JimSpiri ”THE LAST LAP #6”
The latest journey called, "The Last Lap" - IRAQ, 2015
© Jim Spiri 2015
July 14, 2015
Today
would
be
a
very
interesting
day.
It
would
remind
me
much
of
my
early
journeys
nearly
30-
years
ago
to
El
Salvador.
In
those
days
I
would
just
get
on
a
plane
and
land
in
a
war
zone
half
a
day
later.
Then,
I
would
meander
among
the
people
and
see
with
my
own
eyes
what
life
in
what
we
called,
“third
world
countries”
looked
like.
Today,
I
would
go
to
a
place
here
in
the
Dholoyia
area
close
by
to
where
I
used
to
work
at
what
is
formerly
known
as,
Camp
Anaconda.
It
is
even
closer
to
a
FOB
that
was
known
as,
MeKenzie.
Here
I
would
see
before
my
own
eyes
refugees
in
their
own
town.
Now
for
all
intents
and
purposes
these
folks
are
known
as
“Internally
Displaced
People”
which
is
a
euphemism
for
what
most
people
would
call,
people
that
were
basically
run
off
of
their
land
due
to
war.
I’m
always
amazed
at
what
new
words
we
all
come
up
with
to
describe
horrific
injustices
to
one
another.
But
here’s
the
deal….these
folks
were
living
just
across
the
river
in
their
houses
doing
their
farming
and
carrying
on
with
life
just
like
they’ve
done
for
decades.
Then
comes
this
group
called
ISIS
in
2014
and
sets
up
shop
in
their
side
of
town
and
take
over
everything.
Eventually,
ISIS
is
run
off
by
the
local
area
defenders
in
Dholoyia
after
a
7-month
battle
that
cost
lots
and
lots
of
lives.
Now,
after
the
battle
is
over,
what
is
known
as,
“The
Civilian
Defense
Forces”
which
is
another
euphemism
for
what
we
in
the
west
know
as,
Shia
Militias,
have
control
of
the
land
that
belongs
to
the
local
Sunni
population.
But
now
enter
in
to
the
real
problems
facing
this
area.
The
Shia
Militias
(which
is
what
I
shall
call
them)
are
not
about
to
give
the
land
back
to
the
rightful
owners.
They
have
said
that
they,
the
Sunni
inhabitants
of
the
land,
might
be
ISIS
supporters
so
they
cannot
let
this
be.
If
you
ask
around
here
in
Dholoyia,
everyone
will
tell
you
that
this
is
not
the
case.
And,
remember,
the
people
in
Dholoyia
are
the
ones
that
fought
for
seven
months
against
ISIS
and
made
sure
they
were
“kicked
out
of
Dodge” so to speak, at a heavy price.
Herein
lies
the
seriousness
of
why
chaos
is
king
here
in
Iraq
most
of
the
time.
It
is
a
well
known
fact
that
the
sectarian
divide
between
Sunni
and
Shia
is
just
that...a
big
chasm.
In
the
immediate
forefront
is
the
fact
that
the
couple
thousand
folks
that
were
living
there
are
now
living
in
a
makeshift
“tent
city”
that
we
know
in
the
west
as
a
refugee
camp.
What
I
saw
with
my
own
eyes
is
this...it’s
a
slum
beyond
belief
that
no
one
can
really
live
in,
in
a
healthy
condition.
There
are
at
least
1500-2000
people
that
I
saw
in
this
place.
All
of
them
are
Sunni
locals
from
across
the
Tigris
River.
The
conditions
in
the
tent
city
are
simply
atrocious.
Remember,
it
is
well
over
120-degrees
these
days
here
in
the
summer.
It’s
hot.
In
most
tents
there
are
at
least
half
a
dozen
inhabitants.
There
are
about
300-tents.
What
I
saw
as
far
as
a
bathroom
was
something
that
looked
like
a
“porta-potty”
and
I
saw
a
grand
total
of
6-of
them.
One can do the math. It’s awful.
On
this
day,
the
locals
from
Dholoyia
gathered
at
the
mosque
and
had
collected
water,
food
and
clothing
to
be
distributed.
Right
now
we
are
nearing
the
end
of
Ramadan
and
this
is
a
custom
to
care
for
the
poor.
In
the
west
we
would
call
it
something
like,
“faith
based
charity”
which
is
a
good
analogy.
I
has
asked
to
attend
this
event
and
I’m
glad
I
did.
Water,
food
and
clothing
had
been
collected
and
was
to
be
distributed
at
the
camp.
We
followed
the
caravan
to
the
destination
which
took
about
30-minutes
all
up.
As
proceeded
down
the
road
my
host
showed
me
the
road
where
the
former
FOB
known
as
McKenzie
was
located.
