My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  Doris and the crude oil from Baghdad

  It all started with a newspaper advertisement. I read in a reputable newspaper that truck drivers could earn up to 10,000 marks a month. They were to be contacted at a telephone number.

  And I did exactly this.

  Of course I was curious what a driver had to do in order to earn as much money in one month. I went to the forwarding company to find out more. They explained to me about what I had to do in order to get the $ 10,000.

  Iraq was in war with Iran. Thus, the Iraqi port Basrah was not in the position to load oil tankers.

  Since the tankers from Iraq always had to drive past the Iranians, there was too great a risk.

  But it had become too dangerous even for other nations.

  This is because the Iranians would shoot anything, which came from Shatt al-Arab, a border river between the two countries and they had the control over the Persian Gulf, they had gotten the idea to transport crude oil from the various refineries in Iraq by tankers to Aqaba and to ship them from there.

  They would give me further details if I confirmed that I was ready to drive with crude oil in a tanker from Baghdad or other places to Aqaba.

  Again I had a fight with Mother.

  But Mother changed her mind after hearing that I could send home 10,000 Mark every month.

  I did not earn badly from my current business owners, but it was not 10,000 Marks. Even if I included the expenses of the food on the way and now and then hotel accommodation, there was quite a lot of money remaining. Basically Mother did not want me to be away again for a long time so far away but the money lured her. And thus I had her OK. But I had to give my resignation to my old boss and also had to fight with my new girlfriend.

  Doris was a single mother of a 3-year-old daughter. She was divorced and already at the age of 26, she had experienced hell on earth. She had been unlucky in the choice of partners and noticed too late that she had married an alcoholic. This person not only beat Doris but also the child, when he was drunk. As so often in life, the great master, whom we call as coincidence, did a good job once again and had led me to Doris.

  I was shopping at a market and wanted to drive away, when I saw how man slapped a young woman, who was holding a shopping bag in one hand and a toddler on the other hand, in such a way that the woman almost fell down.

  I could not help getting involved.

  From my car window, I called to the man and said that he was an asshole. The man came to me to the car and slammed his fist on the car roof of my Audi. This resulted in the car's roof getting a bump, at which I got out and gave the man also a bump. You didn't see this bump immediately but only during the court trial, which took place a week later.

  Doris had also joined as a witness and could not say anything of course against the man who was still her husband at that time.

  But a girlfriend insisted that she had heard that I had only told the man that he should not hit the woman. Then he had attacked me and tried to hit me through my car window. So I had got out and given him a slap. It was as easy as that and nothing else otherwise.

  This was followed by a divorce and I was Doris' protector and stallion. And now I had to tell her that I was traveling to Iraq to drive with oil - of course to make money. This was because Doris had a place with us in the family.

  Not that she was with Mother and the girls daily but over the weekend, she was with us or I was with Doris, which Mother did not like very much, since I was supposed to be with the girls and her. I now had five females around me with Doris, her little daughter, my two daughters and my mother. Gradually it was becoming too much for me and so I could hardly wait for the time of my employment in Iraq.

  It so happened that I was on the way to Jordan in a three-axle motor vehicle and a three-axle trailer with a Dolly axle for the company RAWO, which was abbreviation for Rassouli-Wolf. Rassouli was the Iraqi partner of the German company, which was located in the Karlsruhe area.

  With this vehicle and trailer, which had an excess of length, I had to first drive up to Amman. Since my car had a German customs number, it was of advantage in several aspects. First, the company did not have to pay taxes. The next thing was that I did not get into any trouble for the extra length, since the vehicle was exported.

  I later learned that I was not registered, which meant that I did not have any health insurance or social security.

  But as I said, I learned of this much later.

  At that moment, I was just glad that I was traveling again and was on the road again. The trip to Amman was a breeze for me. I was the only one who had driven this route so often. So I got off from the convoy and took my own breaks and drove my route alone. Of course, I was the first one to arrive in Amman and parked my truck on a large square, which was not used. Anyone who wanted to drive to Aqaba had to drive past this place, so they could see me. Once again I was proud of myself. I could endure this for one year and I would certainly be able to almost pay off for the house.

  I thought of Doris and my family, who would now at home waiting for the payments. It was just four weeks back, that I had built a relationship with Doris and her three-year-old daughter. I was totally crazy about the little one. She liked me too and we had a lot of fun. I was sure that this affection was the fact that I had missed the contact with my daughters and so I had such a good relationship with Doris’ little daughter. I had presented my Audi 100 to Doris, so that she was always mobile and was not always depending on others or on a taxi. Mother did not like this at all but Doris had the instruction from me to drive Mother and my daughters if it was necessary.

  I noticed that the separation took a toll on me. It was not like earlier. Since I had thought of home at the most, only when I was stuck in a difficult situation.

  I had become too used to a normal life. But that didn’t help - I had to go through this.

