JimSpiri ”THE LAST LAP #12”
The latest journey called, "The Last Lap" - IRAQ, 2015
© Jim Spiri 2015
July 26, 2015, Baghdad
Today is Sunday, the 26th of July. It is almost 1:00 pm and I am in Baghdad. I will leave
the country in two days. It worked out that to come to Baghdad earlier than planned is
more logistically convenient for my host and others that are with me at the moment than
to have waited until my departure time. My journey is always in a fluid environment and
I must constantly be adaptable to changes. This is one of those changes that brought me
to Baghdad on the evening of Saturday, the 25th. Much has transpired since my last
posting of events, therefore I shall attempt to back up a few days and bring the audience
that are following this journey up to speed as best I can. Things just happen fast and there
are times that I have to just take it in and depend on the memory banks in my mind. It is a
journey that astounds me beyond measure.
On Thursday the 23rd, I had arranged to photograph the busy time in Jubur in the late
afternoon light, which is the heart of Dholoyia where I have become known as “That
crazy camera guy from America who has come to Dholoyia and tell the story”. Just the
fact that I have come to do this has ignited the whole village in a positive manner. I had
coordinated with my host to take me into town at around 5:00 pm when the afternoon
light was beginning to be just right for crisp and bright shots. I knew my time was
winding down and it had been a while since I just took time to practice what I had learned
30-years previous in taking photos the way I liked to. Just mingling among the crowd and
snapping what I think will be a good artistic shot. Timing and patience go hand in hand
and to get into the groove of that is hard to find these days. We live in such a fast paced
world that slowing it down a bit becomes a luxury that is elusive for this photographer.
The light was nice and the people allowed me much freedom to express my skill, what’s
left of it. The digital age has made me a bit sloppy on taking photos but there are times
once in a while that the opportunity to “shoot” like the old days presents itself. This was
to have been one of those times. I just snapped away and really had a good time. I would
just stand in one place and let the busy pace of the afternoon in Jubur pass right in front of
my viewfinder. I continued as the light faded. There is really only about one hour in the
late afternoon and one hour in the early morning when shooting is ideal for crisp light. I
had found that “sweet spot” and thought back to my early days of exposing for light and
shadow with the old pentax K-1000 in hand. Those were the days of black and white
which taught me well. I miss those days when things were slower but got done quicker
and better.
After I was finished taking photos, my host and I proceeded to another family’s home that
had invited me for yet another feast. Each place I go I am welcomed with a meal that is
prepared in my honor. I never tire of the food but always feel humbled by such
hospitality. I have learned to just blend among these folks and let the flow of life take me
and them to wherever it may lead. We sat outside on mats that were placed on the lawn
and conversed while those inside continued to prepare the meal. As usual, the number of
those joining us for the meal kept increasing and before long there was once again a
crowd that chatted away in the evening and discussions ranged the whole gambit. I have
learned to listen to these folks and answer from the heart all questions posed to me. It is
real earthy in such times and I have become well adapted to the range of topics. To be
real among such folks and to discuss in reality things that we as people from worlds apart
want to know about one another is an education that cannot be downloaded in today’s
“ap” world. Old school talking among strangers over meals is what I love to do.
After the meal was consumed inside and chi prepared and served outside, I spent a little
time looking up in the summer sky under giant palm trees that were loaded with dates
about to ripen. My host explained that in less than ten days, the dates were to be ready
and everyone looked forward to this time of years. From below looking up under the
palm trees, in the night sky with the half moon rising I could see the dates beginning to
change color. One of the first things I remember about being here eleven years ago was
the sweetness of the dates with the various cheeses and yogurt presented first on a platter.
I would like to be here when the dates are harvested just to see, but I knew I would not be
able to see it this journey. But, the scene in my mind looking up in the dark after a good
meal in Iraq on a summer’s night will remain embedded in my memory banks alongside a
repertoire of other such scenes.
After chi we decided to leave as it was once again late. Both me and my host were tired
and we had a short drive back to his home. Upon arrival and getting my things situated
for the nightly routine of downloading and uploading the day's’ events digitally, I
discovered what I did not want to know. Something had happened and the photos from
the day were not accessible. This sent me into a tailspin mentally and I had lost my
motivation by this one situation. I spent a long time figuring out computer type things
and reading up on what possibly could have gone wrong. It appeared that the possibility
of a format button might have been pressed during some shooting of photos at the home
of the man who had invited me for the meal. My host assured me that this was not the
disaster I was thinking it was and that there would be a man in town who could “retrieve”
what I assumed were lost photos for ever.
