ZACHO
Hi Gavin, I should of thought that every one who went to Iraq through Zacho had at least a couple of memories to share.
Going through some borders in the 80s was a bit like having ■■■, you never forget the first time and some times after you had finished all you wanted to do was sleep. I always said to myself when ever I went through Kapicule into Turkey “ if the world had piles this is where they would be”. But after going through Zacho I thought, if the world needed a hysterectomy this is where they would start because I.M.H.O. Zacho was a c _ _ t of a place. I must admit that I only ever went through Zacho once on the way to Iraq but I had two very bad experiences, one going in and one going out.
It was in December 1983 and as I was single the boss asked me if I wanted to go to Baghdad. As I had never been there before I jumped at the chance but Catch 22 was that I would be away over Christmas and the New Year and there was no way I would be flying home for the festive season.
A week before Christmas Roy Kershaw ( a.k.a. Roy the Boy) and myself were sent up to Scotland to load at a bonded warehouse. We both drove a M.A.N. 16.280 and we both were pulling 40ft tandem axle step frame box trailers. Roy loaded a full load of beer, there were 24 tins in each carton and I forget how many hundreds of cartons there were. My load was all whiskey and after we had finished loading the custom men sealed the trailers and started the carnet.
I had run with Roy on many occasions and I can never remember having a bad trip whenever we met up together. You were always assured of having a good laugh with Roy, it always made the job that bit easier. If you wanted somebody to run with you couldn’t get much better than Roy Kershaw.
We went back to Dow Freights depot in Stockport, where we backed up tight against the wall, we didn’t want to lose anything before we had shipped out. We went home for the night and when we came back in the morning, we collected all our paper work and about 800 pounds running money. We were told if we needed any more money to call in to see our agent in Istanbul, Tachi Kochman.
Before we left we rechecked all our paper work, passport, make sure its still valid and it wont run out on the way, U.K. driving licence, international driving licence, green card for insurance, G.V.60 for the trailer, all the permits for the different countries, West Germany, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Turkey and Iraq all issued in Newcastle. Then it was down to Dover and on to Brussels where we were to get our Iraqi visas and our manifest translated into Arabic.
Five days later, we had managed to get through Kapicule and into Turkey at 8pm on the 24th of December. From the customs it was straight round to the new Mocamp that had just opened about a mile down the road. We met up with another British driver who was on his way home from Doha. For a Christmas Eve miles away from home it turned out to be a good one, apart from having the mother of all hangovers the next morning. On Christmas Day after the three of us had all surfaced at about 11am, we walked over to the shops and bought a cooked chicken. Then it was back to the trailer box where we opened a tin of new potatoes, a tin of carrots, a tin of peas and made an Oxo gravy. I boiled the tinned Christmas pudding that I had brought along and Roy went and added his culinary skills to the meal by pouring half a bottle of Asbach brandy over the pud and setting it alight, which also cremated it at the same time.
We had already decided to park up for the day and as we were sat in my cab having another Efes, I remember seeing a very strange site.
On the road leading up to the border, an orange Volkswagen Beetle was being pulled along on a rope by about five women, all dressed in long Turkish national dress. We wondered if it was some kind of a charity sponsored fund raiser but just as the car passed us it stopped. There was a lot of shouting and waving of arms about, there was certainly a big argument going on with a couple of them pointing at the car. From out of the driving seat a huge over weight Turk emerged wearing a long flowing Turkish gown. After arguing with the women for a few minutes, he lifted up the bonnet of the Volkswagen and took out a one gallon petrol can, he then put on a red fez and set off walking towards the petrol station. We all thought this was very funny as they must of pulled him for at least half a mile.
It seemed at the time one of those Efes moments and well worth a picture.
Boxing day only got us as far as Istanbul and as we were the only British drivers at the Londra Camping we decided to do some washing and make an early start to Ankara the following morning.
By the 29th we pulled on to the Oryx Garage at Adana, there had been quite a bit of snow around but we had not had to use the snow chains at any time. Frank Brandon was there on his way home from Saudi in his Volvo F88 with another English driver who’s name I think was Keith.
Keith was an owner driver from Burnley, who also had a Volvo F88 pulling a load for Whittle International from Preston on his way to Kuwait It was the only time that I ever met him but he was one of the really nice guys that now and again you would meet up with.
The next morning, after a cup of tea and a fried egg and spam sandwich we said good bye to Frank and set off on our journey southwards. At 8am it was still very cold and we realized that the road was like a river of ice. After a couple of hours driving from Adana the traffic in front had come to a standstill. We heard later that there had been a landslide and we had to wait for it to be cleared. This delay lost us about three hours and as it had been sleeting for most of the day, we decided to try and make it to the garage at Gaziantepe, where Keith had decided to have two of his trailer tyres recut.
