Aloha invades Iraq compound
Hawai'i National Guard and Army Reserve soldiers with the 29th Brigade Combat Team have begun a yearlong deployment to Iraq.
Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo is a soldier at Logistical Support Area Anaconda in Iraq, about 50 miles north of Baghdad. Her account of the soldiers' arrival is the first in an occasional series of reports The Advertiser will publish from the citizen soldiers.
Tamayo, 23, a former state representative, has the rank of specialist with a 29th Support Battalion medical company.
By Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo
Special to The Advertiser
Hawai'i National Guard and Army Reserve soldiers with the 29th Brigade Combat Team have begun a yearlong deployment to Iraq.
Photo courtesy of Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo
Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo is a soldier at Logistical Support Area Anaconda in Iraq, about 50 miles north of Baghdad. Her account of the soldiers' arrival is the first in an occasional series of reports The Advertiser will publish from the citizen soldiers.
Former state representative Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo is now an Army specialist stationed about 50 miles north of Baghdad.
Tamayo, 23, a former state representative, has the rank of specialist with a 29th Support Battalion medical company.
The 29th Brigade Combat Team is "boots on ground" in Iraq.
As soon as we hit ground, our presence was immediately felt — "What's going on? The Hawaiians are taking over in force!" one guy told me. A lot of the local people who were already here with their active-duty units were so happy to see us, yelling out "Aloha, braddah! Howzit?!" It was like we brought a little bit of home to them.
Since then we've moved about three times, from tent to tent, and are getting as settled as possible. The tents are much smaller 14-man tents than the big circus tents in Kuwait but are just as packed. Soldiers are slowly upgrading to the trailer rooms as they become available, while the rest of us remain cozy in our little tent cities.
Logistical Support Area Anaconda is big, housing service members from all branches of the military, including some international forces. There are also civilian contractors from countries such as Turkey, the Philippines, India, Pakistan, Egypt and more. The chow hall is the melting pot for everyone. To me, it's cool to be able to sit down and talk with people from so many different countries and backgrounds who you wouldn't normally meet. Usually, they're happy to talk with us and have a hundred and one questions about Hawai'i, followed by, "I'd love to visit there one day."
So we are doing our small part as ambassadors of aloha, bringing a little piece of Hawaiian sunshine to foreigners and locals alike.
Anaconda used to be like a super-base for Saddam and his Iraqi military. During Operation Desert Storm, to undermine the former Iraqi air base's capabilities, the runways, hangars and communication centers were bombed. Every day I am reminded of Saddam's rule and power, back in the day, and am at the same time experiencing the harsh realness of the present — the extreme insurgents' persistent and continual attacks.
An example: There is a big, outdoor movie screen left behind by this camp's previous tenants (like the old drive-in theater in Pearl City). On the surface, it looks just like something you would see at home. But as you look a little closer, a big gaping hole in the cement jumps out at you. It was created by a mortar round fired from outside the wire, making the screen useless.
These mortar attacks come in with no warning. A big cement block is set up on the side of the street as a memorial to soldiers who died at that spot from a mortar fired over the fence. There are flowers and flags offering homage.
Prayers and messages written by battle buddies in memory of their fellow soldiers are unforgettable. Looking at these memorials, you can't help but know that it could be any of our names written on that cement block.
Photo courtesy of Tulsi Gabbard Tamayo
Sometimes we can go for days with no alarm siren going off, no attacks, and sometimes there can be many in one day. You always have to be ready to react. Sometimes the attacks are so far away you can't hear the explosion; other times so close that the ground and sky just seem to shake from the impact.
The tent city at Logistical Support Area Anaconda is the temporary home for many citizen soldiers from Hawai'i.
We take safety precautions but with each attack, all you can really do is say a silent prayer that you and your buddies are unharmed.
"Be safe" — two very small words that can be said lightly, like "take care." But I have never said those words with so much meaning before. Obviously, no one likes to think about death and dying all the time. We're just here to do our jobs, do them well and bring everyone home at the end of the day. There is an unspoken sense of relief when your buddies come back from a mission, safe and sound. That's when the story time starts, as in, "Man, you'll never believe what happened."
The most important thing we have here is each other. It really is a blessing to be here with so many people from Hawai'i. While every one of us misses our families, friends and home so much, we all carry a different piece of home with us, which helps. In my tent alone, we have Kalihi Farrington grads, Westside Wai'anae girls, townies and the outer island crew.
As soon as the first care package arrived, we were all munching on mochi crunch and sucking on li hing mui seeds. One of our young moms was showing off the stuffed camel she got for her 1-year-old daughter at home. Another put up some tent wall hangings with an underwater scene of whales and dolphins.
And, at most hours of the day, guaranteed someone is playing music by IZ, Na Leo, Keahiwai, Jake and many others. All of us put together make up a motley bunch, but most importantly, through everything, we are there for each other.
