When I arrived in Basrah a couple of months ago, it took a little time for me to get adjusted to the life in camp. I had been to this camp in the past and pretty much know everyone, but as a visitor, you don't really get to experience the essence of the community until you actually live daily with the residents. Every time I'd been to Basrah in the past, I'd only ever stayed for a week or so. I never really had a chance to get to know anyone other than to greet them in the mess hall or nod my head on the road. I never felt like I belonged in the group, even though they tried their best to make me feel welcome.
I've heard stories from guys who'd have stayed in camps like this for up to 6 months and never really felt welcome. But then again, I am no social recluse. Making friends has never really been a problem for me and I've always seemed to be able to manage no matter what environment I'm in... I knew I'd eventually come to find my place. The question was when and how?
This is a brief story of how that happened.
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Morning Glory
That first morning I was woken up by a rooster crowing. It was loud and cut right through the walls of the trailer like it was standing outside my door. "A rooster at the airport in Basrah" I thought as I shook my head and dragged myself out of bed. I filed the incident under the "weird things I've experienced in Iraq" section of my brain and went about getting showered and shaved for the day. When I got out of the shower 15 minutes later, I still heard the rooster crowing. I got dressed, sat down and sort of stared off into space as this incredibly loud bird wailed.
"RR' RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"
It hollered at the top volume. As soon as the wind from its lungs emptied, one second later it would start up again.
"RR' RR' RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"
For a full half hour this went on without a break. "Man! What a set of pipes" I thought to myself. I'd never heard a rooster so loud before in my life. I actually thought someone was chasing it or it felt threatened in some way.
After the crowing died down, I shook the daze from my eyes and headed off to the kitchen for some coffee and the thought of some breakfast.
There were a few guys in the dining area, one of whom was Darryl, the camp manager who spoke with a thick Cajun accent.
"Good Morning Darryl" I nodded my head.
"Goo' Mon'nin man, howah you doin'?"
"I'm good, could use some extra strong coffee though. I was woken up by a rooster kinda early. Any idea what that's about?"
"Das ol' Mon'nin Glory mah frien', he dah camp Chicken. He wokes us up air'day wit' his crowin'. Sho' is loud ain't he?" He smiled.
I nodded, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat two tables down from Darryl. The cup was scalding and I slurped a bit before managing to speak. "Where did you get it?"
"Oh I tink Bakka, one'o dem Fijians we got hee'ah traded a shirt o' sumpin fo' him on duh Kue'wait Bo'dah. Bakka lahk to say he deliver him frum duh chains o' bondage!" Darryl burst out laughing, as did the other men eating at the surrounding tables.
He continued. "Ol' Mon'in Glory is one a kind mah frien'. Frien'ly lahk a pet in yo' home... he ain't lahk any chicken I evah see. He's not ornery lahk all dem uddah man-chickens. He lahk to be pet lahk a dawg."
I gave Darryl a look of disbelief like he was trying to pull my leg.
"I's true mah frien', go out dey and see fo' yo'self! Yup, he's a goo' ol' chicken dat Mon'in Glory." The rest of the guys nodded immediately in agreement. I got the impression they were talking about an old friend how they stepped up to the plate and agreed so easily. Either that or they were brown-nosing to Darryl who was their boss.
"He out back o' dey kitchen... g'won... go see!" Darryl pointed in the direction directly behind the mess. He almost sounded like he was daring me.
I have to admit that my curiosity peaked by this time. Peaked to the point where I found myself eating quicker than normal so I could go outside and take a look for myself at this unusual rooster. I left the mess hall and immediately headed behind the building. I heard some people laughing, followed the voices around the corner, and saw two Fijians with a piece of bread in each hand laughing at the side of a fence.
"What's up guys?" I said as I approached them.
They both turned to me and in unison pointed to the other side of the fence. I scanned the fenced in lot and didn't see anything at first. Then, out of no where, I saw it. From behind a big rock, a rooster came running toward us at top speed. By the way it was running so fast, it looked as if it were going to attack. I stepped back from the fence a few feet as it approached... it's always been my experience that a rooster charging at you meant it was angry and going to attack. But it stopped at the base of the fence, dropped a piece of bread out of it's mouth, and began pecking at it. One of the guys motioned to the rooster, "watch dis" and took another piece of bread, molded it into a little ball, and threw it out into the lot. Within a split second the rooster was off and running before the bread hit the ground. It searched the area where the bread landed for a couple of seconds, picked it up, brought it back to where we were, and started pecking at it like the piece before.
