[.::BeatFactory::.]

SOLDIERS OF LOVE

This article appears in the newest issue of OZONE Magazine, featuring Trae tha Truth and Birdman on the covers.
Words by Julia Beverly
Photos by Erick Anderson & Julia Beverly

Paul Wall and DJ Smallz accepted their mission with pride: boost morale amongst American troops deployed in Afghanistan. OZONE tagged along for an unforgettable ride through the war-weary Middle East.

Wait. Where 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 contributed will inspire others in the Hip Hop community to follow suit. “I’m doing my duty as a patriot for my country. My job as an entertainer is to come out here and entertain the troops. And it’s your job as the editor of a magazine to cover it,” Paul tells me. “Whatever your job is, you have an obligation to fulfill your duty. We all play a role.”

KUWAIT CITY

It all started calmly enough. Aside from the mandatory checkpoint at the entrance to the Kuwait City hotel, where security guards instructed me to stop filming while they popped the hood of our SUV and searched diligently near the engine area for explosives, our initial arrival into the Middle East was uneventful. Unsure what to expect after a fourteen hour flight, I was pleasantly surprised when our hotel turned out to be nothing short of a five-star luxury resort, even by spoiled-American standards. The oceanside facilities included basketball and volleyball courts, an expansive pool, a large fitness center, a fine-dining steakhouse, and an impressive breakfast buffet for only $15 Kuwaiti Dinar (we did not realize until long after departing that this converted to over $50 American dollars each).

Computers in the hotel lobby with internet access were also a welcome amenity - until Paul Wall’s sidekick/DJ/road manager Cat joked on Twitter, “I’m at the [hotel] in Kuwait, come thru.” Disclosing our location was of the absolute no-no’s in the USO tour handbook. He was immediately reprimanded via email, and the lobby computers thereafter denied access to Twitter.com (“that’s okay, I still got BlackPlanet,” Cat joked), an incident which spawned plenty of conspiracy theory jokes for the remainder of the trip. Cat was also chastised by hotel staff for chewing a Mentos in the hotel lobby. During Ramadan, a 30-day Islamic holiday, visitors are asked to refrain from eating or drinking in public, which includes things like drinking water or chewing gum.

The August heat was unbearable. The humidity (“wetness in the atmosphere”) in Kuwait City - or al-Kuwayt, to the locals - regularly spikes above 60% in the summertime, with temperatures reaching 118 degrees and hovering, on average, around 101. By way of comparison, the average temperature in Miami, FL in August is 85 degrees, with similar levels of humidity. Just picture yourself in Miami... lounging in a steam room, fully clothed, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of how Kuwait City feels in August. A quick tour of the premises with Paul and Cat left the three of us literally dripping with sweat in 30 seconds flat. Smallz, having put in double-time in the studio before departing the States, used the brief stopover in Kuwait to catch up on some much-needed rest.

“I asked them at the front desk if they had jet skis, and they looked at me crazy,” Paul laughed, surveying the beach. “Now I see why. This water is like Galveston [TX] water.” Although the roar of the waves at night could easily transport you mentally to South Beach, by daylight the Kuwaiti surf bore no resemblance to the clear blue water of popular tourist destinations in Florida or the Caribbean.

Over breakfast, Paul reminisced on his previous USO trip to Iraq. He’d been fascinated by his lodgings at Saddam Hussein’s former domain, a 500,000 square foot palace which has been under American control since 2003. “Gold plated-everything; marble floors. It’s the real deal. [Saddam’s palace] even has a manmade lake,” Paul remembered. “He had scientists genetically engineer his own fish, called Saddam Bass. Google it. They’re the size of rottweilers but they’re like piranhas. The rumor is, he used to throw people in the water to torture them or to kill them, so they wouldn’t find remains. He was like our generation’s Hitler. He was an evil person.” Further evidence of Saddam’s cruelty could be seen in one of the back corridors, added Paul. “There’s an elevator called the Bloody Hands Elevator. It’s an old elevator that used to lead down to the torture chamber. There are [bloody] handprints all over the elevator where people tried to fight their way out. It’s a little spooky.”