I
had
been
on
that
road
many
times
in
the
past
back
in
2004-05.
The
big
air
base
which
was
known
as
Camp
Anaconda
was
also
in
very
close
proximity.
Is
a
matter
of
fact,
the
big
event
of
the
landing
of
four
F-16
fighter
jets
for
the
Iraqi
Air
Force
had
just
taken
place
a
day
earlier
with
much
fanfare
controlled
by
internal
media
operations.
I
was
in
familiar
territory
but
I
was
about
to
enter
into
a
world unknown to most.
As
we
approached
the
tent
city
I
saw
rows
and
rows
of
blue
tents.
I
was
told
they
were
supplied
from
the
United
Nations.
I
did
not
see
any
officials
such
as
camp
managers
and
the
like.
There
were
just
a
lot
of
tents
with
a
whole
of
people
all
around.
We
parked
our
vehicle
a
ways
down
from
the
place
as
this
would
be
sure
we
would
not
get
blocked
in.
Crowds
were
gathering.
I
hopped
out
of
the
car
and
began
taking
photos.
Little
pick-ups
full
of
supplies
began
to
get
swarmed
by
the
residents
of
the
tent
city.
The
drivers
had
to
convince
the
folks
to
go
to
their
tents
as
the
trucks
would
drive
down
the
rows
and
distribute
things
in
a
kind
of
orderly
fashion.
This is exactly what happened.
As
I
became
immersed
in
the
current
experience
I
recognized
a
local
media
guy
from
the
Dholoyia
area
whose
name
is
Shalaan.
I’ve
watched
his
work
on
facebook
and
he
is
no
doubt
among
the
very
best
at
what
he
does
especially
in
the
documentation
of
Dholoyia.
I
had
met
with
him
a
night
or
two
before
for
several
hours
and
thoroughly
enjoyed
our
conversation.
Shalaan
explained
in
detail
to
me
about
how
the
tent
city
came
into
being
and
why
it
still
exists.
Another
local
media
person
with
a
video
set
up
said
hello
to
me
and
commented
to
me,
“see
what
your
country
left
behind
for
us”?
He
said
a
few
other
things
and
then
began
to
say
to
me
that
he
was
sorry.
I
explained
to
him
not
to
worry
and
that
I
understand
his frustration. It is a mess.
The
truth
be
told,
there
is
no
need
for
this
tent
city
to
house
these
folks.
Their
homes
were
less
than
half
a
mile
from
where
we
were
standing.
The
militias
refuse
to
let
them
go
back
home.
It
is
a
power
play
upon
the
Sunni
population.
Now
what
has
happened
is
the
agricultural
economy
of
the
area
is
thrown
into
complete
disarray.
Subsistence
is
a
problem
now.
What
was
once
grown
here,
which
was
able
to
supply
the
regional
population
with
all
kinds
of
foodstuffs,
was
now
laying
waste
while
the
inhabitants
of
the
land
are
held
at
bay
as
pawns
in
a
political chess game.
As
I
finished
touring
the
tent
city
and
taking
photographs
and
a
video
record
of
what
I
was
seeing,
I
was
approached
by
the
TV
crew.
Through
an
interpreter
I
was
asked
if
they
could
interview
me.
I
agreed
and
in
short
order,
I
was
now
on
the
other
side
of
the
camera
and
audio.
What
was
asked
to
me
were
simple
questions
about
what
I
was
seeing
how
it
made
me
feel
and
what
did
I
see
through
the
view
finder
of
my
own
camera.
The
questions
were
good
and
I
answered
as
best
I
could.
Nothing
political
was
asked.
Nothing
political
was
responded.
It
was
simply
humanitarian
to
humanitarian.
I
figured
once
this
was
seen
by
someone
somewhere
monitoring
things,
perhaps
that
could
be
a
problem.
But
I
did
not
come
this
far
and
do
the
things
I’ve
done
for
so
long
to not say the truth. And that is what I did. We’ll see who’s watching and listening.
The
visit
to
tent
city
was
over
now
and
we
soon
departed.
I
was
thanked
by
some
for
coming.
No
other
American
journalist
had
been
there
in
the
past
nine
months.
That’s
how
long
these
folks
had
been
there.
I
barely
had
been
there
a
couple
of
hours
and
I
had
my
fill.
I
promised
I
would
tell
whomever
was
listening
what
was
going
on
here
in
this
area
just
few
miles
from
one
of
the
largest
military
bases
in
the
country
where
I know Americans to be.
Later
that
evening
I
was
invited
to
Iftar
meal
at
the
home
of
a
man
named
Bebu.
He
and
I
are
about
the
same
age.
