Jim Spiri in Iraq

At one point, I just burst out laughing as I watched
this one lone cow walk nonchalantly back and forth
across the Syrian-Iraqi border.

I had this thought come over me, "is that cow, Sunni, Shia, Yazzidie,
Kurd, Christain, or even Al Queda...." Whatever the
cow was, it apparently had all the right paperwork,
because of the thousands of people I saw standing in
the countless lines, waiting, the cow had no problem.

It just knew where to go and what to do. It did not
even have to show an ID card or passport. If it were
only that simple.....

I awoke at around 0630 this morning having found a way
to nod out. The body just goes to sleep when it is
done for the day/night. And it just wakes up the same
way. Having thrown water on my face and slicked back
my hair, I headed to the make-shift chow hall and
sipped on a couple cups of coffee. I would surely
need it this day, and even scoped out where the rip
its are stashed. The mornings are nice, no matter
where one wakes up on the planet.

COP Heider is way out here on the north-western edge
of Iraq, in the desert. It is a small place built
around an abandoned grain elevator and near some very
unused train tracks. It is definitely roughing it,
pretty much, but it's better than other places I've
stayed in Iraq, as far as all the amenities go. It is
very sufficient for the mission at hand. After
realizing it would take me a while to get
jump-started, I eventually caught up with 1st Sgt.
McKinney, who is from Arkansas.

My wife's grandfather, Hugh, was born in Arkansas, 95-years-ago,
and every time I meet someone from there, I am reminded
of how down to earth they always are. Sgt. McKinney
has gone to great lengths to get me acquainted with the
crew here and with his help, I've blended right in
once again. The border mission would be quite an
experience today.

I was introduced to one Major Lawrence Basha, 44-years
old, and a 28-year Army veteran, who just happens to
be from Albuquerque, NM. Another neighbor. I told
him why I came here and he smiled at the mental
picture I had painted for him in wanting to see border
patrol agents here in Iraq. I knew right away he was
another well placed hook up, sovereignly arranged for
my journey. I keep running into the most fascinating
people on this journey.

At around 1030 hrs, we walked out the post and right
into the border crossing area. The first things we saw
were vehicles all lined up stacked to the hilt with
mattresses on top, tied down like something out of a
Chevy Chase movie in, "Vacation". "How are they going
to drive through Iraq with that load of stuff?" was my
first thought.

Then, once we walked around and had
them open up the back, there were hundreds and
hundreds of two-litre bottles of soda stuffed plumb
full. And, as the major looked even further, there
were 50-gallon drums of diesel fuel buried in between
all of that. Now, for many years, I had been a
peddler of goods, jamming kids and merchandise in vans
and traveling the world, but the site before my eyes
at this moment was unbelievable. This was not Juarez,
this is the Iraq-Syria border.

As Major Basha and I continued on through all the
different areas of the border crossing, he began
educating me on what goes on here. Of course, the
main focus on the mission here is stemming the flow of
"bad guys" coming in and going out. They catch some
all the time. There is also the flow of arms and items
used for bomb making, that are confiscated from time
to time. Added to this is the movement of fuel which
is a hot item these days. And as is the case with any
border crossing on the planet, there are the usual
graft and corruption issues that just takes place
according to whatever culture is running the show.

According to my own estimates, there must be 20-30,000
people a week going through this point of entry this
time of year. It is said to be slower in the winter
months. In recent months, the flow of Iraqis entering
Syria was quite large. At the moment, it seems to be
a steady two way street. Whatever the case, there are
people coming from Syria to Iraq, with all kinds of
reasons, and lots of people going from Iraq to Syria,
for "short" periods of time, so they say.

As we went on further, I was witnessing the traffic
from the center of about 2000 people. They had been
directed in this lane and that lane, and for lack of a
better term, it was just plain organized tossed salad.
It looked like chaos, but, it's the nature of the
beast. There are Iraqi Army and border control folks,
trying to coordinate it all, and at the same time,
their culture just lends itself to hoards of people
all trying to go to the same place at the same time in
excruciating heat.

