OTHER RAMBLING MEMORIES OF KUWAIT, OR WERE THEY JUST DREAMS?

As I prepare to leave Kuwait and continue on with my memories of our travel and adventures, I am going to leave you with some ramblings of my feeble mind. I was about to pass over some of these “memories”, but I will not. Let me explain. The contents of these posts, about my experiences in Kuwait, come only from inside my mind. I have tried to just dump my brain into these posts, without exaggeration, embellishment or fabrication. I have fact checked nothing (other than using some photos from the internet where my personal stock of photos was insufficient). Nor have I changed anything to align my memories with information available on the internet.

Therefore, some of my musings, thoughts or stories may not be 100% in lock step, with what someone else has published, as fact, in the internet, related to the aftermath of the war in Kuwait. However I was there, and not many of us were. I lived, ate, slept and worked in the devastation caused by this conflict of men. Below are some further snippets from my memory of those times. They have been rambling around inside of my head and I believe them to be true stories. However, could also be the dreams of an old man (created by the effects of nerve gas on an already unstable mind. After all who in their right mind would have placed themselves in that much danger). Enjoy them if you can find any merit in these, further, recollections.

Along with the story about “Big Wind” the Hungarian fire fighting machine. I recall another group that we hired, also later in the well control efforts. These being the Romanian firefighting team and their equipment. In my mind, they had a very similar setup to the Hungarians but on a much more basic scale. It was a “poor” country’s version of “Big Wind”. It consisted of one jet airplane turbine, mounted on the backend of a flat bed truck trailer. Then it was pushed in close to the fire. This done by a cat D9, that lifted the front of the trailer and manhandled it into place. There were no joystick controls, it was not self-propelled and didn’t look real sexy.

That may be the reason there was little hype about it. I also remember the ridicule piled on this team before their arrival. And later, the silence and new respect shown to them after “snuffing” out a fire. They used a very similar method (or maybe they invented the method and were copied by the Hungarians) to that employed by “Big Wind”. That being, hundreds of thousands of gallons of water shot into the path of this loud, screaming, howling jet turbine. And then redirected straight at the base of a fire at supersonic speed. And “Poof” another well fire is out. Followed by, “where’s my money, and which one do you want me to do next”?

How many teams were involved in the firefighting efforts, you might ask? My recollection is that we ended with 26 teams from many countries. Which included, a team from Kuwait, that became very famous in their own right. Although little was heard about these “non famous” teams. They contributed every bit as much, to the efforts directed at wild well control. As did the more famous North American teams such as Red Adair, Boots and Coots, Safety Boss and Wild Well.

In some ways the teams, not made up of “press darlings”, were easier to deal with. And appeared, more effective to work with than those teams whose leaders had to appear before congress to hype their hype, use their fame to further inflame the cursed media, and those who made themselves complete “pain in the asses” onsite, during this difficult period. I, for one, bent over far more for anything that these unknown teams required. Before I cowered, to some loud obnoxious “hero” from the more famous groups.

One of the most famous groups was lead by a women, daughter of the founder. The Kuwait team included a woman firefighter that became a symbol of Kuwait’s resilience after the war. And at different times other teams included female firefighters. So this was not necessarily a “man’s game”, only. I fondly remember the frustration around trying to get the French team onsite. They had to have meetings, parades, and media showers, before being prepared to come save the world.

It just so happened that they were still marching on the Champs Elysee, in front of adoring crowds. When we were able to cancel their appearance because we were reaching the end of the fire fightings efforts. The media had convinced them that the fires would burn for five years. Therefore, they had lots of time, to save the world. I got a great laugh out of this. One less group of arrogant heroes to deal with. Hee, hee, hee.

The US forces PX in Kuwait City was a godsend. It provided our one and only point of relief. With it, andopportunity to relax in safety during this period in my life. Although I was not a US citizen, I was allowed to get signed into the base if accompanied by a US services veteran, or maybe even just a US citizen. It only happened that two times during my work in Kuwait, that I was ever free to visit it during hours of operation. What a relief it was to enter into a world that felt normal and safe. To see a real live Pizza Hut, a hamburger restaurant, Coca Cola, French fries and other junk food places from home, was magic.

It was just a demonstration of how little it takes to make you feel normal and happy again. Now get this, our kitchens at work pumped out first class food, each and every day. The standards and variety were world class, yet to sit at the PX and have a hamburger, coke and fries was like being in gourmet heaven. To just sit and listen to the murmur of voices, the hubbub noise in the background, the music blaring and the laughter and teasing floating in the air, to me was heaven. I will always remember this gathering of tents, the signs, the sights, the sounds and the welcome I/we were given by the US troops. They are my heroes.

One evening, near the end, I was free from work a little early and decide to take advantage of a newly opened barbershop in the bottom level of our apartment complex in Al Ahmadi. It was staffed by an Arab fellow, not of Kuwaiti descent but probably Jordanian or Syrian. In any event, he had an opening and soon it was my turn to pop into the chair. He is snipping away and chatting with me in reasonably good English. Lord knows he was getting the practice, as all of his customers were foreigners.

