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Tseen grabbed the 100,000-dinar wads of cash from his assistant's hands and counted them. “100,000 dinar, 200,000 dinar, 300,000 dinar.” I verified with the MOD roster that the amount of money arriving to our camp was the amount we should be receiving. Amazingly, we had exactly 350,243,100 dinar. We locked the safe. Tseen said, “Jamal, it is now time for tea. Come with me.” I obliged and we went to drink tea with a group of Iraqi officers in the battalion swahut.

Our first pay operation was to pay the Headquarters and Service Company (H&S Company) Iraqi soldiers who resided at Camp Ali. We set up shop in Captain Hasen's swahut, which was in the center of the
jundi
swahut area. To the untrained eye it seemed as though the
jundi
payday scene was absolute chaos. The
jundi
were simultaneously excited and stressed. They yelled and fought with each other to get a favorable position in the line. They relied on the paychecks to survive and to feed their families. No paycheck meant an Iraqi could not take care of his family, a dishonorable position in the Arab world.

There were seven individuals involved in the management of the pay process. Sergeant Major Kasem, the senior enlisted Iraqi in H&S Company, stood at the door to the swahut and asked for three identification (ID) cards at a time; he acted like the bouncer outside a club. He continually yelled at the pay line, which consisted of anywhere from fifty to a hundred Iraqis, all of whom were trying to push their way to the front of the line.

Inside the swahut Tseen and I set up a long table with six chairs behind it. The Iraqis receiving pay started at chair one and moved down the line. The first and second chairs were for me and a terp, usually Imus, Mark, or Moody—the most honest terps. While I rarely used a terp, during pay operations I relied on them heavily to give me the honest scoop. Pay operations were notorious for various kinds of shady business, which my basic Arabic skills might not have caught (for example, officers paying favorite soldiers more money, stealing soldiers' pay, forging signatures on the pay charts, and so forth). Sadly, I had no real function at the table except to monitor the process and assure the
jundi
that the Iraqi officers would not engage in nefarious activity. No matter how much Iraqis publicly claimed that Americans are dishonest, stingy, and generally rotten people, in private situations, they relied on us heavily to provide oversight.

The third chair was for Naji, an S-1 warrant officer with over twenty years in the old Iraqi army who is respected throughout the battalion. Naji's duty was to verify IDs, verify names, and keep a written record of
payment for the battalion's pay records. Iraqis love to keep paper records of everything. Their record-keeping ability is old fashioned and inefficient but functional. Next to Naji sat Tseen. Tseen read names and pay amounts from the official pay rosters from MOD. When the pay recipient verified that his name was correct, he signed on the official MOD pay rosters. Tseen also acted as an impact zone for
jundi
complaints, bearing the full brunt of every emotional
jundi
who found out he had a pay issue—a sight women and children should never have to witness.

Once Tseen had read the payee's name and pay amount from the roster, the payee moved down the line to the money counter. Typically Captain Hasen acted as the money counter. He grabbed a lump of cash and started flipping through it so fast he could have used it as a small fan. He had to be fast since each
jundi
received about 500,000 dinar. Once the money had been counted, he handed it over to the soldier receiving it, who then stepped out of the line and counted it to verify Captain Hasen's work. If he had problems with the amount, he told Hasen, who would either recount the money if he thought the
jundi
was lying or grab a few bills from his cash stacks and hand it to the
jundi
who was shorted.

The sixth seat in the process was reserved for the pay overseer. In our battalion this was Lieutenant Colonel Ali, the executive officer (XO) of the battalion and the only officer trusted by the
jundi
. His primary duty was very similar to mine: ensure the pay process is orderly, fair, and honest. His additional duty was to clarify and mediate any issues with pay punishments, a highly contested and passionate affair. Fortunately, my role in the pay punishments was passive. I had to understand the process and ensure it was not leading to further corruption or creating impediments to the Iraqi army's future success. Ali actually dealt with the emotional or distressed Iraqis who wanted to argue their case.

