Quzi

Quzi

Until I experienced it, I had no idea what it was.  Now, however, it has become very symbolic to me on multiple levels.  Before I explain how it is symbolic to me, let me tell you the story about how I came to know Quzi.

                In November of 2005, I was 18 years old and fresh out of high school.  I was working at a gold mine in Cripple Creek, CO, when I felt the need to prove to myself that I was the man I wanted to be (most likely the product of too many Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone movies), so I decided to enlist in the United States Marine Corps.  With the tragedy of September 11 still fresh in my mind, my blind patriotism was at an all-time high.  I, like so many other ignorant youths, perceived the enemy to be Islam.  I believed that all Muslims hated America and that they were taught to be violent towards Americans.  To be fair, this was never actually taught to me.  Nor is it taught anywhere in the military.  How I came across this view is a complicated web of media and prejudice.  But I digress, I trained as an infantryman and deployed to the area around Al Qa’im in the Al Anbar province in Iraq in April of 2007.  I was not excited about war itself, but I was anxious to put more than a year’s worth of hard training to the test.

                Once in Iraq, I did not trust any Iraqis.  The problem was that the jihadist extremists would blend into the local population and there was no way for us to know who the enemy was.  My blind ignorance led me to believe that all Iraqis were either directly hostile toward us, or at least sympathetic to those who were.  However, this all changed one night when I was asked to accompany my platoon commander to a leadership engagement.  The purpose of this meeting was for my platoon commander to meet with the leader of the local tribe (the sheik).  We arrived at the sheik’s house around sundown and his family had created a feast.  The main dish was a large bowl lined with flat bread, piled high with rice, and covered in tender roasted lamb, pickled vegetables, raisins, and candied peanuts.  All of the ingredients were grown locally and the lamb was bought from a herder – this was quzi.  It surprised me that the sheik and the other Iraqis ate with their hands, but they understood Americans prefer spoons and provided them for us.  It was at this engagement that I was introduced to Tom.  We called him Tom to protect his identity because his entire family would be killed if he was known to be helping us.  Tom’s wife and two children lived in Baghdad, but he volunteered to help us, hundreds of miles away from his family, under the threat of death.  I have seen many acts of heroism, but none of my military friends had families at risk.  Tom’s courage was simply amazing to me!

   

                Tom became our interpreter and usually rode in my vehicle on patrols.  We soon became friends, and I relished hearing his stories about growing up in Iraq and the hardships he faced under Saddam’s rule.  He explained how the insurgents were not typical Muslims, but extremists that were hated by most Iraqis more than they were hated by us.  Over the course of seven months, Tom taught me about life as an Iraqi and I learned how important quzi was to the Iraqi culture.  The whole lamb that is roasted for quzi is a very precious commodity for the poor rural tribes of Iraq.  Thus, it is only served for special occasions and honored quests.  The realization that the sheik treated us as honored guests was humbling and caused me to re-evaluate the way I looked at the world.  The way quzi is served, in one bowl, is symbolic of the shared humanity between all people who come together to share a meal.  Tom, and quzi, changed the way I viewed food, the Iraqi people, Islam, and the war in general.  It started me down a long road towards truth and respect.  One which I am still travelling today.

                So now you know why quzi holds a very special place in my heart.  It is naturally symbolic to the Iraqi people, and even more symbolic to me.  It represents community and togetherness to the people of Iraq, it ushered respect and understanding into my ignorant beliefs, and of course, it is absolutely delicious!  Unfortunately, I have not been able to find it served in any restaurants, despite searching.  Perhaps one day I will be able to find Tom, who was awarded with a rare opportunity for American citizenship and now lives with his family in Arizona, and enjoy another bowl of quzi with my friend.  I have decided to stay in the Marine Corps, although my reasons are much different than before.  Perhaps quzi could help other people around the world find peace and respect as it has shown me.