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Walter Egan
Road Story

"December 22nd, 2002 we left Nashville International Airport on our way to Muskat, Oman on a two-week USO-sponsored tour. I was playing lead guitar for "rising Nashville star" Kimberley Burns. Thirty-six hours later we touched down at Seeb AFB on the tip of the Saudi peninsula. Unfortunately, most of our equipment and bags were somewhere in our wake. I was lucky in that my Strat arrived with me, but Ronnie, our drummer, had nothing. British Air granted us an allowance to buy clothes and toiletries, which we did at the massive Mall of Muskat. It is a glistening palace of commerce where the latest knock-off designer clothes rest a few aisles over from the meat section where half goats are prepackaged for your convenience.

Just past midnight on Christmas Eve, we left on a C130 (without our bags) for a secret base where we were expected to perform, despite our lack of luggage and gear.  The morning broke just as we landed in Dijubuti, Dijubuti, a small impoverished country that can't even afford a different name for its capitol city.  Everyone we met at the base was great to us, making us feel welcome and sharing a sense of home and America in this foreign land.

Our destination turned out to be a base that the marines were just handing off to the army. Although the war had not yet begun in Iraq, operations were well under way in Afghanistan and there was an electricity in the air and on the ground as this new base was being upgraded for the war we all knew was coming. We were told that this was the front line for the war on terror as we passed through the zigzag security checks getting into the base.

As soon as we found our bunks we were told that we were about to be choppered out to the command ship in the gulf, the USS Mount Whitney, where we were expected to entertain the crew – still without our equipment.  We borrowed an amp from someone and were down to a one piece "band" with me on guitar and Kimberley singing, no keyboards or bass. Ronnie improvised and used big steel ladle spoons and serving trays from the mess hall and we actually put on a show for the thousand or so navy guys and girls on the deck as we serenaded them from the conning tower in the blazing sun. They were most appreciative of our improvised efforts.

We spent that afternoon scouring Dijubuti for some musical equipment, specifically a keyboard with a midi out, since while we were out on that ship in the gulf miraculously some of Ronnie's drums had arrived in cases which were all but destroyed. If you've never spent the holidays in Dijubuti, it is quite the winter wonderland; about 97 degrees in the shade. Downtown there is actually a Hard Rock Cafe, (or was it a Planet Hollywood?), but we were advised to lay low in our vehicle and not make a show of being Americans since there was some unrest among the population, thought to be on Osama's side, and the afternoon distribution of the narcotic "Khat," which apparently most of the population chew, hadn't arrived as yet. Believe it or not, we did find a keyboard. That evening we entertained a mixture of Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines, and I can say I've never played before a more grateful crowd. We did a few Christmas numbers, but the biggest tune was "Sweet Home Alabama".

Around 2 a.m., I awoke as my cot collapsed underneath me, and I was in a cold sweat. It was Christmas and I had never been so far from home; I was filled with dread and anxiety. Not only was I unable to get in touch with my family but I had learned that we were going to be stuck in Dijubuti until the day after Christmas. I left my uncomfortable cot behind and walked up to the building which served as a rec center on the base. I sat in the lightly falling, warm African rain and wrote in my journal, feeling sorry for myself. This base was a tough place to be, especially on Christmas. It made Seeb seem like the Hilton.

Then, as the black hole of my despair threatened to suck me in, I encountered the pilot of the plane that had brought us here. This was a surprise, since he hadn't been due 'til the following day. He remembered me and we sat down and he told me that he remembered my music, though it had been his parents who had listened to my records. As I related my depressed state of mind to him he said, ‘If you want a ride, I'm flying back to Seeb in the morning.’ It was as if the dark clouds parted and the sun shone through, it was as if his tan uniform suddenly turned into a red suit and he sprouted a white beard. This then was the true gift of Christmas, to be flying back to the comfort of Seeb AFB in just a few hours instead of in days. Although it was a ten hour flight (he had a couple of stops to make) on the incredibly noisy C130, that was one very happy Christmas day for me."