After I left Iraq, I also left the Army to try and make a somewhat normal life for myself in San Diego. It was a new start in a new city. On a night out in this new city, my girlfriends and I caught a cab through the mean streets of San Diego’s Gas Lamp District. I have a habit of making friends with cabbies—they usually have some interesting stories and can be your best friends in a new city. His name was Hassim Something Or Other.

He was a fat, greasy man with a thick mustache underneath his big nose. He was munching away on a big of chips with crumbs all over his face and sprinkled topside on his big belly. He had no interest in holding any kind of a conversation; we were just a fare of silly young girls who were all dressed up and looking to get into a fun night of trouble.

“Where are you from?”

He gave me a mean look and after a dramatic pause, he said in a low and quiet voice, “Kurdistan”.

“Oh! Are you from Erbil?!” I was very excited because I just found a way to make friends with this Hassim. During my tour in Iraq, I traveled to Erbil several times. As a civilian contractor in Iraq, my father also lived in Kurdistan amongst the Kurds that he worked with for a year and a half. He lived and worked there to build new sewer systems in order to rebuild the devastated Iraqi infrastructure. Hassim would surely want to be my 5 minute friend.

He looked sharply at me and demanded, “What do you know about Erbil?!” I knew that it was the capital of Kurdistan. Although not officially recognized as its own sovereign country, Kurds do not recognize Iraq as their country.

My friends in the back of the cab started to get nervous and quietly asked me to stop bothering Hassim. Like most Americans, they only watch the news and they think that Iraqis hate Americans—especially Americans who lived and fought in Iraq for more than a year. Well, Hassim wasn’t an Iraqi and I was going to show them just how much most Iraqis and Kurds really like Americans—especially Americans who lived and fought in Iraq for more than a year.

I told Hassim about living in Balad for a year on of my travels throughout Iraq. I told him about my father who lived and worked in Nimahnia, a small Kurdish village. Hassim was confused and could not understand why I lived in Iraq. My nervous friends were pleading with me not to tell Hassim about why I was in Iraq. Were they afraid of Hassim? Where they worried that I would offend him? I was truly annoyed because I could see America’s ignorance though my friends. When I explained to Hassim that I was a Soldier living and fighting in Iraq, he laughed at and stared in disbelief. I was wearing too much makeup, a strapless top, and tight jeans; there was no way I could have been one of those bull-dike woman warriors that everyone sees on the news.

Then I told him about my old Iraqi friend who brought me tin everyday. He bolted upright in his seat and started yelling, “I know tin! I love tin! You know tin? Then you really do know Iraq! I miss tin—I see it in someone’s yard and ask them, ‘Please, can I have tin?’.” We were both laughing; now the most unlikely of friends.

Then he realized that I really was one of those Soldiers yielding and automatic weapon and carrying a hundred pounds of weight through dusty sand and in triple-digit heat. He realized that I have been shot at, that I have been thrown to the ground from the blast of a rocket, that I have lost dear friends, and that I have come close death myself. He realized that my father and I, along with so many others risked our lives to make Iraq better. Hassim’s faced dropped and with grave seriousness, he said, “You did a good thing. Really. I am glad that you are home but I will pray to Allah for you because you did a good thing for my country and my people. Shukran”. Shukran is Arabic for “thank you”.

I smiled and said, “Afuan”, your welcome.

I am telling you this story because I want you to know of my personal experiences with the people of Iraq and Kurdistan. This is not a political statement, just one of my stories of the many interactions that I had with Iraqis both in Iraq and in the US. My experiences will never be a big news story but I think it is equally important.