“So what’s Uganda like?” I asked the Ugandan guard.
After a short pause, “AIDS,” he affirmed with a head nod.
At
Combat Out Post, or COP, Cobra we were undermanned and running too many
missions to also pull guard on the perimeter. In situations like this, we contracted Ugandans, or
Ugs. That way we didn’t have to
worry about asking the corrupt Iraqi army unit stationed with us. Insider attacks would have sky
rocketed. Ugs are a great bunch to
watch your back and do you know why?
Of course you don’t. It’s
because they had more disdain for Iraqi’s than we did.
 |
| Ug guard post. |
Every
Ug had very dark complexion, shaved or short hair with minimal facial hair
growth and were devout Christians.
While Iraqi soldiers sported long pinky finger nails to snort cocaine
and American soldiers were sneaking off to get high or drink on their down time, the Ugs just
relaxed around a fire and stayed out of trouble. They dawned tan desert boots, pants, and shirt with a black
protective vest and black helmet.
They preferred to dress like Americans in movies and not actual soldiers. Soldiers have bloused pants with boots
tied and the laces tucked in as where the Ugs liked to wear their boots like
Americans wear their Timberlands with laces only strewn half way up and the
tongue sticking way out with unbloused pants. Thanks a lot Hollywood.
They were always friendly and
approachable with us, but damn, if an Iraqi tried to enter COP Cobra without
the proper credentials and didn’t heed to a search, those Ugs wouldn’t hesitate
to man handle them. I saw an
arrogant Iraqi general refuse to allow the Ugs to search him and they raised
their AK-47’s in an extremely aggressive posture. The search commenced.
They knew their job well and didn’t bend the rules for anyone. If they were spooked by anything at
night while scanning the fields around the COP, they would just start
shooting. There were probably a
lot of dead animals in those fields.
Perfect mentality for perimeter security and they had the most important
thing that the Iraqi’s never earned… our trust.
White
platoon would be prepping for a mission near the gate and out of curiosity and
boredom we’d ask the Ugs to educate us on anything from their culture to why
they would do this particular job to learning the language to why the hell they
ate so many bananas.
 |
| Ugs chillaxin' after a shift. |
“AIDS?”
“Yes, its beautiful country, but AIDS is everywhere.”
“So why would you come to this shit hole?”
“I saving moneys to go someplace nice in da Europe.”
“How long are you guys here for?”
“Some stay months. I stay 2 year now. They forget me.”
Apparently
it was a common occurrence for whoever was in charge of the Ugs to lose track
of whose turn it was to go home on vacation. An American in that situation would lose his shit, but these
guys keep working since the alternative is to go home to “AIDS” I guess. Not an ideal situation for any human
being. These guys just kept to the
rules and did their job day in and day out.
“What’s the language you speak?”
“Swahili.”
“How would I greet someone in Swahili?”
“Mizooloo. click”
“And the proper reply?”
“Mizooloo.”
“Again?”
“Yes, it means many things.”
“I’m so confused. What’s with the clicking noises you guys
make when you talk?”
“Some tribes have meaning behind click. My people use it
like you would use a sigh or laugh or sneer. Not a real word. Its affirmation
that shows your level of interest in person or conversation.”
“You use big words.”
“Mizooloo! click Hahaha!”
“You’re silly.”
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