From the Lioness Den: a 3 part commentary by Lance Cpl. Cindy G. Alejandrez

From the Lioness Den

In every mess hall, packed in every care package, sitting in a box at the back of our classroom and now written on the wall of a bathroom stall in Al Asad.

I went to al Asad for Lioness training with Regimental Combat Team 5. I’m a combat correspondent without any combat experience. Although I’m now a journalist for the Marine Corps, I have always been a journal-keeper of some sort.

A combat photographer, a field wireman and a cook with 1st Marine Logistics Group also volunteered for the program. This was our opportunity to serve a more direct role in this war. As females, being a Lioness gave us a rare opportunity to work “outside the wire,” away from our desk jobs and away from working with tape recorders, cameras, wires and spatulas.

Our job was to search Iraqi females for suicide vests, fake identification and contraband at vehicle and entry control points in an effort to diminish the threat of female suicide bombers, while keeping in mind the gender sensitivities of the nationals.

The training course to prepare us for our duties included things we were already familiar with, such as rules of engagement, escalation of force, a combat lifesaver course and techniques from the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program we may need for self-defense. We fired our rifles and the AK-47s at the range, learned about sniper threats and the history of suicide bombers. We even had the opportunity to touch suicide vests retrieved after a failed terrorist attack.

Touching the vest brought the reality of the news straight to my hands. One was gray and made with fabric from a soldier’s gear. It made me think of the belts worn by some newborn babies to protect the skin still attached to their belly buttons. That started a train of thought leading me to think of all the mothers who may have lost someone in this war.  They could use their anger as an excuse to make something similar to what I was holding.

At the time, news of female suicide bombers was everywhere. In February two women executed a deadly attack in a Baghdad pet market, killing 99 people. The attack was one of several in the past year, making it seem to me like humans, not vehicles, were becoming the preferred method of transporting explosives. It made me wonder if terrorists had exhausted one tactic and moved on to another.

The news was probably what kept me awake through all the hours of wearying power point presentations.

The Arabic-language class was probably the most helpful training we received. Everyday for at least an hour, Arabic greetings and commands were pounded into our brains. I would practice at night before going to sleep. Our lead training instructor emphasized the importance by making us state phrases repeatedly throughout the day.

“Oni imra’ah, elbis shari fowq,” we said. It means “I am a woman wearing my hair pulled back.”

It got to the point where I would forget the meaning of the sentence I was spitting out.

We learned of our destinations a day before our departure. We would be heading out to Rutbah. On the map, it seemed so far away from everything. It is a city in the far-western al-Anbar province and is a crossroads linking Baghdad to the Syrian border.

I packed light, bracing myself for the travel. Traveling with all my protective gear on and combat load is serious business in the heat but I couldn’t complain yet because I still had a busy month or two ahead of me. I would wear my 30-pound flak jacket several weeks and for several hours throughout the day.

We arrived in Rutbah after a short helicopter ride and a few hours convoyed to the traffic control point where we’d be working.

My stomach turned when I saw a multitude of children run to the convoy to wave hello. It was just strange to me to see the large group of kids running around, like the entire city was their playground.

Apart from the children walking around, there were also sheep in the street, dozens of dirty dogs and trash everywhere. The trail of trash continued on to the traffic control point.

The way it was caught on the barbed wires and lying against the protective barriers, it was like gaudy wallpaper for the perimeter.

The Lionesses we were relieving seemed excited to meet us, as they were ready to hand over responsibility of their post. They also gave us a tour of the area, showing us the mess hall, showers, an area recently damaged by mortars and finally, the female search area.

The post was nothing like what I thought it may look like, although I barely had an idea of what to expect. Anyways, I don’t think anything would have made feel completely safe given our situation and unfamiliar surroundings.

“All it would take is one,” a staff sergeant later put it.

The sergeant on post spun us up on the way they did business there, the mood of the people they deal with and in return let us bombard her with questions.

Sometime between then and the morning, before falling asleep on our cots in a room made of sand-barrier walls, we decided our special word in case of an emergency at the post. If we ever felt threatened, our secret word to alert our partner would be ‘pop tart.’

It’s what we had become tired of eating and what we didn’t want the women to do – pop. 

Girls only in the Lioness Den

RUTBAH, Iraq (April 15, 2008) – The local women normally wore conservative black burkas, had a smell of dough clinging to them and carried relaxed attitudes when approaching the search area. The majority of the women knew more about my post than I did.

Before arriving at Rutbah, I expected to see conflict and was ready to use my training in such a situation.

After my first day on post as a Lioness in a traffic control point near Rutbah, I realized some of the search techniques may have needed to be reevaluated. The training with Regimental Combat Team 5 prepared us to deal with confrontations but I didn’t see any in sight.

We had no reason to be excessively aggressive and I certainly didn’t see myself using restraint techniques in the near future.

I was surprised by the kindness a lot of these women showed, how comfortable some kids were around us, and how important our language classes really were. They all warmed up to us very quickly and soon started to offer us candy and snacks. One woman went as far as giving my partner, a communications Marine, a bottle of body spray.