There were people of all ages, male and female, some occasionally spoke bits and
pieces of English. As I roamed around with the Major
I began to snap away at the scenes in front of me. So
much so that I ended up using two batteries and had to
stop, because I was out of power for the camera.
There are some good photos from this day.

I was handed off for a while to SFC Claybaugh, who is
actually a medic by profession, but for the time being
he is also a "crowd control specialist", at least that
is the term I'm giving him. He is on his third tour
of duty in Iraq, and this job, although somewhat safer
compared to other tours, is just as trying. Everyone
wants to be in the front of the line. EVERYONE. Each
has the most amazing reason yet, SFC Claybaugh has to
be the same for each one.

Wait your turn. There is no other way.

On many occasions I thought we were on
the verge of a general riot, but Claybaugh has a way
with the crowd. He takes a firm stance and begins to
leverage his authority in a firm manner. He spots the
ones conning their way to the front of the line and
picks them out and immediately makes an example of
them by escorting them to the end of the line. No one
gets special treatment. There is just no way.

Families with children, young men who all look
suspicious, old men and old women, young females,
babies, the whole ball of wax. They are all here, by
the thousands, all cramming from one crowded line to
the next. Waiting for a stamp on their fake or real
passports. And this is where the US border patrol
guys come into the picture.

Anyone that has anything looking out of the ordinary
is taken to another line and documented just like I
saw being done in Fallujah. ID's checked, finger
printing, etc. It's all in previous entries on this
blog. But here, the volume is enormous. I watched as
the US border patrol agents took single men coming
into Iraq from Syria and lined them up.

Documents were checked, and then they are identified in similar
fashion as to what I saw being done in Anbar province.
Recently, in conversation with Col. Twitty, he told
me that the flow of foreign fighters coming into Iraq
is coming through the point of entry where I am at
this moment. New equipment and facilities are on
order as of this writing and a sincere push by General
Patreaus in stemming this flow is having results, but
the task is enormous. Watching the border patrol
agents from the US do their work, opened my eyes and
hushed the cynical voice in me prior to arriving here.

As anyone else would imagine, why are border patrol
agents from the US here in Iraq, while our own borders
are still a major problem? What I saw however today,
is that what is being done here, is not just a
learning process for the Iraqi authorities who
eventually will take over the process one day on their
own, but it is also a highly intensified border
control experience that will benefit the controlling
of our own borders back home.

This is an excellent opportunity to not only stem the flow of foreign
fighters into the Iraq war zone, but also an excellent
opportunity to train up in such an intense environment
that deals with every aspect of border control in a
war environment. The learning process is a two way
street, in my opinion. What is learned here, is
brought back home and implemented on our own borders.
This what I see.

Later, I was again taken to lunch with Iraqi
authorities and partook of their food. It was again
another experience standing around a big table with
all kinds of Iraqis, eating communal style, and as
usual, the food was very good. Major Basha later on
took me back to the post, and on the way back we
talked at length at what I am doing. He was intrigued
by the fact that I was even here. He had not seen any
other "media" people here before. Once again, I'm
here, and they're not. Seems to be a pattern.

As I contemplate the days scenes, I am forever
flashing back to all the borders I've crossed over the
years. There are similar smells, similar scenes,
similar reasons and so on. But these are only
flashbacks of war zones in the past, of third world
countries that cope, and other nations that might be a
notch or two up on the processes of border crossings.
This on the other hand is Iraq. And across the
street is Syria. It is a longstanding commercial
route from centuries gone by. But today, it's a
border where very bad people try to slip in and do
very bad things.

There are warriors here and they are part of the
Cavalry. They may be the last ones to receive all the
things that make life in the war zone a little more
comfortable, but they are surely on the front line of
fighting the war on terror.

No, this is not Juarez, Mexico. It is the border
between Iraq and Syria in the far north west of the
region. It is a hot spot, in more ways than one.

Jim Spiri
COP Heider, Iraq
jimspiri@yahoo.com