Birding Babylon - A Soldier's Journal from Iraq

By Jonathan Trouern-Trend

Preface

I've often been struck by how differently people see the same place. A photographer sees the world in terms of contrasts and composition. An architect sees it in terms of space and structure. In Iraq there are ten thousand ways to see the world. I consider myself lucky to have seen it through the eyes of a naturalist.

When I think of my time in Iraq, my thoughts turn first to the good things: my friends, both Iraqi and American, and my time observing wildlife. Though my medical unit saw the terrible face of war, I also discovered a country rich in history and natural beauty, where I could pursue my lifelong passion for nature. Iraq is full of people who love the natural world, with whom I felt a natural kinship, who would bring me insects or talk with me about birds and their names and where they could be found.

I was fortunate to be stationed on one of the largest American bases, Camp Anaconda, north of Baghdad in the Sunni Triangle. Its 15 square miles held not only a large portion of the American arsenal in Iraq but also many birds and other creatures that shared the base with us. Though it was a hive of military activity and a target of almost daily rocket and mortar attacks, it was also a refuge of sublime natural beauty to those who looked. My job in our battalion intelligence section also allowed me to travel to other parts of the country, from the sparse deserts of Al-Anbar Province to the awe-inspiring ruins of Babylon and Ur to the palaces and urban streets of Baghdad.

When I started my online journal Birding Babylon, shortly after arriving, I got significantly more response than expected. In retrospect it should have been no surprise. Most people's view of life in Iraq focuses on the chaos and violence of war. To read about something as universally familiar as the migration of birds, or watching ducks in a pond, fulfilled a need to know that something worthwhile or even magical was happening, even in the midst of suicide bombings and rocket attacks. I believe this is why I received so many comments, some recounting how they cried—maybe not knowing exactly why—when they read about my often-mundane birding on base. Knowing that the great cycles of nature continue despite what people happen to be doing is reassuring, I think. There is an order we can take comfort in and draw strength from.

For me, the familiar took the form of birds I knew from back home or from my time in Europe. The first ducks I saw, a flock of shovelers, could just as easily have been seen in Connecticut. The barn swallows migrating over our Kuwaiti staging area reminded me of those I could find at our town lake in early April. The wood pigeons and coots on base were identical to the birds I had seen at St. James Park in London. Even the ubiquitous house sparrows, residents of every McDonald's in America, were with me in the most remote desert outpost. The birds gave me both the excitement of the new and exotic (as with the hoopoe) and the anchor of the familiar. In the predictable migrations of shorebirds, followed by the land birds and waterfowl, I found continuity and reassurance.

There are soldiers in every war who have the naturalist's eye. A foreign land is fertile ground for the curious. I knew a World War II veteran who spent time in the Pacific islands catching lizards and insects and sending specimens to the Smithsonian in Washington. Since returning from Iraq I've found that I was not alone as a birder there. I know of at least a dozen marines, soldiers, airmen, and civilians from several countries who brought their binoculars to war. They share information with me as I continue to write about Iraq's birds and other wildlife online. I try to make the blog a place where people can read firsthand observations from the ground and about international efforts to help the birds. My archive of postings from Iraq is also there (http://birdingbabylon.blogspot.com/). The ones chosen for this book have been edited for publication.

What most excites me is learning that Iraqi birders have begun surveying the birds of the southern marshes. Life is returning to some of the ruined areas, and some species feared extinct have been seen. To me this is emblematic of the resiliency of life, of both birds and people, in the face of crisis.

I hope to return to Iraq one day armed only with binoculars and camera. Perhaps an Iraqi friend and I will drive around searching the deserts, the river valleys, the marshes, and the mountains for the birds I missed. We will talk about how wonderful it is to be free of the fences and able to go where the birds are instead of hoping they'll fly into our compound. No matter how long it takes to get to that future, I know the birds will be waiting.

Jonathan Trouern-Trend
Marlborough, Connecticut