Operation Restore Hope Part V
A tale of two operations. Or, the one where I get to have all kinds of fun.
Sorry I am so late with this post. My only excuse is work and Christmas. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay on a schedule in 2025. Happy New Year everyone!
Last time we were together, I told more stories about my time in Somalia during Operation Restore Hope. Click below if you missed it.
Today I’ll continue with more stories from that strange time and place.
My Muslim friends
In 1993, when I joined the UAE battalion in Somalia, the view of most Americans, myself included, regarding Muslims was very different then it is now, post 9/11. I was well aware of the Iranian Ayatollahs and their hatred of the US, just as I was aware of Muslim terrorists that had killed 249 of my brethren in Lebanon, and who had been waging a war against Israel for years. But in general there wasn't the enmity there is now. My experience with the soldiers from the United Arab Emirates was nothing but positive, they were as nice as you could possibly imagine. Colonel Alkethi had a big screen satellite TV in his office and let me watch CNN (the only 24 hour news network at the time), and sports (mostly soccer games). He also let me call home on his satellite telephone,1 I really appreciated his generosity.
I spoke with Colonel Alkethi nearly every day and he seemed genuinely concerned about my well-being and if I was being treated well. He also seemed interested in what I had to say about the situation in Somalia. When he told Captain Hassan and I that we could eat with his officers and senior enlisted men, we both jumped at the chance. We both wanted to have real food, rather than the MREs we had been eating three times a day since we had arrived in Somalia.2 They had brought a mobile home-sized field kitchen and were flying in fresh food and buying goats from farmers outside of Mogadishu to serve everyday. It was 1000% better than MREs and everything was delicious.
The junior officers and enlisted soldiers were just as nice, even if there was a language barrier and the soldiers didn't understand my lack of religious conviction. I ate with the senior enlisted men most of the time, except for a handful of times where I ate with the junior officers and a few times where I ate with Colonel Alkethi and his senior staff, (quite an honor for a lowly E-3 like me).3 Whichever group I ate with, I was treated as the honored guest, I was the first to get food, and the first to have the opportunity for seconds. Overall, a was the guest, even though I was there to help them, and they were more concerned with my needs over theirs. The way I described them when I got home was this: They’re the best friends you could ever have. They’ll give you their last drink of water or the shirt off their back. The problem happens when you get a large group of them and jam a Quran down their pants. When they get whipped up by an Imam, they can turn from your best friends to your worst enemies in a heartbeat.
The daily grind
For the most part, the captain and I didn’t have to do much while we were with the UAE. Since Colonel Alkethi and his Executive Officer both spoke British English, there was really no need for us to coordinate with UNITAF, they just did it themselves. They also didn’t have any equipment needs. The UAE is only a two hour airplane ride away from Mogadishu, close enough that the officers took turns going home on the weekends. They are also one of the richest countries in the world, therefore their needs were minimal. We would go to the airport every day to see what was going on, and get our daily dose of Somali gunfire and traffic jams.
You have not lived until you have seen a donkey caused traffic jam. I have actually seen a donkey just sit down in the middle of an intersection and refuse to move, causing a huge backup of traffic. It is funny, but dangerous for us. When those things happen we are now literal sitting ducks. Luckily, we were never targeted by snipers in any of those traffic jams, but we were targeted by thieves. I always said that the Somalis would steal everything that wasn’t nailed down and they didn’t take those things because they didn’t have a hammer. I had three 5-gallon water jugs, and my desert camouflage boonie hat stolen out of the humvee while I was stuck in traffic. Kids would just run up and grab what they could and disappear into the crowd. I took to carrying a tree branch an inch in diameter to deal with those kids. In Somalia because of the heat and the fact that the plastic doors wouldn’t stop a rock let alone a bullet, everyone took the doors off the humvees and just threw them in the back. Once, while stuck in traffic again, a kid ran up and grabbed one of the doors, but he made the mistake of running towards the front of the vehicle, and by then I was more vigilant in traffic so I saw him take the door and run right at me. I grabbed the branch and hit him right in the chest, he fell down and I scooped up the door, he got up a ran away. I’ll bet, he never tried to steal from Americans again, he was fine, but probably had a nice bruise to remind him.
