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The unstirred milkshake man's war

Amid a war zone in Iraq, a man from India tends to his sweet tasks In Iraq's war zone, a man from India tends to his sweet tasks

— Photo: AP

HIS ARSENAL: Abraham Chacka at his milkshake post in Ramadi on March 31.

RAMADI: He has seen more combat and casualties than many troops in Iraq. But he totes no weapon and his uniform at a U.S. base includes a tidy black bow tie and little paper hat. This is the milkshake man's war.

"Too much bombs," said Abraham Chacka, a soft-spoken Indian who mans a single blender at a U.S. Army outpost in Ramadi — which may have taken more insurgent mortar hits than any other in Iraq. But, amid the battles, Mr. Chacka serves up more than just ice cream nostalgia 120 km west of Baghdad. It is also a taste of outsourcing, Pentagon-style.

Mr. Chacka is part of a small army of Asian migrants recruited for U.S. military dining services around Iraq under deals that wrap together the ways of modern war, globalisation and, some say, greed. The jobs were organised by a Saudi Arabian firm under agreements with Houston-based KBR, a former division of Halliburton, which has come under intense congressional scrutiny for alleged overpricing abuses connected to military contracts for food and other services in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere.

Other border-busting pacts in Iraq — not touched by the KBR probes — have brought in an international cast of characters such as private Peruvian commandos running Green Zone checkpoints in Baghdad and sniffer dogs being led by handlers from Zimbabwe.

For Mr. Chacka, it is simply about stashing away nearly $500 (Rs. 20,000-plus) a month — more than three times what he could possibly earn at home — and returning to spend it. "I pray to God to keep me safe," he said.

So far his luck has held. He was one of the 35 members of the first catering team at Camp Corregidor in Ramadi two years ago. Nearly a third have been wounded in rocket or mortar attacks, said Mr. Chacka's boss, Masih Uzzaman, who also works on the base. There are now 51 staff members — from India, Nepal, Bangladesh, Pakistan and Sri Lanka.

Mr. Chacka and Mr. Uzzaman arrived in Iraq shortly after the American invasion in 2003. Neither has left since. For the first two years, they were deployed at a quiet dining facility in Balad, outside Baghdad.

Mr. Uzzaman was transferred to Corregidor in late 2005. Mr. Chacka followed a couple of months later. They both found a base under such threat that it was completely engulfed in darkness at night. For good reason: It was smack dab in the middle of a war zone.

Rounds of fire from rocket-propelled guns struck guard towers. Tracer-fire criss-crossed the sky. U.S. warplanes bombed insurgent targets just outside the base. "All my guys were looking at me. They said: `What's happening? Where are we?'" Mr. Uzzaman said, recounting his first day there. So great was the mortar threat that until last month soldiers wore armoured jackets and helmets around the base. In 2005, one bomb exploded beside a trailer where workers slept, injuring three. Another round struck wounded seven severely, including a man who lost his eyes and another who lost his legs.

No one has been killed. But there is been plenty of close calls. One worker was taking out the trash when a bullet ripped a hole in the rear of his trousers, just missing his flesh. "We never stopped feeding soldiers, not a single time," Mr. Uzzaman said. "Even after seven of our guys got injured, we started serving 15 minutes later."

Through it all, Mr. Chacka has worked all by himself in a corner of the mess hall. On a typical day, he goes through 15 three-gallon drums of Baskin-Robbins: Rainbow Sherbet, Chocolate Mint, Cookies and Cream...

In February, he was named the dining services' Employee of the Month for "phenomenal" support to soldiers. "Oh yeah, they love him," said U.S. Sargeant Eric Hutzell. "Guys go out, get shot at, and come back looking forward to that ice cream. It helps with morale, eases the stress."

Major Dave Christensen agreed. "No matter how hard the day was, they know there's always that guy with the little paper hat waiting for them with a milkshake when they get back."

One American Colonel liked to joke that keeping the bomb-ridden supply road into Ramadi open was crucial because "that's where our ice cream comes from."

"Nobody likes to put himself in danger, but poverty can make you do a lot of things," Mr. Uzzaman said. "Everybody has dreams."

And Mr. Chacka? If all goes well, he will leave for home by December, buy a house and get married. "I no coming back here," he said in his own English, grinning. — AP

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