The price of translation

September 20, 2004

A smile was hard to conjure up today for Smiley the interpreter.

He works with Arkansas’ E Troop, which is based out of Marianna. They picked up Smiley at Forward Operating Base Thunder this morning before heading out to patrol their zone.

Smiley was wearing a new accessory on his right hip: a nickel-plated, Colt 1911 .45-caliber handgun.

But his usual accessory, a smile, was missing.

Smiley came to Baghdad to work with American forces months ago, leaving behind his wife, daughter and son at his home in Fallujah. One of his sons is an Iraqi policeman north of Baghdad.

His wife and daughter were recently injured in crossfire between insurgents and U.S. Marines in his home town.

That’s tragic.

Then someone shot his son in Fallujah as a way of passing a message to Smiley that he was in danger for helping American forces.

And today, while visiting an Iraqi police station, Smiley learned that one of his fellow interpreters who worked with Arkansas’ 39th Infantry Brigade was assassinated.

The news came in a flurry of Arabic from one of the policemen. He gestured with his hand, making a gun and holding it to his head, pretending to fire it twice.

At 8 a.m., Sahara Latiff was pulled from her boyfriend’s car and they were both shot in the head. She was killed because of her work with coalition forces.

Smiley’s face tightened and he rested a hand on his gun.

Although the news rocked him, Smiley will be there tomorrow, ready to work again. It’s what he does.

It’s why he left his family for Baghdad: to help the new government take hold.

And that decision has put his family and himself in jeopardy. But instead of quitting, he bought a gun and decided soldiers on.

Sahara worked at Gunslinger, traveling with soldiers on patrol to ease communication. She had the look of a librarian, with round glasses, conservative clothes that covered her slight frame.

And her head was always draped in a colorful scarf to hide her hair and neck in the Muslim tradition of decency.

She was called Sarah by the troops, it was easier to say.

And she was well-liked.

I remember one day we were touring clinics in Baghdad. She talked about the intricacies of health care in Muslim culture, how female doctors primarily take care of female patients.

And she complimented me on my attempts to properly pronounce the growing list of basic Arabic words I’ve picked up.

By the evening, the news of her death had spread throughout 3rd Battalion. The soldiers spoke of her with kind words and sadness.

As one soldier put it, “She was one of the good ones. A good interpreter and a good person. It’s hard to think of her being killed the way she was.”

Posted by Amy at September 20, 2004 12:30 PM