Judgement Day

Emad's father died so we visited the wake.  The family welcomed us and poured more pepsi and we said the first Surah of the Qu'ran as is the custom.  The Exordium.  I sat quietly while the muslims held their hands palms up and whispered from memory: ...praise be to god, lord of the worlds... master of the Judgement Day..."  Afterwards silence prevailed.  "Can we speak?" I asked BBA Mohammed.  "Yeah, sure."  "Are all these men family?"  Mohammed spoke with the men.  "They're brothers--Emad's uncles," Mohammed pointed to six older men.  "Everyone else is family too."  Chai was served (I drank a cup for you, Walter).  Then Emad said the Iraqi Army had turned away several out-of-town family members--but eventually agreed to allow visitors with valid ID cards.  We gave Emad money for the burial as we left, another Arab custom.

In the HMMWV soldiers played"Brass Monkey" by the Beastie Boys on their ipod.  "Brass monkey, that funky monkey.  Brass monkey, junkie."

Proof there is something irreverent about every sober moment in Iraq.