I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005

I visited the United States of America in late March through late April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Thursday 4-14-2005
This is the day before the last day in the University. I am excited and sad in the same time. I am excited because I am going to Washington in 2 days and will meet my friends and the editors of my newspaper. But I am sad because I had a great time with the group and they were very nice. We had a farewell party in a restaurant.

We went to a restaurant called Vin Rouge, it is a restaurant that serves French food. We all went there. It was a very touching night. We talked about the times we spent together and the seminars we went to. The program director suggested that we make a reunion in summer of 2006. They want to go to Italy. They all said yes, but I don’t know about myself. I said I like the idea and would love to go, but the VISA would be impossible. I cannot go to Italy. I never tried to get a VISA to Italy and didn’t ask about this, but I know it is very difficult because it is a European country. That’s the thing I will miss. I was told that this kind of fellowships sometimes succeed in terms of friendship so the group would decide to reunite in another country like a year after and the try to do it annually. That’s the part I will miss because I will never see anyone of them again. Maybe I’ll see the ones in the U.S. when I visit again, but not the others. I feel sad that they could meet again and I cannot.

U. T. invited me to Germany. T. offered a guest room in her house that I could stay in while I am there. That was very friendly and nice. It seems I had many wrong ideas about how foreigners look at Iraqis. It seems they know that not all the Iraqis are terrorists. They know we are normal people. That’s encouraging.


During the dinner, L. came to me and said “Look, you have to know that you are a life-time university fellow. You are always welcomed in this University. But away from this, I want you to know that you are always my friend. Even if I don’t email you for years, you have to know you have a friend here and I will do whatever I could to help you. Keep me posted on what you do.” How do you think this made me feel? She said this only to me. I didn’t know what to say, I was speechless, but didn’t forget to say Thank You!

At the end of this beautiful night, we had to say good-byes. Some of the girls started to cry. It is amazing how close we became. It is only 3 weeks, but they cried when we said good-bye. H. was very sad. She couldn’t speak. She was mumbling and wiping tears off her cheeks. She is very nice. I think these 3 weeks were the best time she spent in the U.S. She is in the U.S. for 7 months already, and has many more to spend. I think she feels lonely.
I didn’t say good-by to anyone. I said “See you.”

Let me go back to April 7. That was the first day of the Full Frame/ Film Festival. It is a festival for documentary films from different countries, mostly from the U.S. I attended some of the films. The opening night was a documentary about 5 female journalists who reported in Iraq after the invasion. They came to Iraq shortly after the U.S. troops entered the country. The film showed scenes from the war. Bombs fell on palaces in Baghdad and ministries. Places I went to. Places I passed by thousands of times. It showed people dying and escaping their towns. It showed the first night of the war and some of the first places that were hit that night. I was the only one in the theater who knew what that was and where it happened. I was the only Iraqi. They cannot understand how I felt. I flashed back all the memories from the first night of the war and so on.

At the first night of the war, I was sleeping in my room, in the darkness. I woke up on the sounds of bombs and the terrifying sounds came form loud speakers of mosques calling for Jihad [holly war] “God is the Greatest” loud speakers uttered, “They came. Fight them.”

“Fight them with what?” I said to myself “fight them? Why? To protect who? Just shut the fuck up.”

I couldn’t see anything. It was shortly after 5a.m. It was dark. I was shivering of cold and terror. I wasn’t afraid of the bombs, I was almost sure that the Americans wouldn’t target civilian building. But what terrified me is what the mosques were saying. The sound was very loud, terrifying, ugly, hopeless, and helpless. It was the sound of failure, the unknown, frustration, and death.

The first scenes of the film showed the republican palace, the Salam palace, and the Ministry of Planning buildings being hit. These are places built while I was suffering sanctions. These are places Iraqis were starving while Saddam spent billions of dollars to build. In less than a month, they became history. I watched the Salam palace being built step by step. It was on the way to my school. It took them more than 7 years to build it. it took me a strong self-control to shut my mouth up when I passed by it and felt the hatred to Hussein’s government. I couldn’t speak out what I felt for fear of the driver or anyone in the car to tip me off to Hussein’s security monsters.

