Being a Female in Iraq

by Rhea A.

It is 120 degrees easy, and my water is almost to the point of boiling. I have already lost track of how many hours we have been driving. We stop, which is good, I've had to pee for about four hours. I get out of the truck and look around. Desert sand to the left, right, and as far up as I could see. I notice a sign and it's in Arabic. I'm told that we are at the Iraqi/Kuwaiti border. "If you have to relieve yourself, do it now!" But there is no bathrooms, no trees, no bushes, and the sun is shining down as bright as can be. So I hand my weapon to another soldier and ask him to cover me. I stand in between two trucks, take off my LBV, push up my flack vest, undo my pants, pull them down, pop a squat, and pray that we don't come under attack. My helmet's too big, falling in my eyes, and I feel as if I am going to fall over with all this gear attached to me. That's when it hits me, "Damn it must be nice to be a guy."

Even though the military tries to make things equal between men and women, I learned, through my experiences in Iraq, that being a female is very different from being a male, no matter how equivalent things are.

I feel that it is easier for a man to take care of "business", at least half of the time, than it is for a girl. Whether you are convoying by Hummvee or helicopter and it is "that time" a male soldier can take out a bottle or stand on the side of the road and do what needs to be done. In Iraq, the male soldiers have something called a "piss tube", usually a piece of PVC pipe, a little lower than waist high, stuck into the ground. Three pieces of wood, maybe chest high, is used for coverage. Now imagine, it is 130 degrees out and sweat is pouring down your face. You are in full "battle rattle" and the flies are so bad that you don't need toilet paper because they'll take care of you. Nasty, right? Now you have to use the bathroom. Would you rather use a "piss tube" that has air flow? Or our makeshift port-a-potties? Oh, did I mention that we have burning details to keep the bathrooms clean and this one has not been cleaned in a while?

On the other hand being a girl in a "man's world" does have its benefits. I had a male NCO (non-commissioned officer) who had me acquire things quite regularly. Water was very hard to get when we first arrived into country, even harder to keep it cold. One of my favorite stories was when we were in Kirkuk, Iraq. SSG M was trying to get water for his soldiers. All he needed was two or three bottles. Everyone he asked said, "No, we don't have enough." Finally, he sent me off to find water. In less than ten minutes I came back with an entire case. His expression was priceless. All I did was ask for water, and guys just naturally want to take care of girls. I along with many females in Iraq was used like this to get water, ice, food, and other supplies.

Working with these men in an "unsecured" area is another task within itself. It is nice to have people looking out for you, but it often affected my job. I was a photographer and absolutely loved going on raids and patrols. Being where that action is and documenting it was my passion. But more times than not I would find myself in this situation: It's an Iraqi weekend night. And we have reliable sources that a local kid who has been mortaring a near by camp is going to try again tonight. Everyone is in position and I'm patrolling, with others, down the city's main street. It is as quiet as a ghost town, and I swear I can hear somebody snoring in a near by building. BAM! BAM! BAM!

"He's in the truck! He's is the truck! He's shooting........."

I'm thrown behind a wall and some sergeant screams at me, with a very serious face, "Don't move! Don't you dare move!" The smoke clears and the boy is caught. Then the same sergeant who yelled at me comes back and helps me up. "Are you aright? You didn't get shot did you? Did you get the pictures?" Hmmmm........let me think about that one.

It is expected to have casualties in a war. But no soldier wants the death of an American, female soldier on his conscience.

Five feet, two inches, one-hundred twenty pounds, blonde hair, and fair complexion is very "exotic" to the Iraqi culture. That was me when I went over there. The Iraqi men were very curious to see the American women in uniform. Notice I said curious not cautious. The first time that I went into town and was separated from my main party I was scared to death. I rode in a truck with an Iraqi interpreter, whom I did not trust and was sent "down-town". We ended up in a traffic jam at a dead stop. At anytime your convoy stops like this, in a hostile environment, you must get out and secure the area. I was lucky enough to get an interpreter in my truck, or so I thought, until he decided he wanted to talk with all the locals who were in the streets. Yes, these people walk in the same streets that the cars drive in. There were several Iraqi men crowding and trying to grope me. Simple fix, I thought. Locked, loaded, and ready I shoved the barrel of my M-16 into one Iraqis' chest. His reaction was nothing but a snide smirk. It did not take long for me to realize that I had no control over this situation. I quickly called over back up, which just happened to be males. The Iraqis backed off very promptly. This turned into a reoccurring event. Iraqi men have no respect for women and sadly enough the only way to get them to keep their distance, without shooting or physical force, is to have a male soldier around.

So even though those American boys can be a pain at times they sure are nice to have around. Through these different experiences I learned a lot about myself and a lot about being a female. I have learned to take care of myself and others. I have learned that there are times to rely on others and times you just have to get things done yourself. I have learned that no matter what people do and say sometimes men and women are just different. One is not necessarily better than the other, for they each have their benefits. At some point in our life we all need one another.