They had become accustomed to the requirements at the search point and tried to make the process speedy by showing they meant no harm. Despite their cooperation and friendliness, we studied the bulks and folds in their clothes to determine if there was a threat.

Things felt a lot safer with crowds of children around the “Lioness den” or female search area.  The atmosphere changes when there are kids around. Although they bothered me when they asked for candy we didn’t have, I felt more at ease when they were around.  

Another thing I noticed about the women was that most claimed to be sick or they had babies with some kind of ailment.

“Oni muu doctour madam,” is all I could say, which means “I am not a doctor.”

We also wanted to avoid the impression that we had handouts. Whenever we gave someone an extra water bottle, everybody else wanted one too. They asked for the water bottle I brought out for myself. Most didn’t understand that we weren’t there to provide assistance, but to do a serious job. It was a hot desert and I didn’t enjoy a dry throat either.

I was relieved that overall, the majority of the women were pleasant. Despite the relaxed atmosphere most women carried, we realized it was important to put friendliness aside and focus on the possibility of a threat. We had to search every woman, every time.

According to a report by the Washington Post, suicide bombers conducted 658 attacks around the world last year, including 542 in Afghanistan and Iraq.

As of mid-March, the count for female suicide bombers in Iraq since the beginning of the war was 18. Seven of which attacked this year, according to the Washington Times.

Some of the women may have complained but the inconvenience of stepping out of their vehicle at the inspection area was small compared to the devastation a suicide bomb would cause for us and the locals.

A tall, older woman I was searching one afternoon started to cry as I patted her. I thought she was sick and asked her what was wrong. She was in pain over a baby she kept mentioning.

I called over the interpreter and resumed with my job. My partner figured things out while I searched the remaining women.

She walked back with eyes wide open and a disturbed look on her face.

The woman had broken into tears because a month before her boy’s legs were blown off by an improvised explosive device.

My insides twisted and tangled. I realized the best way to repay the friendliness of the women was by doing my job.  I didn’t share a hug with her and now I regret it.

I never saw her again.

Leaving the Lionness Den
Pt 3 of a 3 pt commentary by Lance Cpl. Cindy G. Alejandrez 

RUTBAH, Iraq - Marines have the strangest looking tan lines.

Nearing the end of our time as Lionesses searching women at the traffic control point, in Rutbah, Iraq, I gained my own awesome deep, dark-brown, tan on only half of my face. The other half never saw the sunlight because of my helmet and sunglasses.

Coincidently, during our last week supporting India Battery, 3rd Battalion, 11th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division by inspecting the women for suicide vests and contraband, the weather worsened. Mornings would start hot as usual and in the afternoon, sand storms would blow in.

Sweat and dust would mix to form grime on my hair line, in my ears and where my sunglasses met my face. My hair took the worst beating, accumulating half the sand in Rutbah. With my flak jacket and helmet on, I looked like a dirty “Ninja Turtle.”

Despite all of that, we were actually glad the weather was preventing the next group of Lionesses from coming to relieve us. Time spent on post was a great opportunity to continue practicing our Arabic and work with the local women, some who had befriended us, leaving a personal impression.

Our time at the traffic control point had its ups and downs but overall it was a rewarding experience. The only minor thing which left a sour spot in my memory was the day a woman smacked my face in the “Lioness den” or female search area.

I reacted by yelling close enough to her face that I’m sure she could feel the heat off my bad breath as I put her hands behind her. Her face turned red. I think it was my shouting that surprised and embarrassed her.

I don’t think she realized how hard she hit me but I didn’t feel she was a threat. Neither did my partner, who was standing outside the search area and listening the whole time.

The woman apologized before leaving, which left me confused.

My partner on post that day, a cook, teased me about the whole thing, by mimicking the way I hollered. I laughed with her, which helped me get over it. Communicating with my partner was important for our safety and to pass the time. In this case, it helped me regain my focus on the job at hand.

On one of our final days there, I had the opportunity to see a woman named Kara, who passed by a couple times a week with her baby boy.  She always greeted me with a smile and called me her “sadiki,” or friend, and always asked for me when I wasn’t there.

 She was also friends with my usual partner, a field wireman. We were always glad to see her and used the couple of minutes to practice our Arabic as she passed through the traffic control point.

On our second to last day on post, she came and brought her baby along for us to compliment. After she returned to her truck, her group waited for a while before I started to wonder why. I gave her cookies for her baby and another young boy in the car while they waited.

It turned out, a young man in her family was detained and being questioned by Iraqi Policemen at the traffic control point.

I felt bad for Kara. She seemed upset and soon looked away from us and covered herself and the babe with her burka. It was about an hour before her party finally left, without the man being questioned.

I’m not sure how friendly she would have been afterwards but I wasn’t there much longer to find out. We left the traffic control point the day after our replacements arrived.

As we convoyed out, passing through the city, I desperately searched for any familiar faces, finding none. We were leaving behind a positive group of Iraqi women who gave me a renewed impression of the females here, opposite of what I usually saw on the news.