I had my doubts.
That night I was frustrated. My host kept telling me not to worry that his computer guy in
town will make it all OK. I again did not believe it and was rapidly losing my momentum
for continuing. That happens sometimes to me when things don’t go my way. Even some
of my hosts friends dropped by that evening to see me and later commented that they
thought I was “aloof” and not communicative. I was upset about my photos that had been
lost. Of course, in my mind they were the best photos ever because I could now not see
them. I finally went to sleep but did not rest well that evening.
The next morning, my hosts
brother took me into town after
12 o’clock noon when the shops
were open after prayers were
held at the mosque. This was
Friday which is like our
Sundays. We stopped in at the
computer place and talked with
the owner who was a tall, well
versed man. I explained my
problem, he sat me down, bought
me a Pepsi and proceeded to
type in his computer what
seemed like a million miles an
hour. He accessed my compact
flash card and found where the
lost images were that had
somehow ended up in a file that
only could be read by some back-door method. He used a different program and
proceeded to open all but 42 of the 327 photos I had thought were gone. Just the fact that
he was able to retrieve the photos was fascinating to me. But the part that was even more
shocking was that he refused to take payment for his services. He knew who I was, knew
that I was frustrated and in typical Jubur fashion relieved my suffering by helping me pass
through the experience.
The night before I had some communication via the internet with my wife. I was
complaining bitterly about my dilemma. She assured me not to worry and that the Lord
had another plan for me to walk through. I had little faith. Yet the moment I saw the lost
photos appearing, my conscience was touched and I was once again shown that the
journey I am on is not just one dimensional. It is a multi-dimensional and multi-faceted
experience for many to experience. I was very happy and humbled once again by
hospitality beyond measure extended to me.
It was now Friday afternoon and I had only this day left to get some things done. We
went to a place relatively close by but seemed out in the country where I met three
brothers who fought ferociously to save their homes from ISIS. They told me their story
in the setting that reminded me much of near where I grew up in southern New Mexico in
the farming area along the Rio Grande. The late afternoon light was present once again
and the photo opportunities were once again in front of me. The stories began to flow and
I had taken out my video camera and recorded what I could in the time I had available.
Later I learned just how horrific a situation had occurred to this family during the battle
for Dholoyia. Many, many members of this extended family were killed in unspeakable
ways. All at the hands of ISIS. Yet, they carry on because that is what they have to do.
Move on.
I toured the farms and greenhouses and saw the homes of this family and was shown
where the attacks came from. In the afternoon light the area was picturesque to say the
least. There were cucumbers and melons and peppers and chickens and cows all in a rural
setting that was nice to see. The life would at first glance seem peaceful and full of
bounty. But once one learns of the price that was paid it was a sobering sense that came
over my being. They had seen a lot. Yet, they carry on. Life is hard here but the potential
in just agricultural terms is enormous. But for now that potential has been shattered by
war for the past 12-years and now the struggle continues in the political world as the
country suffers from internal conflicts raging across the land. Looking beyond the
obvious one can only hope for some kind of normality for these people, the Jubur as well
as the rest of the people of and in Iraq.
We left and continued our way back to the home of my host. Later that evening I would
once again be brought to another home for yet another immense feast in my honor. This
time it would be among the family of the driver who accompanied my host to first bring
me from Baghdad to Dholoyia and then take me to Baghdad for my return trek home.
The next day would be Saturday, my last day in Dholoyia. It would be very hot this day.
Arrangements had been made for me to travel to Baghdad at night with two vehicles.
Others would be going there who work in Baghdad and there would be an apartment for
me to stay in along with them. I spent a great deal of the day arranging my things and
wondering why I had brought so much stuff that I did not need. I just always want to
travel light. At one point in the day, it was so hot, my little friend, Abud, son of my hosts
brother, was playing with a watering hose. I went to sit with him on the lawn in my shorts
and tank top. I then began encouraging him put the hose over my head to cool me off.
Then we began running around and getting wet and just having a great time. Here I am at
59 having a blast with this 5-year-old in the sweltering summer heat in Iraq. Years earlier
there were American troops roaming the streets and doing their jobs. Last year there was
ISIS who had taken over the very home I was now staying in. This year, I’m running
around the lawn with a five year old who has captured my attention like no other person
has in Iraq. Life is strange and the reality is people can enjoy life in the midst of complete
insanity. I hope and pray that by the time this five year old is 20, his life will be good and
stability will prevail in his home town. This is my sincere hope.
