10 Chapter 10: Saddam's New Clothes

A/N: Thanks for the comments and power stones. Please keep the reviews coming. Also this chapter is an interlude.

Saddam, despite being a military man, was not the healthiest specimen around. He was always a little chunky, you can check out even photos of his youth. But by the time I transmigrated into him, he was a pudgy boy indeed.

A big part of the problem is his fondness for cigars and whiskey. I didnt like either of those things in my past life but his brains biochemistry is hard to combat with willpower alone. Cigars were easier for me to give up, I mean they're just too much smoke. I had smoked cigars in my last life a few times and the smoke just made me nauseous. Plus if you wake up in the morning, after a night of indulging in cigars, and your pillow has a patina of grey ash that's emerged from your nose while you slept that's enough to give the Marlboro Man nightmares.

Whiskey was harder to give up. Saddam wasnt a raging alcoholic but he had a glass or two every night. And he liked the good stuff too...pure scotch on the rocks. I disliked whiskey in my past life. I was a beer man myself. But there was no beer to be had in Iraq. I mean alcohol is generally haram in Arab countries right. The closest brewery was in Turkey and I had yet to figure out how to get a reliable supply from there. Maybe I could ask the Americans to supply me with some Molson.

The other issue was his diet and exercise. Of the former, Saddam liked the more fanciful Arab cuisine which has a lot of oil and frying. He came from a poor Bedouin background and a part of his subconscious revelled whenever he had 'rich mans food' as a sign that he had made it. It's that whole new money versus old money concept. In terms of exercise there was none. I mean this was the late 70s so there wasnt as much scope for being a couch potato as in my past life. But even then Saddam did the bare minimum.

The food was hard to let go of. In my past life I wasnt a huge fan of Arabic cuisine. It was too strange for my tastebuds. But in this life, just like with the cigars, Saddams biochemistry has adapted to a certain type of food. I mean the endorphin payout when theres a lavishly oiled and roasted lamb shank in front of him is immense.

Very very painfully I switched over to a more Mediterranean diet with fresh veggies and fruits and goats cheese. Yuck. Well at least I allowed myself pita and hummus.

For desserts I replaced Saddam's favourite Baklava and Kanafeh with dates. The dates here are absolutely mind shattering. I love dates. They're truly nature's dessert. Fruits are sweet but they dont have the same mouth or stomach feel as dessert. But dates are different. The mouthfeel is chewy like toffee and the taste is deeper and more caramel-like than that of fruits.

Exercising. The bane of both my existences. I truly understand the importance of it but I can't stand gym work. I would have loved to play football as this is a football loving part of the world, but no one will play with me properly because I'm Saddam and they love their families.

Jogging doesn't do it for me either. Saddam's...my knees ache from the impact. I really really hope I dont have arthritis. That would suck balls.

I finally decided that swimming was the best for me. A full body workout with no impact. I eschewed the swimming pools that were there in the palace compound and instead opted to swim in the natural pond surrounding the Al Fawa palace. Saddam had memories of swimming in ponds in Tikrit and it came naturally to his body. An hours swim in the morning everyday followed by natural dry sun drying...perfect.

After a few weeks, Kamal and Ahmed started joining me for my morning swims as well. For about an hour and a half everyday I had no concerns. Just the good life. What I wouldn't give to have some chilled beer as well.

My physique started improving. The paunch went inwards even though there weren't abs or anything like that. My face stopped resembling a baboons backside. And then one day while I was staring at Saddams face in the mirror, I took a shaving razor and scraped off that stupid fucking moustache of his. My family, employees...everyone was taken aback by the new look. I didnt care. I felt a little bit more comfortable in this new body of mine. For a moment I sympathized with transgender people. What must it be liked to constantly feel like a stranger in your own body? At least in my case I genuinely knew I was a stranger in a new body.

To complete the new look I also got rid of Saddams olive green army uniform. It was a stupid look that was intended to showcase his authority over the armed forces and military background but like with Qaddafi it screamed provincial dictator. I replaced that offending costume with simple cotton and linen suits. Nothing to showcase wealth but something a decent middle class Iraqi businessman might wear. After all my whole plan was to move the country from tribalism to economic welfare and middle-classery. I had to look the part.