George the Goat
I was enjoying my time with the UAE, especially the food. For breakfast the cook would normally serve balaleet, a dish of vermicelli sweetened with sugar, cardamom and saffron and served with an omelette stuffed with sautéed onions and potatoes. For lunch there would be meze, which is like Arabic tapas4, with bread that acts as a plate and napkin. Dinner would be a more traditional western style meal with a goat dish, vegetables and rice.5
However, this delicious diet did lead to one interesting/unfortunate experience for me. One day, just after breakfast, I was by the kitchen and found a goat tied up waiting to become dinner, I grabbed some carrots and fed them to the goat, who I decided to name George (I don’t know why I did it, it just seemed like a good thing at the time), he seemed like a nice goat, and I spent 10 minutes feeding him the carrots and petting him. At lunch, Captain Hassan informed me that I was being given a great honor by the cook. I would get to kill George the goat, so he could be cooked and eaten for dinner. I am by no means a PETA member, and I understand where my food comes from, but I didn’t want to kill the goat. The captain told me, I couldn’t refuse, it would be an insult to the cook and the unit as a whole, and that was the end of that argument. A few minutes later the cook and another soldier each had a hold of two of George’s legs and he was being held head down.6 I was presented with a large sharp knife, and as I did the deed, the cook whispered a prayer. I wasn’t fun , but as the captain had said, it was a great honor for be given, but the goat steaks that night just didn’t taste as good as usual.
The Muslim holy month of Ramadan started about two weeks after I was attached to the UAE. During Ramadan, Muslims are required to fast, meaning they don’t consume food or water from sunrise until sundown, when they break their fast with a large meal called the Iftar. Colonel Alkethi told me, he did not expect me to follow the fast, but asked if I would eat in my tent where his men couldn't see me. I told him that since they had been so kind to me, and I viewed this as a cultural exchange, honoring the fast was the least I could do. The Colonel was very moved, and said that I was an exceptional Marine and American. So, I didn’t eat or drink during daylight hours but every day I looked forward to the Iftar. It is kind of like a Thanksgiving meal every day. The cook really went all out to present a good spread for us. These meals were another cultural difference, at least for me. We ate from common plates and there wasn't really what I would call table manners, if you wanted something you just grabbed it. There was always animated conversations around the Iftar table, even if I didn’t understand what was being said, they didn't always translate for me.
I’m not a contractor
During our trips to the airport, Captain Hassan started to collect a number of things to make his life easier. A generator, refrigerator, microwave, rugs, as well as a TV and VCR, chief among them.7 He also decided that he needed a better roof on his room, and he thought that I could build him one. I told him that was a horrible idea because I had zero mechanical skills. He told him it was easy, it didn't have to be a peaked roof, no reason to worry about snow or rain here, it could just be a flat one. He also expressed his faith that a Marine could do whatever he set his mind to. He spoke to the UAE battalion carpenter, a Master Sergeant that looked like he was right out of 1001 Arabian Nights (or Aladdin for the younger readers).
He was 6’5” 300 pounds, had a long grey beard, wild black eyes and didn't speak a lick of English. When the captain told him what he wanted and who he wanted to do it, he looked at me like he wanted to pull out his scimitar and chop my head off. After a little conversation the carpenter agreed to let me use his tools and materials. The next day there was a pile of eight-foot long 2x4s, sheets of plywood, a hammer, tape measure, nails and a circular saw. I needed to cut a foot off four of the eight-foot boards so I could make a 15x15 frame of wood on top of the stone walls. I made all those cuts without incident, then I needed to make diagonal cuts in eight of the boards to have nice tight joints at the corners. I drew the cut line on the first piece of wood and grabbed the saw, which was plugged into the captain’s generator, pulled the trigger of the saw and started cutting. Unfortunately, as I finished the cut, I completely severed the power cable of the saw. I freaked out, and knew I was going to be in big trouble. I was able to splice the cable back together (radio operator skills) but I knew that I would have to face the Master Sergeant and I’d be lucky to escape with all my appendages intact. I explained the situation to Captain Hassan, who was bemused at my predicament, but also annoyed that this would slow down the installation of his new roof. We went to see the Master Sergeant, and Captain Hassan explained to him what had happened. I was standing there looking as contrite as I could, at one point the carpenter shook his fist at me and spit out a long phrase of Arabic, but did not produce a sword and I was dismissed with everything intact. I headed to my tent, where the captain soon joined me. He told me that he had smoothed things over with the Master Sergeant, but warned that I should give him a wide berth for quite a while. He told me that the carpenter was going to build him a roof. I was relieved that I wasn’t going to have to finish the job and that I wasn’t going to have to deal with the carpenter again. I asked Captain Hassan what the Master Sergeant had yelled at me, he said I didn’t want to know but I did. He told me the Master Sergeant said “eat shit you American dog”. I laughed and I told the captain I didn’t blame the Master Sergeant, and if that had been me, I would have said something way worse.
