BEING BEAT WITH THE JAWBONE OF AN ASS – Q8 1991

Some of my most vivid memories are of things that are now pretty mundane and of little consequence, however, at the time they were stuck solidly in my mind and have remained there until this day. These are short snips of a fading memory, but laid out exactly as I remember them happening. Because none of these pieces warrants a full Post, I will kinda string them all together in one article.

The first one happened early in my second tour of Kuwait. Our offices were across a field from the main offices of KOC (Kuwait Oil Company). Almost everyday I had to visit the main office and take that day’s accumulation of paperwork, such as requisitions for purchase, competitive bid analysis’, formal Purchase Orders, Revisions to formal documents, new Contracts and out going correspondence, for approval by the KOC head honcho. I would call ahead, basically at the same time every day and seek permission for a meeting. Almost always it was agreed, so it became a routine.

I had a vehicle so I would jump in and drive around the one square block field and into the offices. My vehicle would remain outside while I waited for 1 – 2 hours to get everything approved. During this period my vehicle was unavailable for use by anyone else on the team. When it was at our office I left the keys in it. Then anyone, who needed to go somewhere just jumped in and used it. That worked very well for everyone. Because I was taking this vehicle, everyday, and driving it one block away. I decided, in all my wisdom, to leave the truck at the office. Then to carry my pile of paper, across the field and into the offices. It worked well, I would walk thru the field and back each and every day.

This goes on for a week or so, when one morning I leave the office to cross the field. I now see, the British Royal Ordnance blokes are all over this field. Armed with metal detectors and rolls of safety flagging. I stopped to ask one of the guys what they were doing. He explained that this particular area had never been swept for mines or ordnance. Because it had no tape on it indicating that it was safe, no one was supposed to be in this area. OOOPS, I had mindlessly been using this field as my personal shortcut for the last week or so.

Suddenly my knees feel a little shaky. I ask him what the results were and he says, “well we only had to remove four pieces of shite”. “But now we will put up the tape and you can let your guys thru there if they need”. I am now focused, just like a good slap across the face. Now, I had been using this shortcut without thinking. Or without heed to the very first warning I received in Q8. That being “listen up you bloody idiots, there could be mines or ordnance anywhere you step. Do not enter anywhere that we have not cleared and taped!” I then slink back into my office. Where I sit still, for a few minutes reflecting on what an idiot I was.

As I mentioned previously I had to go over to the main office and meet with a top guy from KOC each day. He had approval authority for anything and everything that we wanted to purchase. He was not a particularly likeable guy and he truly loved to screw with me. It was a master/servant relationship and I was not the master. He very clearly knew how busy we were and how stressed out. I needed to be in and out of there as quickly as possible. He knew this and I think took great pleasure in making me squirm. Almost invariably he would make his secretary bring us tea so we could have a “chitchat”.

The fact that “their” oilfield was burning down around them, seemed to have little impact on his enjoyment of his tea and his ability to stop me in my tracks and break my stride. What made this little interlude so hard for me was that I was “left handed” and my natural instinct, when handed something, was to grab it with my left hand. Well not there you don’t, unless you want to risk losing it (only kidding). However, it was still a serious insult to hand an Arab something with your left hand or to take something from them with your left hand. In that culture the “left” hand was used for personal hygiene and used to clean yourself with, whether or not toilet paper was available. So for this reason it was considered “unclean” and extremely insulting if you were to direct it towards an Arab.

I had been warned of this many times, but the urge was ever present. The only solution was, that when I entered the KOC office and was asked to sit, I had to firmly sit on my left hand so as not to wave it around during our conversations and tea drinking. I never forgot this and can say that I sat on it so much, that I developed a chronic case of pins and needles in my hand. In order to make sure I never used that “dirty appendage” I even practised sitting on it while eating in the camp kitchens at night. I became quite proficient as a right handed eater. I must also say I never used that “unclean limb” to clean myself with just in case I accidentally touched something in the presence of and Arab, I only ever used to other one, ha.

Another very cute situation occurred near the end of my time in Q8. During my stay there I had caused the purchase of many millions of dollars worth of materiel from or thru “agents” in Kuwait. So over time it was natural that a form of relationship was built. For me it was always on a professional basis and never crossed the line into friendship or cronyism. I and others in our group had been asked on many occasions to attend a dinner at their homes or in some other local venue. We always declined.

However at the end of the Project when everyone was getting ready to move on to different teams or in my case to return home to my next assignment, we agreed to a dinner hosted by one of the agents. It was quite special. In Q8 when a local had to put on a party, wedding, graduation, or whatever, they rented a location on the edge of the major highway and set up huge tents strung with hundreds of lights for the occasion. This was meant as a display of wealth and to show everyone how rich and influential they were. We arrive and were unsure of what to expect. The first thing was no alcohol. We had now survived 6-9 months in a place where absolutely no alcohol was allowed.

They did have great coffee, tea, soda and smokes, so the party was still on. We mingled, chatted and socialized with our agent’s people. The food was sheep on a spit that had been roasting, at least, all of that day. The smells were exotic. After 6 months of camp food, I could hardly wait. The food service was sort of buffet style, with parts being served, but the meats being self serve. Our host insists that I be served my meat, because he wanted me to have the “guest of honour” piece. I am so hungry I cannot wait. The smells were now beyond exotic. Well my piece arrives and I can barely recognize what it was, but realization started to creep in to my mind.

As the honoured guest I was served the “lower jawbone” of the barbecued sheep. It was not particularly appealing, I might say. There seemed to be quite a bit of meat in strips along the side of the jaw, and the juices flowed off it and onto my plate. Of course I’m sitting on my left hand and thinking “dig in you fool”. I have to admit that the set of big worn down, yellowed and cooked teeth that faced me was not particularly appealing. However, I take a deep breath, grab my meat and start gnawing on it, working off strips of meat from around and under these teeth that kept getting in my way. I must say it was delicious, except for the teeth part.