My New Iraqi Houseguest

I have a new houseguest as of today, the brother of an Iraqi friend of mine, who arrived 6 days ago in Beirut from Baghdad in order to apply for refugees status with the U.N. office here. This evening while we were walking home, he said to me: "Do you know how I can tell Beirut is a safe city? You're an American but you can still walk on the street. Do you what would happen to you in Baghdad?" I was about to tell him how I remember when once upon a time it had been safe for Americans to walk the streets in Baghdad, but then it occured to me: he's been in balmy Beirut for the past six days and he's still not totally sure he's safe.

It's been over two years since I've been in Baghdad and now I can barely imagine what it's like to emerge from that pressure cooker. And my new friend was in deeper than most: working 18 months as an interpreter for Coalition forces, most recently in a forward operating base in one of Baghdad's most dangerous neighborhoods. The thing is he wishes he was still there. The last platoon was the best he'd ever worked with. Treated him just like another soldier, and spared him the daily security humiliations -- like banning mobile phones -- visited upon most Iraqis who work with Americans. The day after he left them, two of his best American friends died in a roadside bomb attack, and not long afterwards, another Iraqi interpreter from the platoon was killed along with his American teammates when their Bradley was blown to bits.

My concern right now is what to feed him. I took him to the big French grocery store where I normally shop. This was a mistake. Thirty minutes inside those miles of aisles and he didn't pick a single thing. Not only was he overwhelmed by the sheer groaning variety of all this pre-packed plenty, but my friend -- being your average Iraqi guy -- has probably never had to make his own toast before now.

"What do you normally eat?" I asked.
"Shawarma from restaurants," he said. Shawarma is a sandwich made from the shaved pieces of a huge slab of meat that is cooked on a vertical rotisserie and cut with a long serrated knife. I can't do shawarma.
"How about hamburgers?" I asked.
"Yes, hamburgers!"
"Should we buy some hamburger meat?"
He took a long look at the bloody red shelf of ground streak and said: "Maybe not."

--Andrew Lee Butters/Beirut