My faith is weak regarding this hope.
By 7:30 pm, it was time to leave. I had gathered up all my things and lifted up my carry
on bag in front of everyone only to realize I had forgotten to zip it up. Everything of
course fell out and I had to in short order stuff it all back in asap. I looked up and behold
the entire family was there to say goodbye to me. All of them were there and I was just
taken aback. Each one just said, “good bye, good bye” and all had a smile on their faces
realizing I had become a part of their world, their family for the past three weeks. I
greeted each one separately and then came to Abud and stopped. I picked him up and
hugged him and held him close to me for a bit. I kissed him and told him I loved him and
hugged him again. I saw the eyes of the grandmother and the mother and the sisters and
all knew I had indeed made a serious impression on them all, especially Abud. But truth
be known, it was them who had made an impression on me. I came to this place not
knowing how I would be received or how it would pan out for getting done what I thought
needed to get done.
I had accomplished one thing for sure, that is making life-long friends and becoming
family and feeling the pulse of this place called, “The heart between the ribs”.
I said goodbye again as we put my things in the vehicle. We would travel to Baghdad on
this night. Before I left, I shook the hand of the father of my host. The father’s name is,
Hamid. I looked him in the eye and said, “Shukran”. He told me, “afwan”. And then he
squeezed my hand firmly in sincerity. I was now gone, but nothing will be forgotten.
Today is Sunday, the 26th of July. It is almost 1:00 pm and I am in Baghdad. I will leave
the country in two days. It worked out that to come to Baghdad earlier than planned is
more logistically convenient for my host and others that are with me at the moment than
to have waited until my departure time. My journey is always in a fluid environment and
I must constantly be adaptable to changes. This is one of those changes that brought me
to Baghdad on the evening of Saturday, the 25th. Much has transpired since my last
posting of events, therefore I shall attempt to back up a few days and bring the audience
that are following this journey up to speed as best I can. Things just happen fast and there
are times that I have to just take it in and depend on the memory banks in my mind. It is a
journey that astounds me beyond measure.
On Thursday the 23rd, I had arranged to photograph the busy time in Jubur in the late
afternoon light, which is the heart of Dholoyia where I have become known as “That
crazy camera guy from America who has come to Dholoyia and tell the story”. Just the
fact that I have come to do this has ignited the whole village in a positive manner. I had
coordinated with my host to take me into town at around 5:00 pm when the afternoon
light was beginning to be just right for crisp and bright shots. I knew my time was
winding down and it had been a while since I just took time to practice what I had learned
30-years previous in taking photos the way I liked to. Just mingling among the crowd and
snapping what I think will be a good artistic shot. Timing and patience go hand in hand
and to get into the groove of that is hard to find these days. We live in such a fast paced
world that slowing it down a bit becomes a luxury that is elusive for this photographer.
The light was nice and the people allowed me much freedom to express my skill, what’s
left of it. The digital age has made me a bit sloppy on taking photos but there are times
once in a while that the opportunity to “shoot” like the old days presents itself. This was
to have been one of those times. I just snapped away and really had a good time. I would
just stand in one place and let the busy pace of the afternoon in Jubur pass right in front of
my viewfinder. I continued as the light faded. There is really only about one hour in the
late afternoon and one hour in the early morning when shooting is ideal for crisp light. I
had found that “sweet spot” and thought back to my early days of exposing for light and
shadow with the old pentax K-1000 in hand. Those were the days of black and white
which taught me well. I miss those days when things were slower but got done quicker
and better.
After I was finished taking photos, my host and I proceeded to another family’s home that
had invited me for yet another feast. Each place I go I am welcomed with a meal that is
prepared in my honor. I never tire of the food but always feel humbled by such
hospitality. I have learned to just blend among these folks and let the flow of life take me
and them to wherever it may lead. We sat outside on mats that were placed on the lawn
and conversed while those inside continued to prepare the meal. As usual, the number of
those joining us for the meal kept increasing and before long there was once again a
crowd that chatted away in the evening and discussions ranged the whole gambit. I have
learned to listen to these folks and answer from the heart all questions posed to me. It is
real earthy in such times and I have become well adapted to the range of topics. To be
real among such folks and to discuss in reality things that we as people from worlds apart
want to know about one another is an education that cannot be downloaded in today’s
“ap” world. Old school talking among strangers over meals is what I love to do.