  The other trucks arrived the next day in the evening and we got our papers for the loading on the following day to that. The company had already got the visa for Iraq in Berlin entered in our passports. The trips between Baghdad and Kirkuk and sometimes from Bejgj to Aqaba were very risky. Once I thought that it was all over. We had to wait by the hundreds before the refinery again. There was no fuel to drive because some lines were destroyed. It must have been around noon, when fighter aircrafts thundered over our heads and there were horrible noises nearby. We later learned that they had been Israeli fighter jets, which had bombed the Iraqi nuclear reactors.

  There was a large, undeveloped area between the refinery and the reactors, which served as the meeting place and sleeping place for us tanker drivers.

  Many drove then to a more distant parking lot but it was not good because then you did not have your position to cope with the loading. So I stayed where I was in the hope that fighter jets would not fly every day. They did not come back. But there were many other problems.

  The distance Baghdad - Aqaba was about 1,200 km through the desert and on bad roads. These were after all, up to 15,000 km per month. The waiting times to be loaded, sometimes took up to several days.

  The pay was also very irregular.

  After a month I had my sixth tour, waiting for the payment, which was not forthcoming.

  We were fobbed off with some travel money, with which we could pay for our food and for the diesel for our vehicles and were put off up to the next month. After all, I had a gigantic tanker with an enormous amount of tons. I had no idea how the payment for the contractors had been arranged. I was supposed to get my share after each of my trip, which I wanted to send home. But I was told in the office in Amman that I would get my wages from my undertaker in Germany. The whole thing began to stink.

  But I continued with my tours with the belief that the money would come at some point and it did not matter whether it was here or in Germany. The refinery near Baghdad on the road to Kerbala was easy to find because the road was marked in black even kilometers before that, as a result of the oil that had overflowed. The large s
ingle-chamber built by the Jordanians had a capacity of 70,000 liters. When there were slopes while driving, for example, from Zarqa to Amman, the ‘soup’ just flowed through the vent onto the road, which then turned into a total fiasco when it rained, since the oil spill made the road slippery.

  We then spoke of the Mount of Olives.

  But we did not mean the one from the Bible. The clever Jordanians then helped us with a bulldozer or a front loader, which brought sand to the road, which had the result that

  the asphalt road soon looked like a dirt road and there were salvage fees in addition. Meanwhile, there were about 200 German drivers and a lot of Turks, Greeks, French, Spaniards and others on the track.

  You could almost make a pipeline, if you had connected the vehicles together. Meanwhile, we also drove with pure diesel, which was good for us. This was because even if the dome cover was sealed, they had forgotten the vent pipes or the dipstick and thus we took the diesel with a hose from the large tank into our car tank while driving.

  It didn’t cost anything, which we liked very much. Vehicles were driven using even palm oil. We were told that the palm oil with Naft, as they called petroleum, was mixed so that that the Napalm was made from that, which the Americans had used in Vietnam. Again, it was said that this stuff was used against the Iranians, but this was never confirmed. It was probably just a rumor, like so many.

  Among the German drivers, word got around very quickly that I was a cook and always had a big box with foodstuff under the trailer and cooked very well on the way. There was some truth in this. I had made myself a box for eatables, which had its place under my trailer and beside that had an insulated box for bars of ice.

  Of course, I always cooked my dinner and drank my cold beer, which was available in Jordan and Iraq.

  You had to know where to look.

  If I had a breakdown or had to change a tire, which occurred often or if I had to change the air filter or now and then the diesel filter, I parked the long vehicle a few meters in the desert and opened the flap of my supplies box.

  I did not have to wait for long that I got visitors and I pretended as if I just wanted to cook but also had to change the tires at the same time. So I closed the lid of the food box. That drew them and they offered me that I should cook and the colleagues would change the tire. Exactly what I wanted and so my tires were changed and I gave the colleagues some decent food and cold beer.

  Word got around that I always cooked such delicious food. From that time on, I always had colleagues and was not alone, which was good if you had to sleep at night in a Bedouin area. Some of them did not talk to us foreigners in a friendly way. I could also have everything from others, what they had, for example freshly slaughtered lamb or sometimes even quail or fresh eggs. I waited for mail from home daily because I wanted to know if Mother received my money. I was not interested in driving already for a long time now.

  Sometimes the several accidents that I saw every day, made me really scared. After all the oil was not refined and was highly explosive.

  When the drivers who were not so experienced drove downward on the mountain route too fast, and then tried to brake, till the brake drums began to glow, the disaster was already underway.

  There were some tankers, which drove into the mountains and then went up in flames. You could see the cars that were driven half on the mountain and were found hanging there and now served as a reminder as burned-out wrecks.

  A tanker was found lying in a curve before Aqaba and the broth had flowed up to Aqaba in the manholes. It had got ignited and the manhole cover had blown up into the air. No, I had enough of this already for a long time and if there was no money, it would be a disaster for me and the house. The expected letter arrived and the news was that Mother had not received a single penny. Right at this time, there was money and I was able to send several thousand Mark home. A letter from Doris came with the request that I should let her come to Aqaba. In the letter, as well as in the previous stand that she would miss me and the sex. In the following letter, it was written that she had sold the car and had bought a flight ticket and would come during the weekend.

  A friend would accommodate her little girl. So I could not go on a tour because I had to pick up Doris.

