Working in a Congressional Office opens up opportunities that you could not get anywhere else. I had never been as acutely aware of this fact as the day I stepped out of the back of a US Air Force Globemaster onto the tarmac at Muthenna Air Base. As I pulled my bag across the airfield towards the military headquarters, servicemen and women unloaded cargo from the plane around me.
I was already sweating profusely when I stepped inside. A young sergeant (I only knew because I had studied military insignia the day before) sitting at a desk looked up and said "Can I help you, sir?" in a tone that was clearly asking 'Who the hell are you?'
I smiled as amicably as possible and said "I'm Alexander Harris from Congressman Kearny's office. I was told to come here to meet Mr Hassan Nader from Finance Minister Kassab's office."
The sergeant made a big show of shuffling the papers on his desk, although I could tell he was not looking at them so he knew exactly who I was. Finally, he pulled forth a note and said "Ah yes, Mr Harris. Apparently, Mr Nader has been taken ill. If you would please have a seat in the next room I will call you a car to take you to Minister Kassab's office to collect your new guide."
I followed his instructions and waited for forty-five minutes before my car arrived. Incidentally a 'car' turned out to be three US Army Humvees with machine guns on the top and a squad of infantrymen. They handed me a flack vest and a helmet, then bundled me into the back of the middle vehicle in the convoy. As we drove through Baghdad, their sergeant gave me a security briefing which was just a slightly more expletive-filled version of the one I had received two days earlier at the Pentagon.
Suddenly we pulled up abruptly. I was scared that we were about to be ambushed when the door swung open and a woman in a long dress and a hijab pulled herself up into the Humvee. She sat down beside me, before extending her hand in greeting and saying with a detectable British accent "Mr Harris, pleased to meet you. I am Fatima Kassab, wife of Minister Kassab. As Mr Nader is unwell I will be your guide today."
I took the offered hand in surprise and replied "Pleased to meet you also Mrs Kassab."
Perhaps sensing my confusion, she continued "Not what you were expecting? My husband's office has a shortage of people who speak English well enough to be your guide, so without Mr Nader that happy task falls to me. Fear not, I am completely across the projects we will be visiting today. Also, please call me Fatima, I've never been one for formality. May I call you Alexander?"
Still completely taken aback I grinned at her and replied "Alex is best."
Fatima gave me what may have been a very quick wink and said "Well then, with the pleasantries out of the way, shall we head for our first stop?"
The sergeant took that as his cue and gave the roof a rap with his knuckles. As we moved off through the streets Fatima gave me a running commentary on the history of the neighbourhoods we could see out the windows. Finally, we pulled up outside a non-descript-looking building. We waited while the soldiers ran around a bit making sure the area was clear, then stepped out of the Humvee, me feeling a little awkward dressed in body armour next to a completely unprotected Fatima.
To my surprise, inside the building was a hive of activity. The room was filled with desks crowded together, all occupied by women working on laptops or talking on the phone. As we watched Fatima said "Here you go Alex, US aid money at work. Given Congressman Kearny's interest in financial systems, we thought it would be good for you to see how we are promoting entrepreneurship and empowering women. What you see here is a micro-loan service for women who want to start small businesses. We have given loans for everything from buying a pair of goats to make cheese to funding the set-up of a ballet class. Some of the ideas these women are coming up with are incredible and they are paying back their loans in full and on time well over ninety-five per cent of the time."
I nodded enthusiastically and replied "This is amazing. The combination of micro-financing and engaging women in the economy has so many benefits, especially when combined with proper education for women and girls."
Fatima beamed at me and said "As my husband always says: 'How can Iraq ever hope to develop if it excludes half its workforce from the economy?'" We observed a little longer, and then Fatima introduced me to the manager of the project and translated as she explained to me the process they go through to assess a loan application. Frankly, it sounded more onerous than it would be to get a business loan a thousand times bigger in America, but -- as the manager reminded me -- losing money was not an option, otherwise they would be accused of waste or corruption.
The next stop on my tour was a success story of the micro-loan facility, a pottery business with an all-female staff that had just shipped its first international order. Again, Fatima showed me around and had a worker demonstrate how they make a pot, then embarrassed me by making me try (while a dozen young women watched on and giggled at my failure). She then introduced me to the business owner who explained how she had taken her business from just her in her backyard to an export business in less than three years. I came away with a beautiful bowl with a picture of a Northern Mockingbird (state bird of Texas) on it. I tried to explain that although I worked for a Congressman from Texas I was from Wisconsin, but Fatima shook her head and refused to translate, so I promised to get my boss to display it in his office and send them a picture of him with it.