"You're playing catch with it?" I tilted my head with a puzzled look.
They both smiled in unison and nodded their heads.
"Amazing," I thought to myself as I watched them continue to do this over and over for about fifteen minutes. One of them told me to put my hand out and feed the bird to make friends with him. I did with a little hesitation since I know how roosters can get a little weird when you're near them. Sure enough, Morning Glory (MG) ate it right out of my hand. It was also as if it was taking care to not bite my hand. When it was done, one of the guys told me to pet him on the side of the neck. I did... and it didn't move. It actually seemed to enjoy the attention while it cooed a little and closed it's eyes. I suddenly lost all doubts that Darryl had put in my mind with our conversation earlier. This rooster was as tame as any household pet I'd ever dealt with. I was simply and utterly beside myself.
For the next few weeks it became a ritual to eat breakfast and immediately go out back to feed or watch the rooster. I often found myself taking my morning coffee and cigarette out back while observing MG. Often if I was the only one there, I'd sit and sip my coffee while MG would sit at my feet and want to get petted. I was told that it would rub itself up against your leg like a cat occasionally, but I hadn't seen that yet. Often when I'd walk around the camp in the evening, I'd walk over to Bakka's trailer and see him and his bird out front sitting there.
Bakka had been described to me as a bushman. Someone who, when home in Fiji, would retreat to his little hut in the hills and try to stay away from the hassles of city life. He had a real way with animals, and it seemed as if he could communicate with them, so they would be on the same wave length. I'd often just observe him and his rooster from a distance as he walked around the lot with MG following right behind him. He would talk to it in Fijian as well, and I swear the bird would respond accordingly like a dog. I was told Bakka had many pets since he'd come to Iraq, everything from lizards to dogs and cats... but MG was by far the camp favorite. Everyone loved MG and spoke proudly of him like he was a member of the team. He was a mascot of sorts and was pretty well known all over the airport.
A few weeks had passed, and each day I'd be woken up by MG's crowing. It was actually kind of nice not having to worry about setting the alarm clock or wondering if the power would be cut and resetting everything. It was the middle of summer, too, so he'd be out there hollering right at the crack of dawn which was around 5:30am. This was an acceptable time for me to wake up, and I really didn't mind. Each day I'd go eat breakfast and then head out back to either feed him or just hang out while the others did it.
One particular morning I'd woken up on my own and didn't hear MG. I'd walked into the mess hall and quickly asked if anything had happened. Dan, an older cover-alls wearing kind of guy form North Carolina said "ah MG prolly jus' got out again. Ol' Bakka will prolly have to go bail him out."
Darryl walked in at that moment and greeted everyone.
I turned back to Dan. "Bail him out?"
Dan sat up motioned me with his hand to hang on, sat up and yelled across the room, "Hey Darryl, when was it that MG got away?"
"Oh... dat mus' been 'bout a month and a half ago...why?" He started in on his eggs.
"Jimmy here was wonderin' why ol' MG wasn't out there yellin' this morning. I told him he prolly got out and Bakka would prolly have to go get him from the chicken detention center!"
Darryl let out a bit of a laugh and said "Das raght, he prolly did get out las' naght. Bakka got home late frum work prolly forget to close dey gate. He even miss dinner he was so late workin'. He prolly need to go get MG from jail."
I was confused at this point "Jail? Chicken detention center?... what was all this?"
Darryl took one more bite of his eggs, wiped his mouth and smiled. "A month or two ago, MG got out his pen an' run away. Bakka spend all day lookin' fo' MG and couldn't find him. One dem Brits called me and ask if we's missing our chicken. Dey found him strutin aroun' dey camp lahk he own duh place and one'dem recognized him... dey put him in dey prison."
Dan was giggling by this time, and I had what must have been a look of utter disbelief on my face. Darryl took another bite of his food and continued "When Bakka get dere, he found MG sitting in a cell lookin' all depressed. He say dat once MG see him, he jump up an' run to him. The Brits charge Bakka twen'y dolla that day to keep ol' MG dere. Imagine dat, twen'y dolla a day to babysit a chicken. Amazin'!"
By this time a couple more people had came in and picked up on the story. Dan was in tears from laughing and I was snicking myself. AD (AyDee), an Australian collegue of Dan's piped in "Yep, Ol' Monin'Glory likes to go on walkabouts... Silly chicken."