He’s
a
really
cool
guy
who
worked
for
the
Americans
as
an
interpreter
for
a
long
time.
At
one
point
in
time
a
false
accusation
was
made
about
him
concerning
another
Iraqi
contractor.
He
was
arrested
and
detained
by
the
Americans
and
sent
to
a
place
known
as
camp
Bucca.
It
is
a
prison
in
the
far
south
of
Iraq
that
still
exists.
After
one
year
of
detention
he
had
a
kind
of
hearing
and
it
was
determined
that
all
was
a
misunderstanding.
However,
he
was
not
returned
to
his
home
for
another year. At the end of over two years, he was returned. That was 2011.
Bebu
is
a
former
old
regime
officer.
He
also
has
a
masters
degree
in
engineering.
He
and
I
talked
at
length
about
life
back
in
the
times
of
the
1980’s.
Many
times
during
my
visit
here
I
had
such
conversations.
It
is
a
common
thing
to
reflect
back
on
times
past.
I
have
enjoyed
receiving
a
history
lesson
about
this
place
first
hand
from
those
whom
I
sit
down
with
at
a
meal
and
have
chi
with
throughout
the
night.
Time
after
time
I
am
thanked
for
just
being
here
and
having
a
cup
of
tea.
It
amazes me to be here. I really do enjoy the experience.
Bebu
has
a
son,
who
is
23-years
old.
He
and
my
host
have
had
many
discussions
in
the
past
couple
of
years
about
things.
The
name
of
the
son
is
Jihad.
Yep,
that’s
right,
that’s
his
name.
I
thought
about
what
that
would
come
across
when
I
met
him
but,
that’s
just
his
name.
This
young
man
attended
university
in
Tikrit.
During
this
time
of
study
he
was
attracted
to
the
“other
side’s”
way
of
thinking.
What
is
meant
by
this
is,
he
was
leaning
heavily
towards
the
philosophy
of
those
we
now
call
ISIS.
He
would
come
home
on
weekends
and
have
discussions
with
his
family.
He
and
his
father
disagreed
heavily.
But,
in
a
respectful
manner
as
is
the
custom
in
family
here.
Nonetheless,
it
was
a
definite
divide
among
father
and
son.
Jihad
was
about
to
join
ISIS.
His
father
had
told
him,
wait,
things
are
about
to
happen
and
you
will
see
that
what
you
hear
is
not
what
you
will
end
up
seeing.
This
was
in
June
of
2014.
On
July
13th
of
that
same
year,
ISIS
attacked
his
hometown
of
Dholoyia.
Jihad
soon
found
himself
standing
side
by
side
with
his
friends
and
neighbors
and
even
his
father fighting for his own life.
I
conducted
an
audio
interview
on
this
young
man
as
his
father
listened
while
we
and
the
rest
of
the
crowd
sipped
chi
at
the
same
time.
It
was
a
very
unique
perspective.
No
doubt
he
explained
to
me
that
he
has
uncomfortable
feelings
towards
the
American
policy
makers
that
made
war
with
his
country.
One
has
to
understand
that
from
the
perspective
of
those
here,
they
were
invaded,
no
matter
what
causes
are.
Most
everyone
on
the
ground
here
agrees
that
life
before
the
invasion
was
better
than
it
is
now
with
chaos
all
around.
It
is
a
civil
war
in
Iraq
and
that
is
blamed
on
the
invaders.
Yet,
all
also
welcome
the
Americans
back
to
help
stabilize
the
place.
The
people
feel
there
is
a
bit
of
responsibility that should be borne by America.
On
many
occasions
I
have
been
told
by
the
people
that
although
war
came
to
their
town
up
close
and
personal
in
2003
and
lasted
through
most
of
the
next
then
years,
many
encounters
with
American
soldiers
transpired.
Some
were
quite
negative
even
down
right
horrific
yet
others
were
eye
opening
and
became
a
kind
of
window
into
the
people
who
were
seen
as
invaders.
All
concur
at
separate
times
for
separate
reasons
that
for
the
most
part
the
Americans
were
not
animals
like
ISIS.
They
did
understand
some
of
the
human
side
of
things.
This
made
an
The Last Lap #6
Truck load of humanitarian supplies destined for those
at the "tent city"
Supplies for "Zakat al Fetar", which is donating to the
poor during Ramadan.
Bottled water destined for tent city.
The first photo I took of "tent city" for the internally
displaced people who are refugees in their own town.
Rows upon rows of blue tents
Home for the displaced.
Home for the past nine months.
Passing out supplies to the displaced people.
Waiting for distribution of supplies.
Water, the most precious item in the 120-degree heat.
Another displaced family
There is just children everywhere I went
This is four of the six bathrooms for all the people.
