W
ait. Where the fuck am I?
Seven days in, the thought finally hits me. This is crazy. How did I end up here? I’m weighted down by military-issue body armor, hovering several thousand feet above ground in decidedly unfriendly skies. Mere inches from my left shoulder, a gaping hole where the door should be (photo at left) allows a bird’s eye view of the dry desert and the scenic mountainside of Afghanistan quickly falling away beneath the chopper.
A handful of us are on board the helicopter, including Houston rapper Paul Wall and Florida representative DJ Smallz, but I appear to be the only one suddenly smitten with panic. A four-pronged seatbelt strapped over my bulletproof vest seems to be the only thing separating me from sudden death-by-gravity, as I cling tightly to my cameras and gear with both hands. And a tall, heavily-armed soldier named John Tuerck, strapped in facing me and intently eyeing the ground through the scope of his assault rifle, appears to be the only thing separating me from mid-air death-by-Taliban. Verbal communication is limited by the overpowering roar of the rotor blades overhead, but Tuerck has clearly spotted something of concern. He motions to one of the other four soldiers accompanying us. They both grip their weapons tighter, aiming at the location of possible enemy fire coming our way. You could be home right now, I tell myself. You didn’t have to come here. It’s barely 7 AM. On any normal day back in the States at this hour, I’d likely still be in bed hitting the snooze button repeatedly, enjoying the comfortable hum of central air conditioning and unable to resist the pull of my warm bed and soft sheets. Just a typical lazy, spoiled American civilian. But not today. This week, I’m literally on the other side of the world, getting accustomed to the military lifestyle. Having already dragged myself out of a stiff bunkbed at 4:30 AM, ran four miles, showered, and scarfed down a low-calorie breakfast at the DFAC (Dining Facility, or more simply, the chow hall; one of an infinite number of military acronyms), we’re now en route to a tiny FOB (Forward Operating Base) in the Mizan Valley of Afghanistan. Aside from the VIPs, Paul Wall and DJ Smallz, our cargo consists of boxes of frozen Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas, a luxury gift for fifty soldiers living literally in the middle of nowhere.
TIL EVERYONE COMES HOME The USO has served the military for over 67 years, since before World War II. It’s a non-profit organization dedicated to lifting the spirits of U.S. troops all around the world who are sacrificing daily and doing their part to ensure that America remains the land of the free and the home of the brave. In addition to working with private organizations like the USO, the U.S. military also employs internal staff dedicated to improving the “quality of life” for deployed troops. The term “quality of life” includes things like professional gym equipment, calling centers where troops can reach out to their families back home, computers with internet access (usually extremely slow, and social networking sites like Myspace and Twitter are often blocked), and dozens of other privileges that we as private citizens take for granted. The USO’s entertainment division brings entertainers and celebrities from all genres to perform for the troops, just to raise their spirits, bring them a taste of home, and remind them they aren’t there fighting alone. Traditionally, country singers (Toby Keith), rock bands (Flyleaf ), comedians (Steven Colbert, Jamie Kennedy), actors and actresses (Christian Slater, Tichina Howard), and athletes (Anna Kournikova, Drew Brees of the New Orleans Saints) have been actively involved with the USO and similar programs. “I like a little country music, but we need some rappers to come out here. Y’all need to come out here and visit us. I know ya’ll ain’t that busy,” one young soldier we encountered, Private Lopez, pleaded while showing off his “chain” (an assault rifle). “Y’all’s chains don’t compare to my chain,” he joked. Convincing a rapper to spend 10 days overseas performing for free while living in military barracks with no liquor, weed, or civilian women is slightly more difficult. But it’s a trip that’s well worth the experience. With a strong new wave of Army recruits from the Hip Hop generation serving our country with pride (many of whom are stationed at Fort Hood, just a few hours from Paul Wall’s native Houston, TX), it’s only right that we show our support in return. “I think the main two reasons Hip Hop artists don’t come [over here] is because of inconvenience and fear,” theorizes Paul. “It is inconvenient – it’s a long flight, it’s hot, we don’t get paid. But these are people that supported you and they’re out here fighting for our freedom and civil liberties, and we have an obligation as artists to fulfill. As far as ‘fear,’ it is a war zone, but we’ve got the best security in the world right here watching out for us.” Despite the million scenarios running through my head in the helicopter en route to Mizan, my fears turned out to be unsubstantiated. We all made it home safely and in one piece after an incredible 10 days in the Middle East. The experience made the phrase “boosting morale” a reality and not just a cliché. The service we were providing was evident on the faces of troops we encountered everywhere throughout the tour. DJ Smallz and Paul Wall, who both have family members in the military, hope the time they OZONE MAG // 47