Although Paul fully expected Afghanistan to be an enlightening trip just like Iraq, he hoped to avoid another sobering moment. On the previous return flight, he had served as an honorary pallbearer for an American casualty. “We had the honor of flying back with a fallen soldier on a C130 cargo plane,” Paul recalled. “The coffin took up the whole cargo area of the plane. There was an American flag draped over the coffin and our feet were like a half inch from the coffin. They told us it was a soldier’s ‘remains.’ It wasn’t even a full corpse, it was whatever ‘remained’ of the soldier. It was a somber experience; it put the whole trip in perspective. This ain’t Club Med. This is a war.”

TAKE OFF

After our brief Kuwait City mini-vacation, the real adventure finally begins around midnight the following day. Between the jet lag and the 7-hour time difference, our bodies are already thoroughly confused. We’re greeted in the hotel lobby by a somewhat overzealous military police officer who appears to be under the influence of six or seven Red Bulls and has been assigned the task of making sure the VIPs (us) make it from Point A (hotel) to Point B (Kuwait City military airport) safely. Frequently cracking jokes like “I can’t tell you, I’d have to kill you” with a straight face, his SUV utilizes all kinds of extreme traffic maneuvers following us on the highway, as if we were engaging in a high speed chase or participating in a Presidential motorcade.

Our driver, a native Texan, was jammin’ some classic UGK on his iPod as we climbed in the SUV. He said he’s making good money as a contractor driving folks around Kuwait, and spent the ride to the airport putting us on to some of the local customs. Word on the street, apparently, is an ex-military contractor who was caught with a couple pounds of weed on the local U.S. military base and sentenced to 25 years in a Kuwaiti jail. Drug offenses are zero-tolerance on the military bases and a Kuwaiti jail is not somewhere you want to be. “They said his mom came to visit [from the States] and they wouldn’t even let her in, because women aren’t allowed,” says Paul, who’d already read news reports on the subject. “Coldblooded.”

After passing through several security checkpoints, we’re dropped off at the airport terminal and each issued body armor with our names tagged on them - helmets straight out of Hogan’s Heroes and bulletproof vests - all of us looking rather ridiculous with the heavy gear over our civilian clothes. The terminal is a large square structure with concrete floors, filled with rows and rows of black leather chairs. An AT&T calling center and a couple flat screen TVs are there to entertain the hundred or so soldiers waiting for their names to be called, but most are catching a quick nap.

A row of clocks along the wall informs us that it’s 3:28 AM here in Kuwait, 5:03 AM at our destination in Afghanistan, and 8:28 PM the previous evening back home on the East Coast of the United States. A box of food rations being distributed, including canned lasagna and banana cookies, proves surprisingly edible. Paul Wall goes back for seconds, then thirds.

The USO photographer accompanying us, Erick Anderson, strikes up a conversation with one soldier, telling him we’re en route to Bagram. “This is the last stop to hell,” the soldier joked, but laughs and shakes his head emphatically when asked to repeat the comment on camera.

After several hours, anticipation for our adventure begins to wear thin. Finally, our flight number is called, and we file out of the terminal to a large bus along with a number of other enlisted soldiers. Several take pictures with Paul and Smallz. We wait, and wait some more. The bus transports us to the “flight line,” where several planes are lined up preparing departure. After what feels like an endless amount of time sitting on the bus, the sun starts to peek up above the horizon. The day is already moving faster than we are.

A C17 cargo plane on the runway, clearly our intended destination, is loading pallets of supplies as we watch. A row of large vehicles resembling Humvees forms a line behind the back of the plane and slowly inches forward. Our crew moves towards seats in the front of the bus to get a closer look, watching in civilian disbelief as three of the enormous tanks are swallowed up by the C17’s cargo door. They’re coming with us....
***

To read the rest of this article, pick up the newest issue of OZONE Mag (pictured below) featuring Trae tha Truth & Birdman on the covers. You can also:

Read it here (PDF): http://www.ozonemag....2010/03/uso.pdf

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