I had just landed in Iraq, ready to start my new teaching gig. It was 3 AM, and my new boss and his sidekick looked like they’d rather be anywhere else than navigating a busy airport filled with bewildered security personnel. After a whirlwind drive, they whisked me away to my new digs—a three-story building belonging to the Czech Embassy, rented by my school, Amideast.
They were keen to greet me and say goodbye all in one breath.
“Oh!” exclaimed Imir, shaking his head in disbelief as if he’d just remembered he left the stove on. “Your prayer mat!” I turned, wondering what other mysterious requirements I’d signed up for. There it was, perched on my “prayer table”—a carpet so luxurious it looked like it belonged in a palace. I wanted to say, “I don’t even know which way is up, let alone the direction of Mecca!” But my brain was running on fumes after two days of travel, and I didn’t have the mental bandwidth for another round of awkward small talk.
They bid me farewell with hearty pats on my shoulders, a chorus of “bienvenues,” “rushboshes,” and a strong handshake that nearly dislocated my shoulder. Their mud-splattered Opel blinked away into the night, and as I stood there, I felt a spark of energy. It was almost time for my first sunrise in Iraq!
At 5:15 AM, the first prayer call echoed across the rooftops of my new neighborhood, Ainkawa. An inspired man’s voice broke the morning silence with a Koranic chant that felt like a warm hug from the universe. It was a time of silhouettes, fading stars, and echoes of prayer—what a stunning welcome to the Middle East! Just a few minutes later, a rooster crowed, reminding everyone that yes, you’re still in Iraq, and today might just be the last day of the rest of your life. No pressure!
I perched on the balcony of the Czech Consulate in a worn-out business chair, sipping a large mug of coffee that I’d brewed. I packed my pipe with a blend of tobaccos—Cavendish, Dutch Regiment, and a hint of “I really need this!” Orion was shimmering above, blissfully unaware he wouldn’t stroll across our sky for another 14 hours. But hey, what could possibly ruin this day?
As I strolled around the marble floors in my socks, disaster struck! My giant stein of coffee toppled over, launching 32 ounces of liquid joy in every direction. I watched in horror as it raced toward the stairs, which spiraled down three stories like a caffeinated waterfall. Oh no, I was facing a coffee catastrophe!
Frantically, I searched for towels, but all I found was my unpacked luggage looking just as lost as I felt. Now, how does one make amends with Allah? Is it like sacrificing a goat or maybe just giving up on pirating movies? And did I mention I don’t have “Acts of Allah” coverage in my insurance policy?
In a moment of sheer panic, I instinctively grabbed the prayer mat. Yes, the beautiful, holy artifact! I threw it onto the coffee puddle like it was a superhero cape. It soaked up the coffee like it was training for a marathon! I wrung it out, only to realize, “What have I done?” I had just treated the holiest carpet in the entire country like it was a dish towel. I mean, thank goodness there wasn’t an Iraqi flag nearby...