Grandpa’s War – Part 33 – Recon: The Farmers Market

It’s really funny how the human brain works.

Not two hours before, we saw a group of British soldiers blown up by a landmine.

Now we’re stopping in Hafar Al-Batin at a restaurant. We posted guards on the vehicles and weapons and went on in. The management was nice enough to put several tables together for us.

The tables had table clothes. There was carpet on the floor and the chairs were padded. And we had menu’s. The menu’s were in English and Arabic. A lot of the guys got excited because they saw Hamburgers on the menu. What we didn’t know is our idea of a Hamburger and the Saudi idea of a Hamburger were two different things.

They got a Hamburger.

A patty of ground up beef cooked to perfection.

It was obvious that we’d had a breakdown in communications. Once the management realized what they wanted, they brought out pita bread, onions, lettuce and tomatoes. They had mustard but for some reason ketchup was something they didn’t.

But they didn’t care. They made American Hamburgers from these and chowed down.

When I looked at the menu and saw Kibbies (My family spelling). I smiled. and ordered a couple. I had them with a side of scallions, lettuce and tomatoes with a yogurt dressing.

Food for fit a king. I even had figs for dessert.

We got the guards rotated around, they ate, and then we continued on our journey.

And that’s when we had a problem.

There was a big red light on the panel in the LTs vehicle. The vehicle drove fine. It was stopping that was the problem. But if you were really careful. you could always use the Emergency brake. Not the best way to drive.

Fearing the master cylinder had developed an issue, we had to figure out how and where to get if fixed. We were miles from our mechanics with no one to fix it. We made it into Al Qaisumah and spent the night in the town square.

When we woke up the next morning, a small farmers’ market had popped up around us.

I’ve written much about the hospitality I received while in the Middle East. The men at this farmers’ market were no exception in that area.

One of the traders had a small gas-powered stove. Using it, he made coffee, broke open a tin of dates, and invited us to breakfast.

I was always making sure our people didn’t refuse hospitality. If an Arab offers you coffee or a meal, and you don’t sit down, it’s one of the biggest insults you can offer. Several of us sat, drank coffee, and ate. Some of the traders spoke English, some didn’t.

When one of the traders found out I was from Colorado, he asked if there were still American Indians.

I have Native American blood, (not enough to brag much about, but the ancestry is there). I told him I was one and that a lot of Americans have bloodlines from the different tribes.

He asked which tribes and I responded with, “Cherokee, Ute, and Tiwa.”

They found that fascinating.

They also found it interesting that my grandfather was from Lebanon. That I had ancestors from other nations like England and Spain and Africa floored the. The idea of a man with bloodlines from dozens of nations and peoples was a little alien to them.

I told them, “About the only blood I’m sure I don’t have is Chinese and Japanese. And it wouldn’t surprise me to find out I had that, too.”

They’d heard of the “Great Melting Pot” and here was a man who embodied that idea. In some ways, I think, it was a little like running into a man from Mars to them.

But interesting as the farmers market was, it didn’t help us in our current dilemma. How and where to get the LTs HUMVEE fixed.

That would involve some hunting on our part and a close encounter with the craziest SOB in the world.

All photographs Copyright – Richard L. Muniz

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