In May 2003, I was a Staff Sergeant serving as a squad leader in a Military Police Company. We deployed to Baghdad Iraq in support of combat operations; I led a squad of 12 Soldiers. My squad’s primary mission was conducting mounted and dismounted patrols in a neighborhood called Al-Dura in the southern part of Baghdad. Soon after arriving in country and receiving our mission, all squad leaders reported to the Battalion Headquarters for introductions and assigning of interpreters to our squads. I had never worked hand in hand with an interpreter before, I was apprehensive about bringing someone I did not know into our team especially someone who would be serving such an essential role in the success of our mission. This is the story of
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We would all meet at the motor pool to inspect our vehicles and load them up for the day. We were still learning about Matham and slowly opening up to him. About a week after he joined our team, we all showed up at the motor pool and Matham was already standing at our vehicles with a box in his hand. I admit for about three seconds I was on guard, my stomach dropped and I remember saying quietly to the other Soldiers “Watch the box.” Matham smiled a huge disarming smile and set the box down on the hood of a truck. He greeted us with handshakes and told us he brought breakfast. Matham explained that his mother has lived in Baghdad her entire life. She was distraught when Matham left for Israel and missed him terribly. Although she understood and wished him safe passage, she loved her son deeply and prayed daily that one day he would return home. When the Americans invaded and ousted Saddam Hussein, Matham wanted to return home and help his family and his country. Matham’s mother was overjoyed to see her son again, she was so grateful to the American Soldiers who made it possible for her family to be reunited. She did not speak English and did not have much money, but she knew how to bake. She borrowed spices from neighbors, saved some money to buy flower and honey and had baked us a cake to say thank you. Matham opened the box and inside was a deep brown bunt cake, coated in thick honey and spices. It was an incredibly thoughtful and kind gift, born of genuine respect and tenderness only a mother can express. We all stood next to the trucks and ate this gooey moist delicious cake as the sun came up. The kindhearted gesture touched me. Crossing the lines of Iraqi or Muslim, this was a gift from a mother, thankful for having her child home, just as any parent would be thankful. Unlike me, Matham’s mother was able to see past nationalities, religion, color, and everything else that made us different, and
We would all meet at the motor pool to inspect our vehicles and load them up for the day. We were still learning about Matham and slowly opening up to him. About a week after he joined our team, we all showed up at the motor pool and Matham was already standing at our vehicles with a box in his hand. I admit for about three seconds I was on guard, my stomach dropped and I remember saying quietly to the other Soldiers “Watch the box.” Matham smiled a huge disarming smile and set the box down on the hood of a truck. He greeted us with handshakes and told us he brought breakfast. Matham explained that his mother has lived in Baghdad her entire life. She was distraught when Matham left for Israel and missed him terribly. Although she understood and wished him safe passage, she loved her son deeply and prayed daily that one day he would return home. When the Americans invaded and ousted Saddam Hussein, Matham wanted to return home and help his family and his country. Matham’s mother was overjoyed to see her son again, she was so grateful to the American Soldiers who made it possible for her family to be reunited. She did not speak English and did not have much money, but she knew how to bake. She borrowed spices from neighbors, saved some money to buy flower and honey and had baked us a cake to say thank you. Matham opened the box and inside was a deep brown bunt cake, coated in thick honey and spices. It was an incredibly thoughtful and kind gift, born of genuine respect and tenderness only a mother can express. We all stood next to the trucks and ate this gooey moist delicious cake as the sun came up. The kindhearted gesture touched me. Crossing the lines of Iraqi or Muslim, this was a gift from a mother, thankful for having her child home, just as any parent would be thankful. Unlike me, Matham’s mother was able to see past nationalities, religion, color, and everything else that made us different, and