Anyway, he’s telling me about his experiences during the war and his take on the right and wrong of it. At just about the time when his voice starts to show signs of stress in it, he whips out a huge straight razor (looked to me about the size of a machete) and prepares to shave my face and neck. He then starts in telling me why he thought the Iraqi soldiers were “good guys” and how they had given him goods and things he needed to improve his life. He didn’t mention, of course, that these goods were stolen from someone else during the course of ransacking the country.

With his razor zip, zipping and gliding around my neck, I sure as hell didn’t correct his thinking. All I could hear was the deafening sound as his weapon slashed thru each individual whisker on my neck. Nor did I want to start silently praying to God, as I knew for sure that would be blaspheme and necessitate some blood letting. I would have liked to gulp, but knew that if my Adam’s Apple suddenly lurched out in the path of that razor, that I might lose it. In all of the time I had spent in country, I had not been so frightened. Geezus what if this guy was a “closet” Saddam supporter? With one swipe, he could have had my head in a basket. My mind cried out Mamamamamamaaaa. Finally it was over.

He wiped me off, probably wondering why I was sweating so profusely, after all, the air conditioner that the Iraqis had given him was working full blast. With a flourish he removed the cape and I launched myself out of that chair as if I was spring loaded into it. I landed about ten feet away from him and the weapon he was now cleaning. My bowels are now threatening a crap storm! He smiles at me pleasantly and says, “you must come back soon, it’s been my honour to speak with you”. I squeak out “I weeeeeellll” and head for freedom.

I can guarantee you, I could have looked like a mountain man, but that was one place I was never returning to. Looking back, I kinda felt bad, for the evil thought. because he was a seemingly nice guy, however once my mind starts working there is no turning it off. I couldn’t swallow properly for days, just thinking of that knife gliding over my pale white skin and this Saddam lookalike hovering over me with a “decapitating” tool.

Near the end our my time in Kuwait, things had returned to “normal” in a few places inside of Kuwait City. We got wind of a real restaurant reopening and decided to quit early one evening and make a 9:00pm dinner reservation in the city. If I remember correctly, Kuwait City was about 30-40 minutes from our location down the coast. We piled into a few of our company vehicles and headed for some real food.

The restaurant was shaped like a boat, and may well have been a boat as we were on the Gulf. It was brightly lit, with Christmas tree lights adorning the gangway and hanging from the masts. There was Arabian music playing in the background and we were in a happy and festive mood. We got settled in and were enjoying the ambience. We had a choice of beverages, coffee, tea, Coca Cola, water or nothing. Still in Kuwait and still no beer. Anyway we were used to that so it made no difference to the atmosphere. We were happy, hungry and full of excitement.

We were all discussing the delicacies we were going to partake of. Each person had their own personal craving, such as steak, fish, fowl, seafood, some exotic, and others more basic. This was a restaurant run by Indian people who lived in Kuwait. The long anticipated menu arrives and there are three entries on the page, Lamb, chicken or sheep, with two choices each, curry or no curry, spicy or not spicy. The hostess explains that they have not yet re-established links to a supply line of food, so their choices are limited. What you gonna do?

We each stifled our visions of rich and exotic foods and chose our own version of lamb (we had chicken options each day in camp). A footnote: being unused to eating away from camp, and not understanding the depth of “spicy”, it is fair to say that this food went right thru many of us. The ride home was tense, jaws were clenched and words “bit” off. On arrival back at home the car doors opened and each person ran off. Goodnights were short and passed over the shoulder on your way to relief. This was my only visit to a real restaurant in Kuwait.

Well it comes the time to end my ramblings of Kuwait and to move on to bigger and better adventures. During our period of putting out the fires in Kuwait, we were treated well by our company. Now the last fire was out and it was time to find out how fickle the company that sent us there was. After the last fire was out, a president of our company and grandson of the founder came to speak with us, onsite. We all gathered for a barbecue, outdoors. There was no smoke in the air, it was a beautiful Arabian night and there was excitement in the air.

Our leader stood in front of us and thanked us for our participation in this monumental job. He praised us for our bravery, loyalty and dedication and then segway(ed) right into something that sounded like this “and now that you have finished this phase of the work and things are now normal and safe (like says who, I was still apprehensive wherever I went), we will now change the conditions you are here under”. “Leaves will now be every 90 days instead of 30, will be unpaid and will consist of 14 days total with no travel time (as we had been previously given), the danger-pay allowances will be removed, yada, yada, yada”.

And “by the way thank you once again for your service, and anyone that does not like the new conditions are now free to return to their previous assignments. All you need to do, is sign the letter we will send you tomorrow and you will be repatriated. If you do not sign the letter, it will be assumed that you will stay. New conditions will be sent to you”. Silence ensued, it was like a few hundred guys had all been kicked in the huevos all at the same time. There was no thunderous ovation for this “backhanded” thank you. What I learned from this was, you are only valuable until the time someone no longer needs you, then the love affair ends.

For me it was like YIIIPPPPPYYYY, I’m going home, and they can shove Kuwait and this desert. With that I eagerly signed the paperwork requesting repatriation and went to pack my bags. A footnote: Once I had signed up to go home, I received a call from the person who had redirected my path from Pennsylvania to Kuwait, saying that the “letter” was not meant for me (and a few others who also asked for repatriation), and that they wanted me to stay for the next phase of the work”. “To late”, I replied, “my wife is counting on me going home now, adios”. Thus ends my stay in Kuwait.

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