Adaption

Last night while I was talking to my wife on the phone a horrendously loud siren started going off. I reacted almost without thinking and threw myself on the ground. But I kept right on talking to her until the noise drowned us out. The alarm for incoming rockets is something that has reached a level of normalcy. Last night at dinner it went off and the sound of the explosion was lost in the sound of several hundred metal chair legs scraping over concrete as their occupants jumped to the ground. Yet, a minute later the din of conversation had once again taken over the small dining hall.
There is often some sort of explosion going off on the range outside the base so that a distant “Whump” is not an unexpected thing around here. As I ate breakfast outside this morning I heard a different sound accompanied by a jet engine noise and looked up to see four MRLS rockets zooming into the atmosphere. The Canadians playing floor hockey barely stopped to notice. It seems that in this world where everyone carries a weapon and extra ammunition we have become inured to the things that would stop most people in their tracks.
The ability of humans to adapt to their surroundings has impressed me since I’ve been here. Here I am in a place that at first glance seemed like one of Dante’s levels of hell, yet now it seems almost normal. Is there no other way to get to work than to ride on a bus with no air conditioning over potholed dirt tracks choked with dust that coats you and your lungs? Is it unusual that I must wipe off this computer every few minutes so that the keys don’t stick as I type? Are there really lush green forests somewhere that I once walked through? Or mountains covered in magnificent trees turning colors other than brown? Is there truly liquid that falls from the sky? Or clouds? Or stars that aren’t washed out by the glare of yellow sulphur lights?
All this is just the way it is and we work and thrive in whatever environment it might be. The men sheparding the camels in herds outside the gate certainly don’t know any difference. A friend who is heading home today after six months told me it felt weird to be leaving. “This is more real than what I remember about back home,” he said. “I’ll probably walk into a Wal-Mart and just stand there overwhelmed and wondering what I’m supposed to do.” It has certainly given me a new appreciation for certain things. This morning broke clear and cool and I thoroughly enjoyed myself taking my Styrofoam breakfast plate outside to eat on a bench and enjoy a rare moment of quiet. Aside from the rockets, of course.