We left Gaziantepe at about 6am the following morning as we had a long drive in front of us. The weather was now getting a lot warmer and by midday we were driving in tee shirts, it was a big change from the previous two days. In the afternoon I can remember that we were fording a river, I think it might have been the Tigress River and some women were washing their clothes in the river. There were lots of bulrushes along the river bank and an old man and a young boy were sat in a donkey cart staring at us as we went past. I hope I will never forget that scene, it reminded of a picture that I saw in a Sunday school picture book when I was a kid many years ago, it was like something out of the bible that has not changed in over 2000 years. ( Apart from the donkey cart having a nice set of Dunlop’s ).
About six miles from the border we were following a high wired fence on our left where there appeared to be soldiers positioned every few hundred yards. As I was following Keith I noticed that two of his trailer wheels were wobbling. I started to flash my lights and sound my horn to attract his attention. after a couple of minutes he noticed me and started to slow down. When we looked at his back trailer wheels it was obvious that his wheel nuts had come loose. We jacked up the trailer and took off the wheels, the holes were a lot bigger than they should have been. I always carried a set of wheel collars in my toolbox so we put Keith’s spare wheel on the outside, then the collars and tightened the nuts up. Just before we had finished two soldiers appeared on the other side of the fence shouting “ nix parking, nix parking ’’. They were pointing their rifles towards us as though they were about to shoot and I thought there is no way that they will shoot us for changing a wheel. As we didn’t want to chance it and as we had nearly finished, we threw the jack and the wheel brace into Keith’s trailer box and without washing our dirty hands we very quickly got on our way towards the border.
By now it was about 2 o’ clock in the afternoon and Keith was really pleased that the queue was only about three miles long. By 7pm we were in the Turkish compound as we were prepared to pay the Turkish overtime rate and after a few baksheesh we moved into the Iraqi compound about three hours later.
From what I can remember, the Iraqi customs building appeared to be a scene of confusion, chaos and disorganisation. It was filled with cigarette smoke, it was dirty, dimly lit, hot and stank of sweat. There was litter all over the place in fact it was bedlam. They say that first impressions count and I thought to myself, what an effin hole.
Instead of doing one lot of paperwork and then moving along to the next table to do the next lot, you had to do it the Arab way, the way in which I think, only they understand how it makes sense.
It seemed to me to be a case of, queue ( queue ? Is there an Arab word meaning queue ? ) queue in that corner and push, shove or fight your way to the front, get your passport stamped, and then go to the opposite corner ,queue and when the official comes back from his chai break pay the overtime. Go into the room next door and queue, when you get to the front show him your manifest translation, he will probably want en pakky Marlboro and maybe no problema.
Go back into the other room queue and have your Iraqi permit stamped.
At each table sat an Arab in a white robe with a red and white chequered tea towel on his head. A few of them were well over weight, stamping a piece of paper was about all the exercise they ever did. Each one or the Chief ( The Chef as every body called him) was wearing an expensive looking gold watch, three or four gold rings on his fingers and had three or four gold teeth. Sat by his side was his assistant, or the fixer as I liked to call them. It was his job to find any little mistake, if the I’s had not been dotted or the T’s had not been crossed then he would find it. With he’s help he would tell you how you could overcome such a major problem with the help of a baksheesh, a carton of Marlboro, a jar of decent coffee or a large donation to the Chef’s retirement fund. Next to the fixer at a couple of the tables stood a young boy of about twelve, he would take the paperwork off the driver at the front of the queue, open it up at the right page and place in front of the fixer.
We were in the queue waiting to have our Iraqi permits stamped and had been there for over twenty minutes by the time we got to the front. Keith handed over his permit and the fixer studied it very carefully, he passed it over to the Chef who stamped it and gave it back to his assistant, who then looked at it again before giving it back to Keith. I then gave him my Iraqi permit which he spent a long time looking at and then had a discussion with the Chef. After about five minutes the Chef stamped it and gave it back to the fixer, who handed it back to me. Roy then gave him his permit, the fixer looked at it and said something to the Chef, the Chef looked at the gold watch on his right hand, he then pulled up his left sleeve and looked at the gold watch on his left hand and said “ chai time ” and got up out of his chair to leave the room.
The fixer gave Roy his permit back “ zuruck ” ( return) he said, zuruck in ten minutes, chai time and he got up to leave. Why can’t you just stamp the bleeding thing shouted Roy. Zuruck, ten minutes zuruck, shouted the assistant chai time chai time as he moved away from the table. Well said Keith we might as well stay here now as we are at the front of the queue, the time was 11.20 pm.
Expecting them to return at 11.30, nobody came back, ah well I thought, maybe they will be back at 11.45 pm as Keith said “ it’s much to early for them to go for their meal break. By this time we were all feeling very tired and starting to get a bit p–s-d off.
Midnight came, the three of us shook hands and wished each other a happy new year and we all hoped that we would all be at home, this time next year.
Just then, the two Iraqi officials, (the Chef and his assistant, the fixer ) reappeared at last, I thought now we can get moving. Roy gave the assistant his permit who looked at it carefully and then passed it to the Chef, the Chef looked at it, shook his head and passed it back to his assistant. He passed it back to Roy and said “ nix good ” . Roy looked at Keith and said “ this c–ts winding me up ” . What do you mean nix good, he shouted at the fixer, why is this permit nix good. The fixer said this permit nix good big, big problema.
