T EXACTLY 6:00 A.M. I shot out of bed as a terrifying commotion thundered through the Al-Rashid. It was as though a squadron of jumbo jets had flown straight into my hotel roomâthe bone-shuddering whine of scores of turbocharged engines at full throttle.
I rushed to the window. Outside, seven stories down, drivers of the Third ID were starting up their Abrams tanks for the early-morning patrol. I realized how harrowing it must have been for civilians to watch a formation of these awesomely powerful machines storm their city. Until you got used to it, the crescendo was as disorientating as a panic attack.
I later learned it took twenty-five liters of gas just to kick one of these jet-turbine-powered juggernauts into life. And every morning, the volcanic whining of tanks warming up would be my wake-up call. At the Al-Rashid, thatâs what passed for room service.
I washed with some of the precious bottled water we had brought from Kuwait. The Kuwaitis were also awake, and after a
meager canned breakfast we went downstairs to find an escort to the zoo. It was only a mile or so away, but no civilian car could travel unaccompanied in the immediate area surrounding the Al-Rashidâit would be bombed to smithereens in a blink.
While waiting I found a pile of guest questionnaires on the reception desk, quizzing patrons on whether they had enjoyed their stay at the hotel. I filled one in commenting on lack of room service, food, water, flushing toilets, and electricity. Under âGuest Commentsâ I complained there were armed men running all over the place shooting at everything in sight and recommended this be reported to the police as soon as possible.
Deadpan, I handed it in to Lieutenant Case saying that unless these matters were dealt with I would consider taking my business elsewhere.
Lieutenant Case guffawed, âapologizedâ for the inconvenience, and suggested I forward my complaints to a certain Mr. Saddam Hussein, proprietorâbut unfortunately he had left no forwarding address.
Case had assigned an armored troop carrier to chaperone us to the zoo, and the distant thud of a mortar bomb greeted us as we left the hotel, followed by the staccato of rifle fire. The Black Hawks circling above dipped their cockpits as they swung toward the firefight, somewhere in the east of the city. The soldiers didnât flinch; this was just the heartbeat of Baghdadâa flare-up here, another one there. They erupted all over the place like minivolcanoes. I marveled at the soldiersâ nonchalance, little knowing that within days we would be exactly the same.
Once in the park, soldiers duct-taped the word ZOO across the hood of my hired Toyota. Lieutenant Szydlik radioed all checkpoints instructing that a red-bearded Anglo wearing a khaki baseball cap with the words Thula Thula stenciled on it and two Arabs with white and green Kuwaiti Zoo caps, in a new white Toyota with the word ZOO taped on it, were to be allowed access throughout the high-security zone. We were not, repeat not, to be fired upon. It
possibly was the strangest order the soldiers had been given since they took the city.
I was also instructed to drive extremely slowly, to stop at least fifty yards from every checkpoint, and to get out of the car with hands exposed and identify myself. I was told not to walk anywhere outside the zoo or hotel grounds. But most important, the Kuwaitis and I had to wear our baseball caps wherever we went. If we lost our headgear, it was possible we would be shot on sight.
Dr. Husham, who had got into the park by clambering over a burnt-out truck jammed in a bomb-blasted gate at the northern entrance on Zaitun Street, was waiting for us. With him were four staff members whom he had managed to contact. I could see they were famished and immediately gave them some dollar bills as advance wages. Abdullah Latif also handed them souvenir Kuwait City zoo T-shirts and caps. He meant well, but given that most
I rushed to the window. Outside, seven stories down, drivers of the Third ID were starting up their Abrams tanks for the early-morning patrol. I realized how harrowing it must have been for civilians to watch a formation of these awesomely powerful machines storm their city. Until you got used to it, the crescendo was as disorientating as a panic attack.
I later learned it took twenty-five liters of gas just to kick one of these jet-turbine-powered juggernauts into life. And every morning, the volcanic whining of tanks warming up would be my wake-up call. At the Al-Rashid, thatâs what passed for room service.
I washed with some of the precious bottled water we had brought from Kuwait. The Kuwaitis were also awake, and after a
meager canned breakfast we went downstairs to find an escort to the zoo. It was only a mile or so away, but no civilian car could travel unaccompanied in the immediate area surrounding the Al-Rashidâit would be bombed to smithereens in a blink.
While waiting I found a pile of guest questionnaires on the reception desk, quizzing patrons on whether they had enjoyed their stay at the hotel. I filled one in commenting on lack of room service, food, water, flushing toilets, and electricity. Under âGuest Commentsâ I complained there were armed men running all over the place shooting at everything in sight and recommended this be reported to the police as soon as possible.
Deadpan, I handed it in to Lieutenant Case saying that unless these matters were dealt with I would consider taking my business elsewhere.
Lieutenant Case guffawed, âapologizedâ for the inconvenience, and suggested I forward my complaints to a certain Mr. Saddam Hussein, proprietorâbut unfortunately he had left no forwarding address.
Case had assigned an armored troop carrier to chaperone us to the zoo, and the distant thud of a mortar bomb greeted us as we left the hotel, followed by the staccato of rifle fire. The Black Hawks circling above dipped their cockpits as they swung toward the firefight, somewhere in the east of the city. The soldiers didnât flinch; this was just the heartbeat of Baghdadâa flare-up here, another one there. They erupted all over the place like minivolcanoes. I marveled at the soldiersâ nonchalance, little knowing that within days we would be exactly the same.
Once in the park, soldiers duct-taped the word ZOO across the hood of my hired Toyota. Lieutenant Szydlik radioed all checkpoints instructing that a red-bearded Anglo wearing a khaki baseball cap with the words Thula Thula stenciled on it and two Arabs with white and green Kuwaiti Zoo caps, in a new white Toyota with the word ZOO taped on it, were to be allowed access throughout the high-security zone. We were not, repeat not, to be fired upon. It
possibly was the strangest order the soldiers had been given since they took the city.
I was also instructed to drive extremely slowly, to stop at least fifty yards from every checkpoint, and to get out of the car with hands exposed and identify myself. I was told not to walk anywhere outside the zoo or hotel grounds. But most important, the Kuwaitis and I had to wear our baseball caps wherever we went. If we lost our headgear, it was possible we would be shot on sight.
Dr. Husham, who had got into the park by clambering over a burnt-out truck jammed in a bomb-blasted gate at the northern entrance on Zaitun Street, was waiting for us. With him were four staff members whom he had managed to contact. I could see they were famished and immediately gave them some dollar bills as advance wages. Abdullah Latif also handed them souvenir Kuwait City zoo T-shirts and caps. He meant well, but given that most
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