They bombed this palace the first or the second day of the war. I couldn’t stand it. I asked my cousin to drive me near the palace to see if it was demolished or just hit. It is part of my life. It is part of the days I spent in the last few years. We went the next day and I saw the beautifully carved dome destroyed.

I saw that palace being bombed in the film. I wanted to talk to someone about it, but no one would understand me. I wanted to say “cry with me. Don’t just look and admire the director of this documentary. Cry over our starvation. Cry over people couldn’t warm themselves up during winters because they didn’t have money to buy clothes. And Saddam Hussein spent billions of dollars to build what you see now in flames.” I couldn’t say this to people around me. I kept it inside me and looked at the screen from behind my tears.

One of the journalists in the film talked about a certain time when she and her Iraqi stringer were trying to cross the bridge near the ministry of planning, or near what they call “The Assassins Gate.” The American tanks and troops were blocking the street. She tried to approach them; they wouldn’t let anyone cross the bridge. But she shouted “I am an American. Please don’t shoot.” The soldiers let her pass!!!
I am not saying she shouldn’t have done what she did. I know she is an American and she has the right to feel proud of her country and use the privileges come with that. But you know what, for God’s sake, this is my bridge, built by my father, my brother, my uncle, or any Iraqi; it was built by my people, on my river, that goes through my land. How could it happen?? An American is allowed to use the bridge, and the Iraqi couldn’t??

The film showed the women as heroes. It showed them walking freely in Fallujah. Interviewing people freely in every place in Iraq. You know what, they should have done something on the foreign journalists that are working in Iraq now. Those are the real heroes. They expose themselves to kidnappers, mortars, car bombs, and many other threats. They do that every day. They deserve to be rewarded, not those who worked the first 2 or 3 months after the war, when it was safe and fun to be a foreign journalist in Iraq. And when it got dangerous, they pulled out!!!

I’ll go to sleep now. I have two more days to spend here and tomorrow I’ll call the Taxi company and try to get a taxi to go shopping.

Wait for more tomorrow

Feeh

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005

I visited the United States of America in late March through late April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Wednesday April13, 2005.
Ok, the funniest thing happened in the last few days was when I was asked “do you still ride Camels in Iraq?” !!!!

I was in the university and people gathered to see this “Alien from Mars!” We talked about everything, the situation, which is a habit now. We talked about my family, my neighborhood, my city, my office, my friends. Everything. And after the question, we talked about the cars being imported from the U.A.E for very low prices!!

Suddenly, a student asked “I know this might sound silly, I am sorry, but do you still ride camels in Iraq?”

The others looked at me immediately to see my reaction. They thought it was an insulting question. It might have been, I wouldn’t know now. But I took it as another question of people who never looked out of their window and kept saying “I cannot go out. It is still snowing.” !!!

“No, unfortunately I drive to the office,” I told him. He laughed and the others too. “I know it is unfortunate for you. But we have cars now,” I continued and laughed. Then, I started to talk about the huge car business in Iraq since before the war and then increased after the war because there are no taxes.

Yesterday, I was invited to speak to students in their class. They studied English Writing. They were so young that I felt like “very old” among them. Yesterday was the first day I felt as a stranger here. There was this student who was very rude in his questions. I didn’t like what he said, but was very diplomatic also in answering. I was very uncomfortable sitting with him on the same table and the fact that I spent my day off to go to this class. But I also liked it in a way because I never expected to have a good time ONLY, or nice people only here. And here I am, right again.

He said something like “the Iraqis were cowards. They couldn’t deal with Saddam Hussein and needed help,” and something like “I don’t understand why the Iraqis kill the Americans while the Americans are there to help them. The Iraqis are very ungrateful,” and bullshit like this. But I was ok answering such questions. Plus, the others were very polite and well informed about the situation in the Middle East. I could tell they read a lot. But never the less, before I left the room, I told that poor and misinformed guy that “you study writing. But never forget about reading. Read more before you involve yourself in such discussions, especially when you talk to an expert.” Ha ha ha ha, I know I am not an expert, but just wanted to shame him in front of his friends and colleagues!!

