Personal Narrative: My First Day In Iraq

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I rose that morning with a sore back, beneath me was a thin cushion in the center of the living room as if I was on display. My cousins paraded around me as I made sure I was not the last one up. Everyone who had slept on the roof had awakened with the sun but for those who did not enjoy the open air and soaring bugs slept downstairs. I was seven and could not bear to witness another day in the sandy heat. The amber cob walls did its best trying to keep its settlers cool in the 100-degree torrid heat. It was my third day in Iraq, the power had gone out as it did every few hours. It felt like there was not a drop of electricity running through the wires. My cousin, Zainab, took me to the chickens and coached me into snatching their eggs. The chickens resided with the cows by the edge of the house, they didn’t have names, one was all black and the other was white with orange spots. They stood tall like bulls ready to attack which frightened the children. Zainab stood in her ruby traditional dress barely touching the floor delivering me directions. “Just take the egg and run”, she yelped standing by the exit.
I dug into the chicken coop, beginning to scatter the hay as if I was on a hunt for gold, I …show more content…
I woke that morning to everyone gone dealing their daily burdens. I approached the long faucet in the back of the house preparing my face for the burst of cold water, but nothing was happening. I hovered over the parched drain thinking it just needed time, however the sun was pounding too hard on my braided scalp. I raced to the kitchen sink nearly stepping on a chicken that had wondered into the house and dealt with the same outcomes. This was something I never thought would happen, but the people were accustomed to it. The outage lasted three days, but felt eternal. I spent those days watching drained women lug pots of water they had just fished from the river over their heads. For the rest of our trip I was so grateful to just have cloudy salt
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