OFW Journals (OFW Stories on the News) and Some OFW Employment, Career & Business Tips

Lunchtime in Baghdad, Iraq
By Celeste Lucero

On16 June 2007, I kept looking at the round wall clock as it hits forty five past twelve. There was a war going on inside my stomach, and I had been hoping lunch would be served soon.

I continued doing my work albeit pangs of hunger had crept into my head as I lulled myself on the swivel chair. I don’t know if anyone had noticed, but I’m pretty sure that the sounds of the famished rebellion of my digestive organs can be heard many tables away. If they cared at all, their faces did not show it. I wanted to hate them for not having the same agony as mine.

My desperate attempt to reminisce what I had for breakfast did not do much of any help. Although, my memory told me that I had the usual [Iraqi] bread with unsalted butter as spread, and the good old coffee with cream.

I almost jumped at my feet when the cook showed up at 1300 hours, announcing lunch is ready. However, even at that trying time, I kept some dignity and waited for others to react. And, in less than a minute, we started marching towards the dining area.

Hot soup was in my mind when we heard a loud explosion. The tremors that followed were enough to send us looking for anything solid or concrete to hide to. Some screamed it was a rocket, and then some said a mortar. I didn’t want to know, I was terribly scared to mind.

It was the dining area that got hit, and what was left of it shook my knees. I was still shaking when the military told us to get out of the villa and move to safety.

After a while, we found out that there were two rockets that struck our dining area, but the other one did not explode. Thank God the lunch was late! We could have been there eating our last lunch. My favorite spot, where I usually sit, was badly hit by shrapnel. The idea of coming home in a box, gave me sleepless nights for a week. The Lord is good.

While battling post-traumatic stress, I remembered a famous quote by Nietzsche, “What does not kill me, makes me stronger”. And I thought he must be a lunatic. I wanted to change the last sentence to “paranoiac”.

My father had this black coffee mug, when I was just a useless young boy. It’s quite an ordinary mug, but what’s conspicuous about it is the slogan printed in white. It reads: Life is a bitch and then you die. In my kind of situation right now, I am praying to God, that whoever wrote this, must be a liar.