  She scarcely had any money but was flying! Doris came and we had a hotel first in a nice hotel with pool.

  Since there was no oil to be driven at the moment again, I was not very affected except that I would not sleep in the truck but in a hotel.

  I had plenty of time to hang out during the day by the pool or to screw the rest of the day or night. But it was also time for love.

  For exactly one week Doris and I could let off steam, then she flew back again and I went back to my truck.

  But I had lost the real joy of driving around.

  Sometimes I felt like I had a field kitchen, as in the military. This led me to the idea that I should open an eatery here in the desert for the drivers. But I dismissed the thought again because I saw the problems with water and the supply of provisions. Maybe I should look around in Aqaba once. Once again it was a recession with the supply of a large ship, which was waiting at the port of Aqaba for loading.

  The "Esso Tokyo", a 500,000-ton tanker, which the Iraqis had hired as bunker station. After all, 10,000 tankers had to come over the street to load the ship.

  Again we were idle and spent money, instead of earning some. I was fed up. But then there was oil again and I had to drive on my rounds Aqaba – Bagdad - Bagdad. It had been raining throughout the day, which very rarely occurred here in the desert. The flat desert, not far from the Jordanian-Iraqi border - looked like a huge lake.

  Water as far as the eye could see. You could hardly see the road and had to be careful that you did not deviate from the slightly elevated road.

  Some vehicles were already stuck up to the axles in the mud. They did not have any other choice but to wait till the rain stopped and the mud dried.

  Naturally, the fine sand and dust had soaked in such a way that subsoil, which now consisted only of sand now, had the same characteristics like a fully sucked sponge.

  I sat for eighteen hours behind the wheel and was tired. That's why I looked for a piece of land, which looked as if I could trust the subsoil.

  I carefully drove to a slightly elevated spot, turning the truck again in such a way that I had the view of the road and could drive away immediately in case of a threat of any rabble.

  I had added this tactic of escape after some drivers had been robbed. Also I got myself a little, Italian pistol.

  It was a cute handgun with a mother-of-pearl grip.

  I had bought this weapon in the most curious restaurant that I had ever seen, during my last visit. You could not know who you met.

  The restaurant was in the village of Ma'an and belonged to a Bedouin, whose name was Chury. You could buy anything from a cartridge to a tank from Chury. You could take along pistols and cartridges immediately but you had to wait a bit for a tank. I could hide this cute ladies’ gun, that is why the small caliber. Other colleagues like Henry, a German, whose father was a black American, had a real Colt .45.

  Henry was black like my soul and his surname was Schubert.

  Though Henry had dark skin, he had a white soul and was just a super dude.

  Henry had often changed my tire and praised my cooking.

  The rain began to let up and we could see how the water seeped into the sands. I cooked myself a vegetable soup, of course, everything from fresh vegetables, brought two bottles of cold beer out of my box, drank them, drew the curtains across the windows, went to the two-meters, as I called my bunk and fell asleep immediately.

  As a result of a terrible shaking on my vehicle, I woke up. Automatically I touched my little pistol that I always had ready at hand in the night.

  Who or what was so strong that the car wobbled so outrageously?

  It had to be at least a hundred Bedouins.

  What did they want from me?
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br />   Now I also heard how they threw stones at the vehicle. The shaking became even stronger and now stones flew against the driver's cabin. I had fears about my windowpane. The shaking became even more violent - after all, my truck had 26 wheels and a total weight of nearly 80 tons! I was uneasy because by now I had realized that it was not the Bedouins but it was Nature that badly rattled my truck.

  A Desert Storm, such as I had not yet experienced; it was so strong that my loaded truck behaved as it was a small ship in an Atlantic storm. The nightmare lasted a full two hours, during which I was afraid that the truck could overturn and bury me underneath it or that I could get drowned in oil.

  But my time had not yet come.

  In the morning I saw the damage to the car, which was caused by the storm. The color had disappeared here and there and I could see the bare steel. It had tan effect of a sandblasting. There were fist-sized dents in the driver's cabin. The door on the passenger side had gotten most of the dents. The windowpane also had a few cracks, but was okay. After a fortifying breakfast, which consisted of eight eggs and a pound of bacon, I felt good again and had forgotten the terrors of the night.

  I drove further to Aqaba to the waiting bunkering vessel. After this experience I came to the realization that this crazy driving around was not for me. With this job, you had some possibilities of literally ending up on the roadside. I had seen so many, even close acquaintances, how they had been crushed during a heads-on crash in the driver’s cabin or were burnt to death in the driver's cabin.

  They collapsed in their own cargo oil because no help came or it came too late. The desire to get out became more intensive.

  I wanted to get a replacement - a new person had to come here.

  Any time was simple enough! Then the question arose: how much is too much? In response I can only say, more than enough. If no release came I would set the big vehicle in the customs yard and the chapter of oil driving would be closed with that.

  I did not drive to the customs yard but I drove to the beach, where some colleagues had already set up camp. I coupled the trailer with the dolly axle and used the tractor unit as a taxi and a place to sleep.