Today, I met a student in the University who wants to be a journalist in the Middle East. His name is Jesse. He is a very interesting young man. He is 20-year old and very ambitious. He contacted me through one of the professors. In his first email he said “I want to be a journalist in the Middle East I hope I can meet you and talk to you about it, even if for few minutes” I was very surprised he said that. Giving the situation in Iraq, I thought no one would be willing to go there, unless it is a career must. I replied to him and said he is most welcomed anytime. I told him that one of the points I came to the U.S. for was to meet with people and talk to them and exchange experiences.

He came to my place tonight. I invited him for dinner. At the beginning I felt he was very shy and afraid. I know he was very careful because he didn’t want to do something or say something that might hurt me or leads to misunderstanding. But I am never this way. I am prepared for everything because I know the difference in their culture and mine and I also know that I am from a place in the world where the rumors come true and the impossible comes very easy to believe.

I was the first Iraqi he ever met. He didn’t know how to behave or speak. I felt this in his voice. He was nervous and couldn’t put the words together. I couldn’t feel comfortable with this. I make friends very easy and like to feel free around them. I just don’t like to be acting someone else. I am very frank usually. So I said “Let’s put a rule here. You don’t behave like a guest because that would make me feel like a stranger and I don’t like that.”

After I said that, he started to feel better, and I did too.

He didn’t ask the normal questions like others. He didn’t ask something like “How is t like in Iraq?” or “How do you live in Iraq?” because he knew this already. He came with a folder full of stories I contributed to or shared bylines in. he browsed my name in the Internet and read of these stories. He was very professional. To tell the truth, I was embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. I just didn’t know how to react. Obviously, this nice guy thinks I am someone who he should trust and listen to. And that terrified me.

He asked me about the stories. He was sure he is going to Iraq. He didn’t ask me if he could go. He didn’t want to face another “No.” He just asked about the stories available in Iraq and the way to approach them. He wanted to know if a certain kind of a story is still interesting or not and if he could easily work in Iraq and the expenses and everything else that a professional journalist would want to know before he or she heads to Iraq.

He told me that he didn’t talk to his parents about going to Iraq yet. He wants to go to their house and tell them face-to-face. He knows it’s a big deal and it needs to be discussed and people to be convinced.

He asked for advice and I said “Don’t go.” He is not experienced, still young, and driven by his ambition. All these qualities, as I know for sure because I feel it, for not going now.

He knows the situation in Iraq because he heard about it but he never was there. He was in Egypt and Jordan, but not in Iraq. He didn’t seem very convinced of what I said, so he said he’d think about it. But I saw it in his eyes. He is going to Iraq. I don’t want him to go because I don’t want the world to lose more people. I don’t want to be making phone calls in Iraq looking for a friend, who might be kidnapped or killed.

Wait for more tomorrow!

Feeh!

NOTE: I am still in contact with Jesse, and he didn’t come to Iraq!! I think that’s why he is still breathing!!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005

I visited the United States of America in late March through late April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Thursday, April 7, 2005.
It’s almost 2am now. I can’t sleep. Well, I tried to, but I had a terrible nightmare. I woke up shivering, sweating, and hardly breathing. I cannot go back to sleep.

After all the questions I answered about my life in Iraq and how it feels being an Iraqi, and an Iraqi reporter for a foreign media in a my country, I feel very different.

I think facing what I’m living, talking about it and speaking it out made me realize that it is not a game and it is not funny. I didn’t realize how difficult it is there. How we barely make it every day. Before, I never thought of my life from the dark side. I never discussed or talked about it with anyone, not even with the closes person to me in the office. We normally live it because we are all in the same boat and it would be very silly to talk to one of my friends in the office back in Baghdad about how dangerous working in Baghdad, or how hard to me and my family to be doing what I do everyday, or complain about it, because simply, they live the same.

I never bothered to think about kidnappings, beheadings, or assassinations openly before. It’s news only. Why should I? No one wants to listen to this in Baghdad. Even when I was followed by a car from my house to the office several months ago, I just forced myself to forget about it and move on, because I would not change anything if I talked about it. Or maybe because I don’t want to think about it and weaken myself. I don’t want to think even for a moment about quitting my job. I would die if I quit.