Pay punishments are the only method of reprimanding Iraqi soldiers, aside from restricting leave. Because restricting leave usually guarantees a soldier will never return to active duty, restricting pay is the preferred punishment. Pay punishments are necessary because the Iraqi army doesn't have a functioning or enforceable Uniform Code of Military Justice or similar government construct that allows for a more fair and orderly method of punishing poor soldier behavior.

In the old Iraqi army there were many more ways to impose good order and discipline among the troops: beatings, threatening families, sending soldiers to jail, and so forth. In the new Iraqi army the easiest way to
enforce standards is for the battalion commanders to be the judge, jury, and executioner for Iraqi soldier misbehavior. Unfortunately this system is prone to nepotism and corruption, but most of the time it accomplishes its objective of motivating Iraqi soldiers to do the right thing.

Payday Problems

The pay process for H&S Company went relatively smoothly for an Iraqi operation. The same held true for the pay operations we carried out in Barwana, Haqliniyah, and Baghdadi. But the hinges came off the doors when we paid the
jundi
in Haditha. There we were down to the last group of soldiers to be paid, none of whom had received pay for the past few months because of the bureaucracy and corruption at the MOD. The first
jundi
approached Tseen, smiled with a mouthful of five teeth, and said, “Sir, have you worked my pay problem out with MOD yet? It has been five months since I have been paid.” Tseen responded, “I am sorry, I am still trying to figure it out. God willing, we get it next payday.”

This was obviously not the answer the
jundi
wanted to hear. The
jundi
and his comrades approached the table and verbally attacked Tseen. The situation appeared beyond control. I was getting worried, but my terp said, “Jamal, Arab people are very emotional. I will let you know if something needs to be done.” I sat back in my chair and watched the bedlam as the group continued to confront Tseen, calling him names, calling him a liar, and accusing him of theft. I was amazed at the disrespect the
jundi
were showing to a senior officer. It is expected that emotions will sometimes run high, but if the
jundi
had done this in the U.S. military it would have resulted in a court-martial. In the old Iraqi army, it would have ended in a beating.

In my short experience with Iraqis it seemed they chilled out after venting for a few minutes. In this case, however, they didn't. They did not calm down; they got more furious as Tseen exited his seat and sprinted to Captain Najib's office to get away from them. Tseen's exit meant the fury and anger of the
jundi
would be directed to the next best candidate—me.

“Jamal, you must help us, Tseen is Ali Babba!” the group exclaimed. I was facing a dilemma. I could agree with their sentiments and reinforce their distrust and disrespect for Tseen or I could tell them their pay system was valid, that Tseen was working hard, and that their system simply needed time to work (a blatant lie). I took a compromise position and used a trick I learned from some of our predeployment culture training—blame
problems on a higher unit or organization. I told the disgruntled
jundi
, “Listen, I will help you as best I can. I think Tseen is an honest man and is trying his best, but he has to deal with all of the corruption at the MOD.”

I had detonated a “bitching bomb.” The
jundi
went on a tirade of complaints, hoping I could fix all the problems in Iraq. “Jamal, we have no pay, no new clothes, no new uniforms, no food, we get shot at every day. How can we continue this way of life?” Qasem, the driver of the Iraqi Humvee I had ridden in during the Kaffijiyah and Bani Dahir operations, approached me and said, “Jamal, look at my socks.” Qasem pulled off a boot and showed me his decrepit sock. I said, “Good God! We just received a new supply of socks, shoes, boots, and uniforms at the battalion. They still have not sent any of this gear to the fighters in 4th Iraqi Company?”

I knew I could not help these men with their pay problems, since those issues were fixed at the highest and most corrupt levels of the MOD; however, I could possibly get these guys supplies by asking Lieutenant Adams to put his boot in the ass of Nihad, the battalion supply officer. Before I gave the
jundi
an honest assessment, I remembered Mohammed's key point during his Arab culture brief at Camp Taji: when dealing with an Arab do not be direct in your responses and criticisms; instead, go out of your way to be helpful and accommodating, even if what you are saying is not the complete truth.