The stories continued for twenty or so minutes with Darryl and Dan telling us tales of Bakka and his rooster. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life. Bakka walked in a few moments later and looked around curiously at everyone giggling. He smiled back at us and went straight for the hot water and tea bags. We all had big grins on our face knowing sooner or later someone would tell him he had to go pick up his bird in lockup.
Darryl broke the silence and said "Mon'in Bakka, get yo' wallet out mah frien', I think you need to go get ol' MG from duh Brits again. He becum'in lahk a dysfunctional child buddy!"
Everyone burst out laughing.
Bakka looked at Darryl with a cocked eyebrow and then turned back to his tea. "No... Eat last night."
Darryl, AD, Dan, and I all laughed louder. I stopped after noticing the Fijians weren't laughing and had serious looks on thier faces. Bakka wasn't laughing and Darryl picked up on this...he stopped laughing as well. It took a few seconds before Dan and AD caught on and the mood of the room instantly took on a somber feel. Our smiling and laughing quelled in an instant by Bakka's four little words. I don't think him saying it was as much as a shock as all of us knowing he certainly had it in him to do it. He was a bushman. He ate what he could find when he needed to... and the night before he had come home from work late to find the mess hall closed... so he ate the first thing he could find. It made sense in a twisted sort of way.
One of the Fijians spoke to Bakka in their language. He was asking a question and he had a serious look on his face. Bakka nodded and grunted an answer as he sipped his bowl of tea.
Darryl, with a look of disbelief again was the first to speak. "Man, you ain't serious are you? You ate MG?"
Bakka looked up. "Uh huh... taste like chicken!" he burst out laughing. We were all silent with our mouths open in shock. We eventually went back to eating our breakfast in silence. I certainly had no idea what to say and I imagine no one else did either.
No one spoke for about ten minutes and finally Dan, looking angry and shaking his head, sat up, looked at Bakka and said; "Yuh cold-hearted sum'bitch! Di'ja least save the feathers or bury the bones?"
"Yes, in garbage still" Bakka said without batting an eyelash.
Dan went back to shaking his head for a few moments and then got up and walked out in silence. AD, Darryl, and I soon followed without saying anything. We didn't say a word walking back to our rooms. I feel kind of bad for saying this, but I went about my day like nothing had happened, and I actually forgot about the events of that morning. Later that evening there was a knock at my door. AD and Dan were standing there, they asked me if I could come out behind the kitchen in about a half hour.
When I got out back I saw a small fire burning and everyone standing around with beers in hand. There was a small hole dug nearby and a little cross made of some twigs. I went up to Dan, who obviously was drinking earlier by the glassy look in his eyes, and asked what was going on. He raised his beer and started speaking loudly,
"We're all here to remember a wonderful creature that has brought some joy into our lives in this dreary place. An animal that we all became fond of and loved even though his master was a cold hearted sum'bitch...." tears welled and his voice became shaky. He turned to cover his mouth.
AD started in and said "Even though we liked playing with him, and he was very fun... he was really just a rooster..."
Darryl immediately interrupted "He's mo' than jus' a chicken mah frien', everyone love ol' Mon'nin Glory." He sniffed hard. "Ol' Mon'nin glory was an icon guys. He wuz de're to bring us a smile and remind us to live dis la'ff to da fullest...."
I couldn't think of anything profound to say and just added, "He was very unique, I have to say that."
I finished my beer and excused myself early. I told everyone that I needed to get back to work and that I would come back if I was done quickly. I never managed to get back to the fire, but I did hear them out there till late in the evening. The next morning Dan, looking pretty rough, told me that Bakka liked to suck the marrow out of chicken bones and they couldn't find many of MG's that were intact. They did however manage to bury a wishbone and a few feathers that they found in Bakka's trash.
There is one thing positive that I have gained from this experience. For the first time since I arrived in camp, I was accepted as part of the community. I finally felt like I belonged in that inner circle. I realized now, that despite what had happened, I had a bond with the others who lived there... shared stories, shared some laughs, and shared a 'tragic event.'
If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that everyone has a story to tell. Where you've gone, what you've seen, things you've experienced, lessons you've learned, etc. Although every story is unique in it's own way, there comes a time when some of our experiences intersect... a point in time when we will, if even for a brief a period, walk the same path and experience the same events. For a handful of men living in a camp in Basrah, Iraq… we will forever share the memory of ol' Morning Glory.
by
Jim Morrison's Ghost
