Photo by Dee-Ann Dumas,
College of Liberal Arts

The Iraqi desert is merciless. High temperatures during summer average between 128-145 degrees Fahrenheit, while overnight lows hover around the century mark. Rocks get so hot you can smell their mineral core, and sweat evaporates off skin before it forms, turning quickly to salt crystals which cover the neck and face like beach sand. “I call it the blow dryer,” said Tony Dumas, who recently spent over a year in Iraq, serving in the Army National Guard. “Take a blow dryer, turn it on high heat and then put it six inches away from your face. That’s how intense the heat was.”

Tony enlisted in the Army when he was just 16, and completed basic training after his junior year in high school. Raised on the outskirts of Dover, time spent in the woods prepared Tony for the rigors of military life. “Growing up in the middle of nowhere in the woods, you learn to be comfortable with yourself and what you’re doing,” he said. “It gives you an independent aspect and helps you deal with survival.”

In January 2004, Tony was shipped overseas, along with other members of Portsmouth’s C Battery, 1st Battalion, 172nd Field Artillery unit. Tony’s unit was re-trained as Military Police and assigned to Camp Bucca, a military internment facility located just outside of Umm Qasr on the southern-most tip of Iraq.

Prison life wasn’t easy. While some of the prisoners were war criminals, others were there because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. “It was difficult,” he said. “You’d stand at the fence and look through, and wonder ‘who’s the prisoner?’”

During his first ten weeks in Iraq, Tony worked the late shift at the prison. “At night, when the prison’s lit up, you can’t see beyond the outer fence. Your whole world becomes your bunk and the confines of the prison. It’s like living in a snow globe.”

Learning the intricacies of Arab culture helped Tony connect with the locals as well as the detainees. “There were times when we had to search a vehicle or take somebody into custody, and we’d think ‘what if the tables were turned? How would we want to be treated?’ They’re a respect-driven people. You have to learn some Arabic over there, because even though you have interpreters, when you speak their native tongue, you’re complimenting them. When you speak their language, you’d see them light right up.”

For the most part, Tony’s experience in Iraq was peril-free, with one exception: he’d wanted to go to Baghdad at least once during his stay in Iraq, so he was assigned to help protect a convoy of flat bed trucks carrying trailer houses from Camp Navistar in Kuwait to Baghdad. The trip was supposed to take nine hours. It turned out to be a convoy from hell.

“It took us 21 hours to get to Baghdad. We had to keep pulling over with flat-tires or a blown radiator. When you’re in convoy, you’re not supposed to pull over, because when you’re not moving, you’re a target. The worst stretch was between Camp Scania and Baghdad. That’s one of the stretches of road you see on the news all the time: the ambushes, mortars, bombings. And we’re going up there at night, when you’re not supposed to travel. I was listening to the radio. There were firefights everywhere, stuff going on ahead of us, stuff going on behind us. There’s Black Hawks flying above us, running with lights off. You could hear them. And then somebody’s truck broke a belt and we had to pull over. We’re on the side of the highway with all of our lights turned off and everyone lying flat on the pavement, in the middle of the night while there’s hostile action going on all around you. You can hear the shots and explosions in the distance. Listening to the radio, we found out a bomb had blown a hole in the highway where we had been fifteen minutes before. It just missed us. Soon after, another bomb was found on the highway just a few miles ahead of us. Despite all that was going on, there was this little bubble of calm that surrounded us during the whole trip up there, but it was scary all the same.”

Tony met his wife Dee-Ann (who works here at UNH as an Academic Technology Liaison for Liberal Arts) during the Y2K crisis in 2000. The couple now lives in Nottingham with their children, Joshua (14) and Aaron (2). Another baby’s on the way, due sometime this winter. Leaving his family behind was an arduous task for Tony, but his absence was made a little easier by modern technology. “There were internet cafes over there,” he said. “Dee-Ann and I emailed each other all the time, and I got pictures and videos of my kids frequently. Back in World War II, sometimes soldiers would be gone for five or six years. They would be complete strangers to their own families when they returned. I thought a year was hard. Just thinking about that, I don’t have any complaints.”

Although fatherhood came naturally to Tony (he’d helped his mom raise his younger siblings), it’s no less joyous. “Having children fills a space you didn’t know existed. A few weeks ago, I got up early and made breakfast. Aaron is an early riser, so he was downstairs with me. Dee-Ann was sleeping in, and when I finished, I carried Aaron upstairs with me and said ‘go give this to mommy.’ He was holding the plate so tight so he wouldn’t drop it, and he got up to the bed and said ‘mom?’ When she woke up and saw him standing there, she just melted.” Tony is now an IT II and has worked in the CIS Troubleshooting Lab for software and hardware support since 1997. Along with his family, Tony’s co-workers showed their support during his tour of duty. “A lot of people emailed and sent along packages with snacks, books and movies. They also called Dee-Ann to see if she needed anything. I never really got a chance to thank everyone at once, so I just wanted to say ‘thank you.’ It really meant a lot to know how many people were looking out for me and my family back here.”