Everyone here wants to know about the situation in Iraq, including being a journalist and the sequences of that job. I talk about this everyday. I explain to people how I work in Baghdad, how I drive from the house to the office and back to the house, how to work in the field, and so on. Well, usually I never talk about this in normal days. Now, it chaises me. Tonight I had the first nightmare in the U.S. I don’t get nightmares in Baghdad, or rarely do!!! What is this? I didn’t come here to feel the danger.

The nightmare was like this: I was in a hotel in Iraq. I was talking to many people about my work. I was talking and listening to people, but my mind was busy with one idea. Someone is trying to kill me. I was hardly breathing, but didn’t want people to notice it. It was like someone told me that there is a man who wants to kill me. And now I cannot take this thought away. I was thinking how he chaises me, how he finds me. I was worried, in the dream, that when I finish talking to people and the party ends, I will go to my room and forget to lock the windows and then the killer would come through them and kill me.

After the party ended, I went to my room. It was dark, the room was. I didn’t see any light. I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I looked at the curtains in the room. The were waving, like flags. Air was coming through them. That scared me because I was thinking that I would forget to lock the windows, and I did. I couldn’t leave bed to go close the windows. I was too scared. But also, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was busy thinking about the killer and how he would come any moment now, and through the window.

I finally decided that I should move my ass and close the windows. (Remember, all what I am saying is in the dream.)

What jumped into my mind when I reached the windows, all what I was in my mind is that the man is already in the room, but hiding. Therefore, I jammed by the window. I didn’t know whether to lock them, because maybe he is not inside yet, or leave them opened in case he is inside, I could escape through them. I finally decided to lock the windows. I locked 2 of them, and when I came to the third one, I saw a face, a shirt, and 2 hands. He was outside, in the balcony. I was terrified. I knew it is the man who wants to kill me.

He looked at me in the eye. His eyes were full of hatred and evil. His face terrified me. I moved beck. The worst thing is that I tried to shout “help,” but couldn’t. I lost the power and the voice. Oh my goodness. I could do nothing and I think that’s exactly what I feel in Baghdad. I don’t believe in bodyguards, because I know they will not help me when I need them. They could do nothing. The idea of being alone and no one is there for me just came from inside me. I always know that there is no one to help me when I need help. I know I will be alone when I am in trouble. It is just when I was chased. No one was there and the only thing the office did was to send me home for three weeks, which of course I couldn’t do because I was terrified of being left alone in the house and risk my family’s life too.

I woke up terrified and hardly breathing. I was sweating. I wanted to breath deep, but couldn’t. I wanted air. I wanted to open the window, but was too shaking of the idea of a killer coming to me that I couldn’t open it. I am smoking now.

Now I know how dangerously I risk my life. Now I know it is true I shouldn’t go far. Now I know it is deep inside me and it is bullshit that I don’t care. I do care and fear, but don’t admit it.

Now I understand my mother when she says “Your work will not stand for you when they ambush you. No one is there for you.” The voice I lost when I wanted to shout for help just reflected how I feel.

Now I can claim I know how the foreigners feel in Baghdad!!!

Wait for more tomorrow

Feeh!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005

I visited the United States of America in late March through late April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Monday April 4, 2005
[this entry is edited. I just didn’t want to mention the names of places in went to for security reasons!!]

Tonight, I feel very happy. I cannot remember any time in the last 2 years in which I was as happy as I am now. I feel very bad that I didn’t write in the last week. I didn’t have time, but I had a lot to say. I hope I can recall most of it now.

I went to California for the weekend. I was invited to talk to students there, journalism students and faculty members. My flight first stopped at Phoenix, where I met J. and then continued to our destination.

J. rented a convertible. It was great. I was amazed at how beautiful San Francisco and Berkeley, which are the only cities I went to there. Friday was a sunny day. so J. took me in a tour first and then we went to the hotel.

We just parked the car and then headed to the University. We couldn’t wait. J and I were very excited. She graduated from that school, and I wanted to see it because I’ve heard a lot about it. We spent a while there, met with professors and some people and then left to get some rest.

At night, T. joined us and we went to a restaurant. We had a great time. we went to this place on the waterfront. It was beautiful. Of course, I ordered cheeseburger. “Without tomato. Please,” I told the waitress although I knew the tomato will come aside, but didn’t want to risk.

