CHAD DIARY - Lieut Sean Byrne
MORE THAN 400 Irish soldiers are involved in the UN-mandated, EU-led peacekeeping mission to Chad and the Central African Republic.
It is numerically the largest current overseas commitment by the Defence Forces.
An Irish officer, Lieut Gen Pat Nash, has overall command of the mission and is based at Operational HQ in Paris.
He controls the eventual 3,700-strong mission on the ground through a Force HQ under French Brig Gen Jean Philippe Ganacia and his Irish deputy, Col Tom Doyle.
The mission has involved personnel from 14 nations operating on the ground, 18 nations in the Force HQ and 22 nations in the Operational HQ.
The Central African Republic and Chad rank seventh and eighth worst in the world in terms of life expectancy, adult literacy, education, per capita income and overall human health.
The imposition of thousands of refugees fleeing persecution from neighbouring Darfur, continuing internal strife and the effects of increasing desertification constitute a real crisis in the region.
In addition, within Chad there have been multiple clashes between Government and rebel forces.
The military force that includes Irish troops is authorised to protect refugees, internally displaced persons (IDP's), humanitarian organisations and civilians in danger.
The mission, as expressed by the Defence Forces, is "to create a safe and secure environment whereby humanitarian aid can be delivered safely and the local population can go about their daily lives safely".
Among the Irish soldiers is Lieut Sean Byrne from Kilkenny city, a 28-year-old platoon commander with 98 Infantry Battalion.
A UCD geography graduate, Lieut Byrne has been in the Army for five years.
His home unit is 3 Infantry Battalion, based in the Curragh, Co Kildare.
His previous overseas service was with 95 Infantry Battalion in Liberia (UNMIL), west Africa, in 2006.
He is missing the rugby season with his club, Blackrock. This dispatch is the first of an occasional diary he is writing for
The Irish Timesduring his tour in Chad.
Peter Murtagh
AFTER BUSYweeks of pre-deployment training, a few days at home with my family was a welcome distraction before leaving for Chad. Typically, our summer finally arrived during my last week at home.
On my final day, my mother prepared a family dinner before I left on the Sunday. I think she encouraged my sisters to make a bit of a fuss. My eldest sister, Rosanne, cut short a weekend away. Katherine texted from Croatia; Pauline called from her home in Holland.
Last, but not least, my youngest sister Martine was home to see me off. Four sisters and no brothers - is it any wonder I joined the Army!
After dinner, my parents drove me to the Curragh, where I would get a bus with my platoon to Dublin. I got the usual warnings from family and friends, "be careful out there", and "don't take any unnecessary risks".
There was no big emotional farewell; besides, we had all done this before when I left for Liberia in 2006.
However, my seven-year-old niece, Ellie, did get caught up in the moment. Her younger brother Jack just wanted to know how long I was going for.
"Four months," I told him.
"Will you be a granddad when you come back and will I be grown up?"
Much to his disappointment, I explained I'd be home about mid-February, just after his birthday.
"That's okay," he said. "You can just give me my present now."
In the Curragh, others had already begun to gather. After a few minutes of chatting, I said goodbye to my parents; they knew I was anxious enough and didn't want any emotional extras that come with goodbyes. There were tears and embraces for partners, husbands or wives and children for everyone departing.
It struck me, when watching my own NCOs (non-commissioned officers) say their goodbyes, what sacrifices our soldiers make to serve the country, especially overseas. But that's a given. What we sometimes forget are the equally significant sacrifices endured by those left behind. We get the adventure; they're left with everyday life.
As the bus left the Curragh and I watched the few remaining families wave their loved ones off, that's when it hit me. As platoon commander it's my responsibility to ensure that all of my troops return home safely.
"WELCOME TO Chad, Byrner," says a grinning Capt Peter Smyth, directing us down the stairs to waiting buses after we arrive there. Inside the terminal members of the 97th Battalion eagerly awaiting the flight home after finishing their tour of duty cheer, somewhat tauntingly, as we file into the building.
Over the next few days, groups of us are ferried on military transport planes to Goz Beida, the main town of Sila Department, the southeast part of the Ouaddaï Region of Chad. It's 70km from the border with the western Darfur region of Sudan.
The heat is unrelenting. From our time in the capital, N'Djamena, through all our various modes of transport to our new home, Camp Ciara in Goz Beida, we were all sweating heavily. You cannot escape it.
As our bodies struggle to adapt to these new conditions, we quickly take the lead from local people, finding whatever shade we can and drinking litres of water.
I thought Liberia would have prepared me. But no - I'm back to square one.
All of us are in the same condition, so there's no self-consciousness as the sweat rolls off us. There was no physical training allowed for our first week here to acclimatise our bodies. Just walking around in the heat is a chore.
"You'll get used to it," is the somewhat reassuring assertions made by the guys from the 97th. As I write this, our changeover is progressing at a furious pace.
On my arrival at Camp Ciara, I had been told to report for orders on a patrol leaving in the morning. Up at 0500hrs, gone by 0730hrs and back for dinner at 1800hrs.
Following that, more orders. This time a two-day patrol to Ade, a town within our area of operations. While these patrols are exhausting due to the heat, I'm glad of the opportunity to get more information from my counterpart, Lieut Colin Watters. He points out landmarks, NGO compounds and areas where rebels attacked Goz Beida in June.
The vehicles encounter their own problems with the terrain. No roads to speak of, dust, sand, dust, bone-rattling travel and more dust. Some vehicles get bogged down. Recovery of these is energy- and time-consuming. The patrol was a great eye-opener.
On returning to camp one day, there was a debrief. At that stage I was recognising the symptoms of heat stroke in myself. In the hours before that, I either ignored or endured headaches and nausea - we call this "leaders' legs". Now I focused on rehydrating, eating and sleeping. I can't afford the time to feel sorry for myself; the rest of my platoon will be here in a little over a week.
I have to know all of this to pass on to them.
"You'll get used to it," I'm told.
Lieut Sean Byrne remains on duty at Camp Ciara, eastern Chad