Laundry
Going back towards home.
At a local checkpoint operated by Iraqi Army.
The young man named Jihad who
decided to stand and battle ISIS
with the people of Dholoyia.
Me and the Sheik.
impression
on
the
people.
These
people
here
in
Dholoyia
are
among
the
highest
educated
folks
in
the
country.
The
percentage
of
university
level
educated
ones
is
astounding to me.
I
had
been
inside
hundreds
of
Iraqi
homes
since
2007
with
my
camera
while
embedded
with
infantry
units
over
a
long
course
of
time.
I
always
wondered
what
was
going
on
in
the
minds
of
the
folks
whose
homes
we
were
occupying
at
the
end
of
a
gun.
I
have
been
listening
first
hand
to
those
experiences
and
taking
it
all
in.
It
is
a
fascinating
thing
to
hear,
feel
and
reflect
while
having
a
meal
and
drinking
chi
with
the
people
who
now
are
the
ones
standing
up
to
ISIS
and
yet,
are
still
suffering
at
the
hands
of
the
militias.
Sometimes,
it
is
just
too
much
to
take
in
and
digest
all
at
once.
But,
I
can
say
for
sure,
I’ve
been
there
and
done
this
when
no
one
else
would. I have no agenda, I just have another hill or two to cross and see the view from. What a blessing to experience such things.
Later,
I
was
taken
by
my
host
to
visit
with
the
Sheik
of
the
Joubury
tribe
here
in
Dholoyia.
He
is
Sheik
Munir,
a
44-year
old
man
who
is
also
on
the
provincial
governing
council.
For
those
that
don’t
understand
the
culture,
things
in
Iraq
usually
get
done
in
the
tribal
manner.
Yes,
times
are
changing
but
old
school
things
still
exist
in
a
very
high
tech
fashion.
At
the
home
of
the
Sheik,
we
partook
of
chi
with
about
60-other
folks
who
were
there.
I
also
saw
the
same
TV
crew
I
had
seen
earlier
at
the
tent
city.
Because
it
is
nearing
the
end
of
Ramadan
and
the
charitable
acts
of
kindness
to
the
poor
took
place,
the
event
was
a
bit
of
a
story
for
those
that
cover
such
things.
At
the
same
time,
the
I
on
the
other
hand
was
now
more
interested
in
speaking
directly
with
the
Sheik
without
any
audio
or
video.
I
just
wanted
to openly speak with him man to man. And, this is exactly what I got to experience.
I
found
that
just
chatting
over
chi
was
more
indicative
of
reality
than
an
interview.
With
my
host
as
translator
I
spoke
candidly
and
openly
as
the
Sheik
responded
to
my
inquiries.
He
informed
me
that
for
the
past
year
he
had
discussions
with
several
high
ranking
US
folks
both
military
and
civilian.
All
along
the
way
he
has
been
promised
this
and
that
yet
as
of
now
only
empty
words.
We
talked
much
about
the
current
situation
in
his
area
as
well
as
the
matter
of
the
tent
city
inhabitants.
That
is
a
tough
situation
to
get
to
the
root
of
without
upsetting
the
applecart
of
those
who
are
currently
in
control
of
the
fate
of
the
internally
displaced
people.
In
time,
they may be allowed to go back to their homes. But in the short term which now has lasted nine months, life kind of sucks for them.
After
a
while,
my
host
and
I
departed.
I
thanked
the
Sheik
for
his
hospitality
and
welcoming
me
to
his
abode.
My
host
and
I
then
drove
home.
We
talked
a
bit
about
the
day
that
had
just
transpired.
It
had
been
a
big
day
for
a
small
journeyman
once
again.
As
we
once
again
sipped
chi
at
the
home
of
my
host
his
mother
joined
us.
She
informed
us
that
one
of
her
friends
wanted
to
stop
by
and
visit.
They
asked
me
if
I
was
ok
with
that.
I
was
completely
exhausted
but
leaped
at
the
chance
to
hear
older
females,
moms,
about
my
age,
as
to
what
they
had
to
say.
I
did
not
record
it,
although
I
should
have.
I
did
not
take
a
photo,
and
once
again,
I
should
have.
But,
just
listening
and
conversing
with
my
host,
his
mother
and
her
friend
in
the
middle
of
the
night
in
this
land
that
is
called
the
heart
between
the
ribs
over
chi
under
the
stars
above
on
a
hot
summer’s
night
in
Iraq
near
the
banks
of
the
Tigris
River
was
just
impossible
to
convey
anyway.
So,
in
words
as
best
I
can
I
write
as
the Last Lap stretches on for this man known as “Jim” the visitor to Dholoyia.
`