Leaving Gateway

The next morning we re-assembled and went into “lockdown” which is a military term for “don’t go anywhere,” while we waited to clear customs. We were herded into a large, air conditioned tent, while we waited to be called to a building next door to go through the customs. We waited and waited. Finally, some two hours later, a Navy customs petty officer introduced himself to me and said we would be starting. Apparently, another unit redeploying home from Afghanistan had been two hours late starting their customs and now my group was behind schedule. We were scheduled to leave together on a bus later that afternoon in order to make trip to Kuwait City International Airport (KCIA).

As the flight commander, I went with the first group of people called to go through customs. We were ushered to the next building, told to remove our covers (hats) and empty our pockets into them. We filed by an X-ray machine, were wanded and then proceeded to a series of desks where t-shirted Navy customs enlisted petty officers went through our bags. It was hot and dark in the cavernous building.

“Why is it so dark in here?” I asked the Hispanic guy going through my back pack. “Oh, the power went out about two hours ago. We also had a small fire but it was put out.” That’s great. I took my now unpacked belongings and dumped them into a plastic bin. Moving everything over to a series of wooden tables, I repacked and went outside.

Two trucks waited on a loading dock where volunteer baggage handlers from my group and the unit from Afghanistan were loaded checked baggage. I placed my bags to the side and re-entered the customs building to see if I could get a better sense of what was going on.

“Are you the flight commander?” a Navy customs official asked me while I was still outside. “That’s me,” I answered. “We’re going to have to hurry your people up if you guys want to make your flight tonight.” “Well we’d love to,” I answered, “but we got stuck behind this other unit redeploying from Afghanistan.” “There’s no way around that,” he answered, “just tell your people to re-pack their belongings faster.” Well, thanks for that advice, I thought. I passed the word to our baggage handlers and some of them started circulating in the customs building cajoling their fellow soldiers to repack faster.

While inside, I was approached by a young army sergeant who asked if I could sign form authorizing him to take a piece of shrapnel home. Technically, this is classified as a war trophy but there are regulations allowing soldiers to take them home under certain circumstances. Gingerly, he unwrapped a towel to reveal an ugly six inch piece of twisted steel. “How did you come across this?” I asked. “My trucked was IED’d and this piece of shrapnel came flying into my truck where it bounded around. Luckily, no one was hurt.” I held the jagged pieces of steel, which was very sharp, and wondered how anyone couldn’t be hurt by having it bounce around in a vehicle. “You certainly deserve this,” I said and signed his form.

As the last of our group cleared customs, the power returned.