Roy said “ I am going to snot this ■■■■■■■ ” , ( that was Roys way of saying, I would like to punch him on the nose ). Roy placed the permit on the desk in front of the fixer, where is the problem he asked. This permit nix good is 1983 permit now is 1984 for permit, big, big problema, said the fixer, I looked at my watch the time now was five minutes past midnight.
Roy looked at me and said “ now he is really winding me up , I am gonna snot this ■■■■■■■ ” . Look said the fixer it say’s here, he pointed to the stamp on the permit, issued at Newcastle valid from 1st January to 31st December 1983, now is 1984. Roy was really going now, Keith and I tried to calm him down but Roy was at the end of his tether.
Keith asked the fixer how much will it cost to make the permit O.K. The fixer spoke to the Chef and after a couple of minutes discussion he said 300 Deutschmarks. What said Keith, that’s about 75 quid. Roy moved forward shouting let me snot him, let me snot the ■■■■■■■■ Keith grabbed hold of Roy and we both pushed him away from the table. Keith said, look if you don’t calm down non of us will be going anywhere. The Chef got up and left the table, walked over to a corner and started talking to some other officials, now and again he would glance over in our direction. We all walked back to the fixer and started pleading with him on how we didn’t have that much money, he knew and we knew, he had got us by the balls.
For us to try and get a new permit from the U.K. could take nearly a week, to try and contact the British Embassy in Baghdad because of the holiday would take at least two days. We knew that the only option we had was to start haggling but we also knew that there was only going to be one winner and it was not going to be the away team. After about 20 minutes of trying to put our point across, trying to explain that there was nothing wrong with the permit, calling him my friend and giving him three packets of Marlboro, we had him down to 100 Deutschmarks, about 25 quid. He didn’t look very happy and said he really sympathised with us but it was up to the Chef, only he had the power to make the decision. In the end he said he would talk to the Chef who was now talking to another official and drinking tea. When the Chef sat at the table he sat there shaking his head from side to side before taking the 100 Deutschmark note, he then very slowly stamped the permit and gave it back to Roy. We moved away from the table and as I turned around to look at the Chef, he sat there with a big smile showing all his gold teeth and put the 100 marks into his pocket.
The next formality was to get the carnet stamped and when we got to the front of the queue the official asked me had I got a diary. I said yes as I kept a diary as a journal and as a record of all my expenses. Give it to me he said, but it’s in the truck I told him. Go and get it now, I want to see it he demanded. I walked over to the truck and by the time I got back another 15 minutes had passed. When I showed it him he went mad, what’s this he shouted, what is this ?. A diary I shouted back, I was now getting really ■■■■■■ off , you asked for my diary, this is my diary. I want a new diary, I want a 1984 diary he shouted, well I haven’t got a new diary was my reply. Have you got any ■■■■■ books, he asked, no I have not got any ■■■■■ books was my reply. Have you got a Littlewood’s catalogue he asked, I thought why on earth would you want a Littlewoods catalogue in a place like this. Littlewoods catalogue has very nice pictures of English girls wearing no clothes, he smiled. He looked at the manifest and said you have lots of whiskey on your load, I said yes and thought I bet he takes a lot of samples.
We all walked out to the three trucks, I took the big padlock off the back door and the official snapped off the Turkish seal. He shone a torch inside the van for a couple of seconds and said O.K., he then fixed an Iraqi seal onto the door handle. The same thing happened to Roy and within five minutes we had both been sealed. Keith had to open up his tilt and an Iraqi soldier climbed in the back and shone a torch around for about 10 minutes before climbing out and asking for a packet of Marlboro. We relaced Keith’s tilt, they resealed him and we all went back inside to have the paper work stamped.
It was now 4.30 am and we had queued everywhere, we had given out lots of cigarettes, payed our overtime charge, had our paperwork all stamped and met Ali Baba who had conned Roy out of 100 Deutschmarks. After being on the go for over 22 hours with only a couple of cat naps while we were waiting in the queue on the Turkish side, we were all ready for bed.
Keith suggested that we should all get a couple of hours sleep while we were still in the compound as it would be safer. All we had to do in the morning was a cabin control and a seal check by the army and we could be on our way to Baghdad.
I walked over to my truck and did what most drivers did every night, I peed against the back wheel, got into the cab and washed my hands and face. I locked the door, kicked my shoes off and turned the night heater on. I climbed onto the top bunk while I was still dressed and lay there listening to the click, click ,click of the Eberspacher night heater. It always felt reassuring whenever it fired up and in a couple of minutes I was fast asleep.
Gavin, I can’t remember seeing a fish tank full of blood but after the Iraqi customs men had screwed the drivers of every penny they had, maybe they tried to squeeze every drop of blood out of them. 
P.S. If anybody is interested in what happened on the way back, let me know.
The Volkswagen Photo.
Tarsus, Turkey.
Tarsus Again.
Turk Scammell’s, Southern Turkey.
Breakfast, Southern Turkey.
Parked up in the Iraqi Desert.
