Before the cold sets in, though, we are, from time to time, blessed at the end of the day with a picture-perfect sunset. Mother Nature works her magic with a mid-level broken layer of stratus clouds which serve as a backdrop for this event. The sky seems to glow a deep magenta hue, and the edges of the clouds appear as if they are on fire - fueled by the final rays of the retreating sun. The day then slowly fades into the horizon as a brightly-lit and unobscured moon assumes the watch.
One thing which I have been awaiting with some trepidation has been the "Rainy Season." I have heard tales of this rumored time of year during which sustained rain showers are not uncommon, and they are only interrupted by the occasional torrential downpour. The sand which was once so cumbersome to walk through transforms to a thick, heavy mud which is now impossible to walk through. I have seen a few few thunderstorms in my time here, the first of which was back in October. I had thought that this was heralding in the season of damp gloom; however, it has yet to descend upon Bucca, and I only hope that it waits as long as possible.
Perhaps the most dominant atmospheric condition here is the perpetual wind. Southern Iraq is flat. Kansas flat. There are no mountains, hills, buildings, trees, or even grass to disrupt the onslaught of the driving winds. These forceful gales are responsible for giant sandstorms which blow in across the desert shrouding everything in obscurity as visibility precipitously drops to mere feet. I have only been witness to one such event, and it was back in September, shortly after my arrival. I had just left the PX (on what was undoubtedly an unsuccessful shopping trip), and was on my way back to the Ole Homestead when I glanced up to my right. Blowing in from the northwest was a giant cloud of sand and dust. Where I stood, it was perfectly calm, but this ominous tsunami of silt was fast approaching. I quickly ducked into the nearest building I could find whereupon the dust storm settled in. The building rattled and the wind howled outside. The fine particulate dust found its way in through every crack and crevice of the building leaving a fine coating on everything inside and the unmistakable taste of dirt in my mouth. It was over in about 20 minutes.
As unpleasant as one might imagine that to be, it pales in comparison to the extreme unpleasantness of the common prevailing winds. Wind, in and of itself, should be no more than a minor nuisance. Unless you consider that the prevailing winds around Bucca seem to blow from the east. A quick Google search for Bucca should provide you with enough satellite imagery to ask, "What are those dark splotches outside of the Camp?" Those, ladies and gentlemen are great lakes of human waste. And they are situated just outside the birm. On the eastern side of Camp Bucca. The combined excrement of twenty-some-odd thousand people is collected and deposited there. And there it sits. Aside from the natural processes of decomposition and evaporation, I'm not sure that anything else is actually done to manage this waste. But, what I can tell you is this: When those vicious winds pick up and come careening across the flat desert and over this comparatively warm cesspool, they become heavily fragranced with the co-mingled essence of the byproducts of an entire community numbering greater than 20,000 individuals. As one walks eastward along the 1/2 mile road to exit the TIF, this driving wind constantly bathes the body, soul, and senses (primarily olfactory) in an unearthly, gut-twisting stench which I refer to as BuccAroma. If this could be tamed and bottled, the makers of Mace would soon find themselves unemployed for the repulsive power of BuccAroma is unparalleled in the known universe.
Today, however, is a relatively pleasant day. It's 64 outside, there is a slight breeze (which fortunately is only lightly fragranced today) and a cloudless sky. I hope that things stay this way for just a little while longer....