Somalia after sunset
Before I go on, I need to set the scene of my time with the UAE. As I said before the airport was the home of UNITAF headquarters. A the end of the runway was the US Army base (I would come to know it well), next to that was the UAE base and next to us, was the base for the Italian contingent. The US Army base had all the perks that Marines always live without, like a USO building, full medical facilities and other luxuries that Marines look down on but secretly covet.8
There were always Somalis crowded around the entrances to the bases, begging for food, looking for work, and mostly making a nuisance of themselves. The ways the different countries dealt with the crowds was always very interesting to me. The Army wouldn’t do anything about the people, and the crowds would get quite large. On multiple occasions it became a near riot when a vehicle would try to enter the compound and some Somalis would also try to squeeze in. The Italians on the other hand, would fire their weapons into the air, if a crowd got too big at their gate. However that would only be a temporary measure and before long the Somalis would be back and the cycle would begin again. The first time they did that after I arrived at the UAE base I was concerned and called Captain Hassan, he was unsure as well and got a hold of Colonel Alkethi, he told the captain that this was standard operating procedure for the Italians. Every time they did this the Army would get on the radio and ask me in a panicked voice ask me what was going on. I would tell them it was just the Italians clearing their gate, they were sceptical, but let it be, until the next time, when the cycle would repeat itself. The United Arab Emirates had a different approach to people at their gate. If more than four people gathered in front of the gate, they would send a few soldiers out, grab all the men present, drag them inside the base, kick the crap out of them and throw them back out on the street. It isn't what we would consider lawful but it worked, the UAE base was the calmest base in the city. I never had trouble entering or leaving that base as I did when I would visit the Army compound.
The medical facility at the Army base came with its own special perk that Captain Hassan took advantage of: US Army nurses. I don’t know if the captain met his nurse at the airport or while visiting the USO but after the roof on his hootch was completed, he started inviting her over to watch movies and eat popcorn.
The “best part” of this was I was the one that had to go get her, and drop her off at the Army base at the end of the evening. He would call me on the field phone and “ask” me to go get the nurse (I don’t remember her name). I would drive over to the Army base in the humvee and pull up outside the nurse’s tent, she would get in and I would take her right to the captain’s door. She was younger than me, and seemed nice, but since she was a lieutenant there was little more than small talk on these trips. I would drop her off right at Captain Hassan’s door and head back to my tent and wait for his call to take her back. Sometimes those trips, and they were only fifteen minutes, if there were no traffic jams, were nerve-wracking. More than once we were shot at, and there was no way I wanted her to get hurt. I would drive fast, and always gave the lieutenant my helmet and flak jacket to wear in transit. Coming back along at night was frequently memorable. It was kind of like when you had to go the basement as a kid, and thought that something was going to grab you on the way back up the stairs. I was always doing my impression of a NASCAR driver on those days, getting back as soon as I could.
My only perk, other than great food, was that I had a place to go swimming every day. Just past Captain Hassan's hootch was a cliff, and 25 feet below the edge, was the Indian Ocean. It was at least 60 feet deep at this point, but there was a portion of the cliff that jutted out into the ocean and was above water even at high tide. From there there was a way to scramble up the rocks back to the top. I spent a lot of time there swimming and exploring the ocean. The cliff jump was a means to an end, and I didn't do it over and over. If I needed a little break I would just go halfway up the cliff face to a small ledge and rest right there. There was a lot of sea life to check out and I wish I would have had a diving mask and underwater camera. I would have had some great pictures, including ones of a 6-foot barracuda that hung around a lot, and a sea turtle that would visit every now and then.
Somehow, word got out to the Army that there was a private swimming place nearby. It started with just two guys, then a few more, and before long it was up to 15 soldiers, including a few women. there were no fences at the back of our compounds and they could just sneak over. I told them that was all, no more could come over, because this was supposed to be kept quiet. Colonel Alkethi would not have liked us taking advantage of the situation, and he really wouldn't have appreciated the girls being there, because they swam in the same things us guys did, our underwear. For a week and a half everything was going fine until one of the soldiers decided to show off for the ladies. When he jumped off the cliff, he tried to do a backflip. Unfortunately for him, what he did was 1-1/2 flips and ended up hitting the water flat on his back, knocking himself out. I was watching from my ledge and was waiting for one of his friends to jump in and grab him before he drown. No one moved and I had to jump in and rescue my second drowning victim of Operation Restore Hope. I got him to the ledge and his fellow soldiers grabbed him. I was furious and told the soldiers that this was it, they were no longer welcome to swim here and told them I would report them to their superiors if they came back.
