The Smell of Burning Flesh in the Morning

I just read this fascinating story by Matt LaPlante in the Salt Lake Tribune. It’s about how one of the largest bases in Iraq burns all of its garbage and waste, which might even include amputated body parts, in an open pit. The thick black smoke from the burn pit is a landmark at Camp Anaconda.

When I read this, my first reaction was to start dry heaving. I was stationed at Camp Anaconda (or Balad Airbase) for one year. I’ve sucked down more of that smoke than I care to think about. I knew it was bad for my health, but I had no idea that there might be body parts in that smoke.

The photo that accompanied LaPlante’s article shows an airman dropping in “unserviceable uniforms” into the burn pit. The only reason I can think of a uniform being so unusable that it would have to be burned is if it has blood or human parts on it. The Air Force runs one of the largest hospitals in Iraq at Camp Anaconda, so I’m pretty sure those uniforms were biohazards.

One day, near December, the smoke from the burn pit was so bad that I started to wonder if we were under some kind of a chemical attack. The pervasive smoke that blew over the hospital and past the running track every day was annoying, but this time it was incredible. I stepped out of the PX to walk back to my housing area, which was only a few blocks away. The visibility was so poor I could barely make out other service members running for cover. My eyes watered up so much I had to bury my face in my sleeve. I pulled my T-shirt up over my nose and mouth, covered my eyes as much as I could with my hand, and started running back.

About halfway back, I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I was coughing so severely that I couldn’t catch my breath. Eventually, however, I managed to stumble back. I went right to the bathroom and hacked and spit until I was sore. I can still taste the burnt plastic in my mouth.

After that night, I decided I was going to have to document the burn pit. I realized that tons of people were going to be having health problems as a result of this, and there needed to be some proof. During my first month in Iraq, a Lieutenant Colonel in charge of public affairs told us we could not photograph the burn pit or talk about it with the media. So, I saw it as entirely possible that nobody would ever find out about the burn pit if I didn’t do something.

The Air Force Public Affairs has an entirely different command, and they obviously have different rules. Otherwise, the Salt Lake Tribune wouldn’t have had the photo they ran. This makes what I did next all the more stupid.

Not knowing what could happen, I decided to sneak into the smoldering burn pit at night and photograph it. My friend dropped me off on a road that ran next to the pit and I jumped out with my camera and tripod. I had to pick my way through two sets of concertina wire and climb over a 30-foot tall earthen berm. Once I was over, I found myself in a different world.

I was in a low valley, which made up just one corner of

the massive burn pit. Tall orange flames covered the ridges of garbage and a wind blew the smoke away from me and back toward the main area of Camp Anaconda. As I quickly went to work setting up my tripod, I noticed a guard tower not too far away. To my horror, I was on the wrong side of it. That’s why there was concertina wire.

Suddenly, things were a lot more serious. If soldiers in the tower saw me, there was a very good chance I would be shot. My tripod could easily have been mistaken for a mortar tripod and it was too dark to distinguish my uniform.

By this time, however, I had everything set up and I wasn’t dead yet, so I thought I would at least get a few shots. Using a flash was out of the question so I was taking exposures that lasted five to ten seconds each.

As I waited for the shutter to do its work, I saw something move at the other end of the small valley. I instinctively grabbed my M-16 and peered into the dark recesses of the pit that had escaped the otherworldly orange glow of the fires. It wasn’t just one thing moving, it was at least a dozen things. As my eyes adjusted, I could barely make out a pack of wild dogs.

I prayed that the dogs would just go away. I had to get a few more shots to ensure that I would have something usable. During the next shot, however, one mangy wolf-like dog ran up to me and stopped about 25 feet away. If it moved any closer, I would have to do something. I couldn’t outrun it and I certainly couldn’t shoot it. One shot from me and the guard tower would definitely take me out. I thought my best chance would be to bludgeon it with my M-16. It stared at me for an eternity, and then slowly turned and ran toward the rest of the pack.

At this point, I decided it was time to leave. I grabbed my equipment and crept back over the berm, through the concertina wire, and ran to the vehicle, where my friend was patiently waiting.

Here are the pictures I almost died to get. The Air Force photo in the Salt Lake Tribune is by far more telling and more incriminating. On the other hand, my pictures are certainly creepier. Oh well, I thought I was doing something good. And it’s the thought that counts, right?