After the meal was consumed inside and chi prepared and served outside, I spent a little
time looking up in the summer sky under giant palm trees that were loaded with dates
about to ripen. My host explained that in less than ten days, the dates were to be ready
and everyone looked forward to this time of years. From below looking up under the
palm trees, in the night sky with the half moon rising I could see the dates beginning to
change color. One of the first things I remember about being here eleven years ago was
the sweetness of the dates with the various cheeses and yogurt presented first on a platter.
I would like to be here when the dates are harvested just to see, but I knew I would not be
able to see it this journey. But, the scene in my mind looking up in the dark after a good
meal in Iraq on a summer’s night will remain embedded in my memory banks alongside a
repertoire of other such scenes.
After chi we decided to leave as it was once again late. Both me and my host were tired
and we had a short drive back to his home. Upon arrival and getting my things situated
for the nightly routine of downloading and uploading the day's’ events digitally, I
discovered what I did not want to know. Something had happened and the photos from
the day were not accessible. This sent me into a tailspin mentally and I had lost my
motivation by this one situation. I spent a long time figuring out computer type things
and reading up on what possibly could have gone wrong. It appeared that the possibility
of a format button might have been pressed during some shooting of photos at the home
of the man who had invited me for the meal. My host assured me that this was not the
disaster I was thinking it was and that there would be a man in town who could “retrieve”
what I assumed were lost photos for ever.
I had my doubts.
That night I was frustrated. My host kept telling me not to worry that his computer guy in
town will make it all OK. I again did not believe it and was rapidly losing my momentum
for continuing. That happens sometimes to me when things don’t go my way. Even some
of my hosts friends dropped by that evening to see me and later commented that they
thought I was “aloof” and not communicative. I was upset about my photos that had been
lost. Of course, in my mind they were the best photos ever because I could now not see
them. I finally went to sleep but did not rest well that evening.
The next morning, my hosts
brother took me into town after
12 o’clock noon when the shops
were open after prayers were
held at the mosque. This was
Friday which is like our
Sundays. We stopped in at the
computer place and talked with
the owner who was a tall, well
versed man. I explained my
problem, he sat me down, bought
me a Pepsi and proceeded to
type in his computer what
seemed like a million miles an
hour. He accessed my compact
flash card and found where the
lost images were that had
somehow ended up in a file that
only could be read by some back-door method. He used a different program and
proceeded to open all but 42 of the 327 photos I had thought were gone. Just the fact that
he was able to retrieve the photos was fascinating to me. But the part that was even more
shocking was that he refused to take payment for his services. He knew who I was, knew
that I was frustrated and in typical Jubur fashion relieved my suffering by helping me pass
through the experience.
The night before I had some communication via the internet with my wife. I was
complaining bitterly about my dilemma. She assured me not to worry and that the Lord
had another plan for me to walk through. I had little faith. Yet the moment I saw the lost
photos appearing, my conscience was touched and I was once again shown that the
journey I am on is not just one dimensional. It is a multi-dimensional and multi-faceted
experience for many to experience. I was very happy and humbled once again by
hospitality beyond measure extended to me.
It was now Friday afternoon and I had only this day left to get some things done. We
went to a place relatively close by but seemed out in the country where I met three
brothers who fought ferociously to save their homes from ISIS. They told me their story
in the setting that reminded me much of near where I grew up in southern New Mexico in
the farming area along the Rio Grande. The late afternoon light was present once again
and the photo opportunities were once again in front of me. The stories began to flow and
I had taken out my video camera and recorded what I could in the time I had available.
Later I learned just how horrific a situation had occurred to this family during the battle
for Dholoyia. Many, many members of this extended family were killed in unspeakable
ways. All at the hands of ISIS. Yet, they carry on because that is what they have to do.
Move on.
I toured the farms and greenhouses and saw the homes of this family and was shown
where the attacks came from. In the afternoon light the area was picturesque to say the
least. There were cucumbers and melons and peppers and chickens and cows all in a rural
setting that was nice to see. The life would at first glance seem peaceful and full of
bounty. But once one learns of the price that was paid it was a sobering sense that came
over my being. They had seen a lot. Yet, they carry on. Life is hard here but the potential
in just agricultural terms is enormous. But for now that potential has been shattered by
war for the past 12-years and now the struggle continues in the political world as the
country suffers from internal conflicts raging across the land. Looking beyond the
obvious one can only hope for some kind of normality for these people, the Jubur as well
as the rest of the people of and in Iraq.