I rejected the American culture tendency to be candid and instead gave the
jundi
my culturally aware response. “Friends, I will try my best to work with the brigade to ensure Tseen is rectifying your pay problems. I think there is hope. I will also ask the battalion where your supplies are located. Please be patient.” I paused before continuing. “Bil mustekbel rah yakoon maku mushkila. Insha'allah.” (In the future, there will be no problems. God willing.) The soldiers appreciated my sincerity. “Jamal, my brother, thank you for caring about us, God willing you can help us, may God be with you.” The Iraqis each gave me a hug and their best wishes. Mohammed's cultural insights had served me well.

On our way out of the Haditha FOB, Imus mumbled under his breath to me, “Money is the root of all evil. People who want everything are no good. I am sorry you have to deal with those Iraqis.” Imus, in his ideal world where every Iraqi loves one another and praises God, was angry at the
jundi
for telling me their problems. A very proud Iraqi, Imus was trying to convey to me that greed, poverty, and begging were not the norm with his people. His people were not these problem-ridden Iraqi soldiers; his
people were part of the historic Arab kingdoms, which oversaw a glorious Islamic society along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. To ease his fears I said, “Imus, dude, it's all good, man. Every society has a group in need. I won't hold it against you.”

On the convoy home, as I was searching for IEDs, I thought about the supply issues within the Iraqi army and how we could fix them. How could it be that battalion headquarters had recently received a shipment of new supplies and yet the actual fighters at the company level had nothing? How could we help these Iraqi soldiers?

My thoughts on helping the Iraqis solve their supply problems had changed by the end of our thirty-minute convoy. At the end of our trip the
jundi
started throwing boxes of their meals, ready-to-eat (MREs) onto the side of the road. I could not believe it. How could they bitch to me about not having supplies then throw boxes of chow off their Humvee because it did not appeal to their taste buds? We had just risked our lives in the Barwana markets buying these guys food and now they were throwing away their backup chow? This episode only reinforced what I had seen earlier when we were unloading all the new Iraqi supplies. The Iraqis showed me their bin of used equipment. The bin was filled with used flak jackets, boots, and uniforms from soldiers who had quit or been fired. If these guys were so desperate, why didn't they use some of this stuff? It was not in poor shape. What's wrong with these people? I thought.

I think the answer lies in the Iraqi perception that American taxpayers have an infinite supply of money. Guess what, Mr.
Jundi
? The Marines recycle gear all the time and never throw out boxes of MREs needlessly. At times the Iraqis annoyed me with their sob stories, especially when their whining was followed by a bout of wastefulness and an attitude that Americans “will just buy us new things, as they always do.” But then again—MREs do suck!

Chapter 10

Insights on Iraqi Culture

September 2006

E
very day I was in Iraq I learned more about Iraqi culture. The most shocking lesson came from Colonel Abass, who gave Lieutenant Colonel Cooling (the 3/3 commander), a few U.S. Army Special Forces soldiers, Staff Sergeant Haislip, and I a lesson on Arab marital relations at a lunch gathering.

A Dinner Date with Colonel Abass

After the standard thirty minutes of chit-chat over lunch, Cooling said to Abass, “Seyidi [Sir], what do you think about the insurgents in this area?” Abass responded through Martin, the terp, “My honest opinion is they are all faggots and homosexuals and do not follow the Koran. They probably don't even beat their wives.” We all chuckled at the statement, but we could not believe what we were hearing.

Cooling asked Abass the same question we all wanted to ask: “So you said the insurgents do not beat their wives—is not beating your wife considered a bad thing?” Abass got out of his seat with a wide grin on his face and spoke, “In Iraq, it is mandatory you beat your wife!” We all looked at each other, puzzled but curious to see where this conversation was going. He continued, “To not beat your wife is considered unmanly. Men who do not beat their women allow their women to take advantage of them through their powers of seduction. I think Western pressure to stop wife beating will only lead to a systematic weakness in Iraqi men.”