Our next stop was a market to get lunch. This may have been more interesting without the squad of men with machine guns standing around us, but it did afford me some time to talk to Fatima. I was a bit worried about offending her, but my curiosity got the better of me so I bit the bullet and asked "So how did you come to speak such perfect English?"
She raised a thin black eyebrow and replied "By living in England for twenty-three years." She must have seen the panic in my eyes because she patted my arm and said "Don't worry, it's a fair question. I was born in Iraq, but my family moved to Lancashire when I was two years old. My father is a doctor. I lived in England until I was twenty-five, then I went to Cambridge, where I met my husband. When Saddam fell he wanted to come back to Iraq to help it rebuild so back we came, we worked hard and now he is a Minister making the lives of our people better, like you saw today."
I grinned at her and said "Wow. That sounds like it should be a movie script. Great love being channelled into the reconstruction of a destroyed country."
Fatima rose from her seat and handed back her plate to the stall owner as she gave me a half smile and said quietly "Perhaps" then shifted to a more upbeat tone and continued "Alright, we need to keep moving."
Again, we moved through the streets of Baghdad to a large white building that housed the Central Bank of Iraq. I had organised a meeting with the head of monetary policy to discuss the CBI's attempts to stabilise the Iraqi Dinar and their engagement with the International Monetary Fund. This meeting had been set up in part because this particular bank official spoke good English, allowing for a more direct conversation.
It did not surprise me that Fatima sat down beside me for the discussion, but I was surprised when she started challenging some of the claims the banker was making about inflationary pressures. I quickly realised that training in American law and occasional dabbling in financial policy does not equip you for an argument about Iraqi fiscal settings between two people who actually know what they are talking about. I was just glad they kept it in English so I could learn something. The Congressman had given me a list of questions to ask which I did and dutifully wrote down the answers, but I had no control over where the conversation went after that. It veered into the role of the CBI in combating international currency manipulation (as well as a not-so-veiled suggestion from Fatima on the bank's involvement with the practice).
Finally, an hour after we were scheduled to finish, the meeting wrapped up. I had eight pages of notes that I was sure the Congressman would be fascinated by if I could explain them correctly. Fatima seemed almost giddy as we sat back in the Humvee as she said "Well wasn't that fun? We're running late so we'll have to skip the wet market and go straight to the Green Zone so you can get ready for dinner. My husband is eager to meet you."
We made our way back through the streets to the massive concrete walls of the Green Zone and through a heavily guarded gate. We stopped outside a set of prefabricated shipping container-derived housing. The sergeant informed me that this was where I would be staying for my time in Iraq and handed me a key. He reclaimed my flak jacket and helmet, then wished me a good evening and the three Humvees pulled off in a cloud of dust, leaving me with Fatima. She obviously knew where we were going because she set off up the stairs with me following in her wake. She stopped outside a door, took the key from me and opened it revealing a small room with a double bed, a TV, and a small bathroom. Fatima ushered me inside and said "Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton Baghdad" with a smirk.
I dropped my bag on the bed and said "It'll do."
Fatima rolled her eyes at me and said "You'd better get changed." She pointed me toward the bathroom. I pulled a suit out of my bag and closed the door. I was just tightening my tie as I walked out of the bathroom to find Fatima sitting on the bed having a conversation on her phone with someone in Arabic. She held up a finger for me to wait, then said something down the line and hung up. She made a show of looking me up and down, then said "You scrub up well. Pity, seeing as that was my husband calling to cancel. He has an emergency Cabinet meeting and won't be able to make it. I'll call home and get the house staff not to make anything. It will be easier for us to just go to a restaurant here. Are you fine with that?"
I shrugged and replied "Sure. I guess so."
Fatima shrugged back and said "These are the risks of being married to a powerful and important man. Now, if you don't mind, when I'm in the Green Zone I like to take the opportunity to go to the gym. Do you mind if I put in forty-five minutes before dinner?"
I nodded and replied "No probs. I'm not really hungry and a bit of exercise sounds like a good idea. I'll come with you."
Fatima gave me another grin, then pulled off her headscarf letting her black hair fall free, then reached down and started pulling up her loose-fitting dress. I stared in amazement as the garment lifted. I don't know what I expected to find under the garb of an Iraqi woman, but it was not three-quarter-length running tights, running shoes and a sports bra.
However, that was not what had me startled the most. Just like you do not know what an Iraqi woman is wearing under her dress, you also do not know really what she looks like and as it turned out, Fatima was stacked. Toned legs, round hips, a full bust and great expanses of smooth light brown skin met my eyes all at once. I instantly understood why Iraqi women dress modestly: to stop letches like me.