We left and continued our way back to the home of my host. Later that evening I would
once again be brought to another home for yet another immense feast in my honor. This
time it would be among the family of the driver who accompanied my host to first bring
me from Baghdad to Dholoyia and then take me to Baghdad for my return trek home.
The next day would be Saturday, my last day in Dholoyia. It would be very hot this day.
Arrangements had been made for me to travel to Baghdad at night with two vehicles.
Others would be going there who work in Baghdad and there would be an apartment for
me to stay in along with them. I spent a great deal of the day arranging my things and
wondering why I had brought so much stuff that I did not need. I just always want to
travel light. At one point in the day, it was so hot, my little friend, Abud, son of my hosts
brother, was playing with a watering hose. I went to sit with him on the lawn in my shorts
and tank top. I then began encouraging him put the hose over my head to cool me off.
Then we began running around and getting wet and just having a great time. Here I am at
59 having a blast with this 5-year-old in the sweltering summer heat in Iraq. Years earlier
there were American troops roaming the streets and doing their jobs. Last year there was
ISIS who had taken over the very home I was now staying in. This year, I’m running
around the lawn with a five year old who has captured my attention like no other person
has in Iraq. Life is strange and the reality is people can enjoy life in the midst of complete
insanity. I hope and pray that by the time this five year old is 20, his life will be good and
stability will prevail in his home town. This is my sincere hope.
My faith is weak regarding this hope.
By 7:30 pm, it was time to leave. I had gathered up all my things and lifted up my carry
on bag in front of everyone only to realize I had forgotten to zip it up. Everything of
course fell out and I had to in short order stuff it all back in asap. I looked up and behold
the entire family was there to say goodbye to me. All of them were there and I was just
taken aback. Each one just said, “good bye, good bye” and all had a smile on their faces
realizing I had become a part of their world, their family for the past three weeks. I
greeted each one separately and then came to Abud and stopped. I picked him up and
hugged him and held him close to me for a bit. I kissed him and told him I loved him and
hugged him again. I saw the eyes of the grandmother and the mother and the sisters and
all knew I had indeed made a serious impression on them all, especially Abud. But truth
be known, it was them who had made an impression on me. I came to this place not
knowing how I would be received or how it would pan out for getting done what I thought
needed to get done.
I had accomplished one thing for sure, that is making life-long friends and becoming
family and feeling the pulse of this place called, “The heart between the ribs”.
I said goodbye again as we put my things in the vehicle. We would travel to Baghdad on
this night. Before I left, I shook the hand of the father of my host. The father’s name is,
Hamid. I looked him in the eye and said, “Shukran”. He told me, “afwan”. And then he
squeezed my hand firmly in sincerity. I was now gone, but nothing will be forgotten.
The Last Lap #12
Abud playing with water hose
The back-up generator that provides power when
the national power goes down and the community
power goes down. This gets utilized a lot. Omar
had just added diesel to the unit.
The computer man named Saman who recovered
my photos and did not charge me anything.
My host's brother, Omar and his son
Roslan, age 6-months.
Gas station near my hosts home.
Photo retrieved. Bicycle going through check point.
Photo retrieved. Kids downtown Dholoyia
Photo I thought was lost. Unique
street scene in downtown Jubur.
Leaving the water park.
Lost photo retrieved. I like this scene.
Photo retrieved. Man shopping
Retrieved photo. Kids in bed of truck.
Retrieved photo. Where one goes to buy chicken.
Retrieved photo. Buying eggs and loading them up.
Retrieved photo. One of the guys who protects the streets in town. I
like this photo a lot. It reminds me of some in El Salvador.
Retrieved photo. Kids on street at rush hour.
Retrieved photo. On lawn before meal
Retrieved photo. The evening meal.
The family together.
The three brothers I spoke with about the battle at their home
against ISIS and two of their children
Little girl on sandbags at the home of brothers
who fought against ISIS
A spectacularly beautiful child who has seen more
than most people of war.
One of the brother's family home. Iraqi national
flag flies over the dwelling.
At my driver's home
The meal at the driver's home
Lush gardens can flourish well in this area.
The daughter of one of the brothers sitting
on sandbags. She is just beautiful and has
a look in her eyes that is captivating. It is
this look that keeps me hoping Iraq will
overcome its' current situation
