THE NEXT MORNING, we woke up to an extremely loud explosion. A suicide car bomber had hit the Assassins' Gate checkpoint, which is about a half-mile away from the al-Rashid Gate. Curious, we got dressed, hiked to the scene, and saw things we wished we hadn't. There was a deep crater, smoldering cars, a blood-splattered passenger bus, and body bags filled with corpses. Twenty-five people had been killed, more than 100 injured. It was our first taste of the incomprehensible gravity and danger of a place we'd entered by choice.

Stunned, we headed north, and before long we came to a very different street scene: lively blocks full of Internet cafés, CD stores, juice stands, and black-market money changers. We ducked into a café, fired off e-mails, and drank gallons of complimentary Iraqi tea amid the shop's deafening Arab pop.

We'd given ourselves two weeks to find jobs. That afternoon, we set off for the

The Assassins' Gate suicide bomb killed 25 and injured more than 100. It was our first taste of the incomprehensible gravity and danger of a place we'd entered by choice.

convention center to start the search. After negotiating various checkpoints, we made our way inside, marveling at the tiled mosaics in the lobby—including one of Saddam Hussein gaining victory in battle over U.S. invaders.

The center housed such noble operations as USAID, MCI, and Royal Jordanian Airlines. It also contained Coalition offices with names like Human Rights, Detainee Issues, and Alhurra, a U.S.-funded/Arab-anchored TV network.

Jeff and I split up; I headed for an office called NGO Assistance. When I walked in, I saw a dark-haired American woman in desert-camo fatigues talking to an office full of Iraqi women. She looked surprised to see me. I said hello, then asked, "Do you need any help? Like with work here?"

We swapped introductions. She was Army Sergeant Jody Lautenschlager, and her job was helping NGOs coordinate their activities in Iraq, which (I would later learn) involved a range of projects related to distributing material aid to the country's citizens. "We actually do need some help," she said, looking me over. "Do you have any experience in development and aid?"

"Sure," I said, semi-lying. "I was just in Palestine, with the Red Crescent." (While visiting the West Bank, Jeff and I spent a night hanging around with a Red Crescent ambulance crew.)

Jody said the two people who'd been heading up the NGO Capacity Building initiative were leaving. Then she said something about capacity building and civil society—to which I nodded, as if I understood any of what she was talking about.

"There is no doubt in my mind that I can handle the job," I said. There was a lot of doubt. "My friend Jeff is here with me. He could fill the other position."

"Great," she said. "When can you guys start?" She grinned. "Oh, and we can't pay you."

"When can we start? Now. And about the money, that's fine."

We exchanged e-mail addresses, and that was that: Jeff and I were working for the Coalition.