March 22, 2003
"Critter" Crittenden
We had been rolling for about 30 hours when we pulled up in the vicinity of As Samiwah. Someone passed the word that some Hajjis were coming down along the column.
I looked around the side of the Bradley, and there they were. Three men in dishdasha robes and a boy. They were carrying MREs. As they came along, I said, “Marhaban,” and “Salaam aleikum.” They said some things back, delighted to be addressed in Arabic.
“Sahafi Ameriki,” I said by way of introduction. “American press.”
It was one of the few things I knew how to say, but they thought that was remarkable. They pointed around, asking if everyone was Ameriki.
“Na’am. Everyone’s Ameriki.”
They looked at Smitty, six-foot-six, black, and skinny with a big head made bigger by his Kevlar. One of them pointed at Smitty, and asked if that one was Ameriki, too.
“Na’am, even him. Ameriki.” ...
In front of the M113 in line behind us, there was a black soldier on his knees on a prayer rug. He was a Muslim, taking advantage of the stop to catch up on his prayers. When they noticed him, the astonished Arabs looked at me and asked, were their eyes were not deceiving them, could this possibly be an Ameriki Musselman?
“Yep,” I said, “Musselman Ameriki.”
They discussed this unexpected phenomenon, ...