Oh my goodness. I loved Berkeley. It’s toooooo liberal. It’s my-style city. I loved it.

I was shocked when I listened to people’s questions. They don’t know what is going in Iraq. they were smart questions, but revealed that they know nothing of the truth. “Is it true that most of the Iraqis hate the Americans?” or “Were Iraqis happy when Saddam Hussein was toppled?” or “Do you think the U.S. forces should withdraw now, or in a year, or when?” or “How do you go to office? Do you drive?” [which I liked, because then I could tell them how dangerous our work is, not only for foreigners. The point is that the foreigners have the choice to stay or leave and at the end of the day, they will leave and go back to their normal lives. We don’t have this choice!!]

The first thing I noticed in the campus is that students go to school wearing flip-flaps!!! I would never see this in Iraq, never. The campus is a place where I could feel the young people being prepared for freedom and to lead their future. By the time I was there, the students were having the election campaigns to elect the University’s government, a president, and 2 vice-presidents. Candidates were advertising themselves and distributing pamphlets to students with their platforms and agendas. I was stopped by one of the candidates. He gave me a brochure and said “I hope you vote for us.”

“I am an Iraqi and visiting for few days here,” I told him. His reaction shocked me. He was thrilled. He left everything he was doing and stopped to talk to me.

He: “How are you there? Is it bad as we see on TV?”
Me: “No. It is worse than you think and see.”
He: “Really!! How is that?”
Me: “Well, you see the killings and car bombs. But you don’t see the frustration!”

And we kept talking for about ten minutes and then I tried to give him the brochure back, but he refused. “Keep it with you. I hope to see you soon,” he said.

On my way back to the hotel, I saw this scene I will never forget. People gathered around a tape recorder in the street, listening to Mayaday Hannawi [a Syrian singer]

Kan Ya Ma Kan, Kan Ya Makan
El Hub Mali Bitna Wil Raha Wil Aman, Wil Raha Wil Aman.
In English [Once apon a time, love filled our house, rest, and safety]

And then they switched to Um Kalthoom [a very famous Egyptian singer from died in the 1970s]

People, all foreigners, were listening and having good time, even if they didn’t understand the lyrics. That was amazing. [you know in these days, with the war on terrorism, which is mostly war on Arabs an Muslims, I never thought people would like anything comes from my region]

In Berkeley, the streets are full ofh beggars and homeless, which was very strange to me. I didn’t think I would find this in such a great city. Once I saw 2 men sitting on the walk side, one had a piece of paper saying “I just want to be drunk.” They were homeless and begging, but they were honest. They didn’t lie and say “Please, we have families to provide. God bless you.” Or something like “Please, my son is sick. He needs a surgery and I don’t have enough money. Help me” which normally what I hear from such people in Iraq. They could say the same. I believe in a country like the U.S., they would be rich in one year. But they preferred to be true and say the reason why they were begging. That’s marvelous. That’s amazing!!

Oh, and let me get back to the same subject I talk about whenever I write in this diary. Safety. In Berkeley also. When I walk in the street I feel safe. I’m getting crazy by this idea. I feel happy and proud to say I work for so and so. I walk in the street with J. and T. without worrying that someone would be following us. Before I answered people’s questions in a panel I was in, and when they introduced me, the man asked me what it looks like being in the US, and I remember of what I said was “It’s like being 5 years old in Iraq. I don’t need to think, I don’t need to fear. Just live.” No one would try to chaise me. No one would gaze at me because I wear sunglasses or I look like non-Iraqi. Just do it the way I want, and live. That’s the most I like here. I didn’t need to adjust myself to live in the US. I don’t need to. I think the problem will be when I go back to Iraq. I’ll have to forget about being safe, because I will not be. I’ll have to know and remember that I need to look into the mirror every second when I drive, just to make sure no one is following me. And I’m fine with this. It’s my normal life and I kind of like it because it’s different and unique!!!

