inside and flee into the night. I stagger into our little office where Bruce is snoring peacefully and stand there, breathing heavily, covered in sweat and grime in a pair of running shorts. "What’s going on?" he asks. "Oh not much" I squeak. As I lay down, I can feel more dust and filth start to blow through the cracks in the wall and Bruce thoughtfully turns the volume up on the snoring. All in all, not a very restful night for the kid.

Yeah, I guess you could say I’m looking forward to getting back. No mas senor, no mas.