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Gitmo 2: Bim Maa Chia

05/12/11

  08:39:57 am, by Nic Wilson   , 536 words  
Categories: Gitmo

Gitmo 2: Bim Maa Chia

We'll get to the fiction part of the post after a word about spam. I've been inundated with spam comments. Hopefully I haven't been overdiligent and deleted some real ones. But my thoughts on the subject are that, if you're going to link spam, a moment's worth of effort would do wonders. I understand the spam market isn't all that profitable, and the profit margin is razor thin, but there are starving writers out there, who would happily edit your spam for pennies on the dollar. Hire somebody, find a native speaker, something, so that I'm not reading the same twenty broken English sentences over and over again. If it's obviously and blatantly spam, it gets deleted, no questions asked. You're wasting your time and mine- and at the same time depriving writers of potentially their first paying gig. :) 

 

Bim Maa Chiaa

 

My station was on the edge of town, a crappy little cement square that housed the jail, my apartment and my office, obviously designed by some Army Corps of Engineers hack who'd seen too many westerns. It was the first thing built in the city, the only thing finished before I got here. I think someone with half a brain had come along right before I did, because they were putting up molding on the outside to make it look less like what it really was: a bunker.

 

It was also the closest structure to the road out, which was pretty irrelevant, since my Bronco was the only vehicle in the city. And it was the closest building to Fort Gates. Gates was the closest thing to civilization, the closest thing to sanity. Which fit, because I had to be insane to take this job- essentially unelected Sherriff of Terror Town.

 

You might not remember it any more, but all those terrorists we couldn?t convict, couldn?t give away, but our President said we couldn?t keep locked up any more? They all ended up here; Palau could take only so many.

 

First week the residents were here, we let them vote on the name of their city; they chose ?Bim Maa Chiia.? Fox News reported early on it was Arabic, but really it was taken from the Crow language, the word for green, though it also translates as ?water over the moss.? 

 

At first I didn?t get it, but I googled ?green meaning? and came up with: a need for change or growth, a new state of balance, freedom to pursue new ideas, and protection from fear and anxiety with a connection to the demands of others. Then, yeah, it made sense after all. I found out later that Mohammed?s robes were green, too.

At the end of their first week, the day after the city had a name, for the first time I woke up early without the alarm, woke up without a sense of foreboding, and I walked outside. The sun was rising, I actually took in the view, not just analyzing crests of hills that could be used for cover or the likely points of egress for an escapee, but really just relaxing long enough to appreciate the countryside. And well, the land itself was green, too.

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