Also, I had the chance to drive on the Golden Gate Bridge. I went to the ocean. I touched the water. I needed to touch it so it knows I was there [the pic above is for the moment when i touched the water!] I saw both coasts now. I’ve learned that I am luckier than many Americans, who didn’t have the chance to see both oceans!!

Wait for more tomorrow!

Feeh!

Another “In Between”

Kofi Annan Reads Blogs!

Guys, in my Nov. 10th entry, I mentioned the UN secretary general, Kofi Annan, as someone who doesn’t care about Iraq and the people dying here, from all nationalities! Ironically, today I went to see him meeting with Iraq’s deputy president, Ghazi Yawar.

I think Annan reads blogs and got my message!!!!

Way to go bloggers. Just push it and you’ll get it!!

[We took the pic you see above]

Feeh!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005





I visited the United States of America in late March through later April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Saturday March 26, 2005
I woke up at 6am today. I opened my eyes with a great scene of the ocean. I put my sweater on an went out. I saw the sun rising in the distance. I took some pics and video of the waves and surroundings. It was very exciting.

The guys woke up. The had breakfast and I got my every-morning Nescafe mug. T., U. and I went in n a 3-hour walking on the beach. It was very safe, healthy, and relaxing. I didn’t know we are near a marine base until I saw helicopters flying over our heads.

“It sounds like I am home,” I told them beforeI looked up to the sky. “I don’t feel homesick now. The only difference here is that here I don’t see the 2 gunners waving their guns out of the 'bird.'” It's like I needed to see and here them because I had something missing from my daily life. I discovered it was the helicopters noise!

We then went to Carolina Beach. It was a nice trip. We went to the aquarium, and as usual, it is the first time I see one! We had lunch in a very nice restaurant on the way back to Outer Banks. I had my favorite; cheeseburger with lots of fries, and a 7up [well.... it was Sptire. close enough!] Woow. The guys told the waitress that they have a special guest. An Iraqi!! She was thrilled. “Welcome to the U.S.,” she said. “I hope you feel at home. How do you like it here,” she asked. And like a typical Omar, I blushed and stammered and didn’t know what to say. I just don’t like to be treated differently. “Well, it is safe and people are upper nice to me,” I said. “They should be,” she answered and left with a big smile. She insisted to refill Sprite, although I said I don’t want anymore. But it didn’t matter for her. She wanted to be nice and to show nice!!

Before we headed back, I wanted to read news. I was news-free for two days now. No Internet and no newspapers. So I bought U. S. A. Today. I read some news. It’s been mostly quiet. They have this section where they write weekly look at Iraqis life or whatever. This time they talked about weddings in Iraq and how they increased after the 2003 invasion. I immediately recognized the writer of that article. Without even looking at the name. I just felt the writing and style. It was Jill Carroll, a very dear friend of mine. She mad me feel proud because the friends with me in the car wanted to read it, or at least to give them an idea about it. And so was done. I talked to them about weddings in Iraq and how young people are more opened now to marriage because they somehow could manage the expenses. I told them about the traditions in Iraq and how a woman over 30 years old is looked down at if not married, and how this way of thinking is vanishing day by day after women got more educated and prefer to start careers before they marry.

After all what I said about the trip and the guys inn the group, I think it’s time to introduce them, at least so I won’t forget the names (although im sure I will not because they make a wonderful group)

S. : a very nice and handsome 30-year-old man from Austria.
A. : a lady from Cologne, Germany. She is very funny and nice.
J. : a South African. Super-nice woman that would share her thoughts with me very easily.
T. : a radio freelancer from Germany. She is quiet and a great cook at the same time. She made me eat Tomato!!!
S. : an American lives in France. He is an editor of the South Africa section in his newspaper.
M. : an American print press freelancer. He would volunteer to do anything before anyone asks him to.
W. : a Chinese TV manager or so. She is very nice, but very into communism also. She likes the “Red Lines” they impose on media in China and wouldn’t pass them! That’s what I didn’t like!
H. : a Vietnamese studies in the US. She knows she wouldn’t be able to use what she learns in the U.S. journalism schools, where they teach how to work in a free-journalism environment, and if not, to work on establishing one. She cannot benefit from this because of the dictatorship in her country, but she wouldn’t mind staying in the U.S. and study. I wonder why!!!