My days with the UAE were very different from the rest of my time in Somalia as well as the rest of my enlistment, but it was a time I enjoyed very much. I was still worried about going home but I wasn’t as worried because I had it so easy. I was still hoping that my time in Somalia was almost up but if I was extended at least I would still be with the UAE and be on Easy Street. So my days were spent swimming, driving to the airport and the Army base and back just like I had been doing for two months. On April 10, 1993, Captain Hassan called me around mid-morning to inform me that our assignment with the UAE was ending and I was being sent back to 3/11 because the unit was returning to the United States. He said I had an hour to pack my gear, say goodbye to everyone, we would drop off the field phones at the airport, and he would drive me to the Sandbag Hilton. After packing my stuff I thanked Colonel Alkethi for everything. He wished me luck, and said after I got settled back into my civilian life, I should contact him and he would buy me a ticket to visit the UAE with him acting as my tour guide. I was flattered by the offer but I was done visiting deserts and there was a part of me that sceptical, even then I had heard that the UAE lures workers there with promises of high wages, then confiscates their passports and their jobs were not what was promised. I really didn’t think that would happen to me but something in the back of my mind just didn’t think it was a good idea.
A little while later I was back with 3/11 at the Sandbag Hilton greeting my Marine comrades and answering a lot of questions about what I did while I was gone. I didn’t give them all the details but they all got the idea that I had been lucky to be picked for that assignment. It took two day for 3/11 to pack everything up but in the afternoon on April 12, 1993, we boarded a Tower Air 747 to begin the long flight back to California. We made stops in Rome, Shannon Ireland and New York before landing at March Air Force base on April 13. We then had to suffer through a two hour bus ride back to Twentynine Palms, and another two hours for everyone to get their gear and walk to our barracks, before my first night in a real bed in four months.
My plan was to take Terminal Leave beginning on May 1, but I was told there was no way I could get checked out of all the departments I had to visit in order to leave the Marine Corps in that time frame. I proved them wrong and also proved that the majority of Marines use the check out process as a way to screw off for most of the day for a month on end. Before I knew it, I was on a plane back to Traverse City on May 1, 1993, with my Marine Corps career over, but never really behind me. We have a saying “Once a Marine, always a Marine” and that has proven to be true for me, as readers of this publication are well aware.
We are now done with my recollections of my strange time in the strange country of Somalia. I am currently in the process of reorganizing all my posts by topic, in order to make older post easier to find. If you go to the website you will find that right under the title there are new headings: Culture, History, Military, Politics and Sports. All my posts will eventually be tagged with a keyword and will be found in one or more of those headers. For example, all the posts about Somalia will be under the headings of History and Military. I hope this make it easier for everyone to find their favorite old posts or discover older posts they have never seen.
As always please share this post with anyone who might be interested. I’m not sure what I will be bringing to you next time but I’m sure I will have a lot to say about it and I hope you will enjoy reading it.
Chris
I never got a hold of my parents because I didn’t know the time difference (nine hours) and couldn’t work out a good time to call.
MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) are the current rations for US military forces in a deployment situation. In 1993 there were twelve different meals in a case of MREs: Pork w/Rice in BBQ Sauce (great), Corned Beef Hash (horrible), Chicken Stew (fair), Omelet with Ham (my favorite but despised by most people), Spaghetti w/ Meat Sauce (great), Meatballs w/ tomato sauce (great), Beef Stew (fair), Ham Slice (bad), Tuna w/ Noodles (bad), Chicken w/Rice (fair), Scalloped Potatoes w/Ham (horrible), Chicken ala King (bad).
I was a Lance Corporal which in the Uniformed Services Pay Grades is an E-3. A Private is E-1, Private First Class is E-2, Corporal is E-4 , all the way up to Sergeant Major which is E-9.
These include dips and spreads like hummus, baba ganoush, and muhammara, cheeses like feta, sheep, and goat cheeses. there would be salads with fried or grilled vegetables, eggplant, and pickled vegetables. Grilled meat or kebabs, in our case it was always goat. Plates of dried dates, apricots, plums, raisins, olives as well as khamir bread (it is a sweet, thin flat bread.
If you are wondering what goat meat tastes like, I’d say it has a strong, gamey flavor but it is very good. Compared to other red meats, goat is sweeter than lamb but less sweet than beef and is leaner than both. I was amazed at the resourcefulness of the cook to be able to come up with a bunch of different ways to prepare the meat. It never got old.
In Halal cooking, (the Muslim equivalent to kosher), the animal must be killed with a swift, deep incision to the throat with a very sharp knife, cutting the esophagus, jugular veins and carotid arteries but leaving the spinal cord intact. All the blood must be drained from the animal before any further steps can be taken and the head of the animal must be aligned with Mecca. The person that kills the animal must also say “Bismillah, Allahu Akbar" (In the name of God, God is greatest). The cook knew that I didn’t know that and said the prayer for me. I was also only allowed to kill George because I was a “Christian” and therefore a Person of the Book and allowed to perform the act as a honor.
He did not express any concerns about creature comforts for me.
The USO was where Captain Hassan had gotten the TV and VCR.