It is very nice after dinner here. Usually the dinner is made or cooked by T. and served at 9pm or so. After the dinner comes the interesting part of every night [not only here one the beach. But even back in the university], when all are tired and sleepy, but they still want to continue. We would stay on the dining table and start conversation. Not necessarily on journalism, in fact no one of us was interested in discussing that subject. Normally the conversation would be how different the cultures we came from are, or old movies. In one of the interesting nights, I heard for the first time about “Dirty Dancing” movie. You now what, in this trip, I mean to the U.S., I am learning about many things that I didn’t know before.

Here am I, writing on the beach. Another day and another night of peace. I feel sad to have this privilege. What is happening now in Baghdad? how many people killed the past minute? Who was assassinated? I don’t hear the sound of the bombs here, but I hear the sufferings. In fact the sound of agony in Baghdad is clearer here because it is quiet!

It is almost 2am. I should go hit the bed/ coach. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.

Wait for more tomorrow

Feeh!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!

Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005.


I visited the United States of America in late March through later April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Friday March 25, 2005
Today is the trip to the beach. This is my first weekend in the U.S. and we have decided to make it special. The whole group is heading to Outer Banks, a coast on the Atlantic Ocean.

This is the first time in my life to see the ocean, any ocean. I was very excited. The ocean for me was always a symbol of freedom. A symbol of a wider way to the future.

On the way we talked about everything, almost everything. As usual my friends asked me more question about Iraq, its music, the culture, and other stuff. They asked me why women are forced to ware scarves in Iraq and I replied saying that they are not forced by people, they can choose whether to ware it or not, but the situation in Iraq now made them think it would be better to ware a scarf. The point they make is that a woman in scarf is not as a soft target as a woman without it! They also asked if I was happy when Saddam Hussein was toppled, and as a journalist, I didn’t fall in the trap. I said “Saddam didn’t affect me directly. Happy or not, I will not answer this directly. But here I am, a year after the invasion, talking to you on my way to fulfill one my dreams; to see the ocean!”

What is very interesting is that most of them are interested to hear some Arabic music. I brought about 15 Arabic songs CDs with me from Iraq. I promised to play some for them. I just didn’t have the time for this.

It took us about 4 to 5 hours to arrive to our destination. We have already rented a house with scenery of the ocean. (the picture above is for the real one we lived in)

We finally arrived to the place. When the guys were unloading the cars, I was face to face with the ocean. I forgot everything else, and they also left me to do what I wanted because they knew I needed a moment alone, with the ocean and myself! This huge power. It is like my future. Unpredictable, wavy, deep, and adventurous.

We then assigned everyone to a room, or every two to a room. I didn’t want to be in a room. The living room has a big window through which I could see the ocean. I decided to sleep there. What is better than to see the ocean the last thing at night, and the first thing in the morning!

We had a great dinner. We all helped making it. it was shrimp and other stuff. I loved it. And then we sat in the living room. The guys asked me to play some Arabic music, do I played Samira Saied [a Moroccan singer. One of my favorites.] They loved her.

I live for you
What would my life be without you
Yes, I live because I love you
I found my dream with you, in you
I want to live in you
To Forget my fear and weakness in your arms

They were listening, so I wanted to go and meet the ocean again.

It was something like 12 or 12:30 a.m. It was cold. Freezing. I sat there in short sleeves.
“It is only the first week. It is wonderful so far,” I said, watching the waves approach me and try to take me back with them. “But I didn’t meet average Americans yet. I don’t know how would they react if they know I am an Iraqi! I hope they don’t judge until they talk to me!”

Here is the Atlantic ocean, as big as my ambition, and as dangerous and ambiguous as the way to it.

It is 3:30 a.m. now. I have to go to bed now [in fact to coach.]

Wait for more tomorrow

Feeh!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005.

I visited the United States of America in late March through later April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Thursday Mar 24, 2005.
I have to say that I didn’t have time to write for the last 5 days. I was busy living normally. I was recovering from the “Shock!”

Let me summarize what you missed.

After the dinner and magic night I spent with T., we went to her place and did nothing more than calling Baghdad and talking to B., I said “B. I am in the US. Don’t call me again, I’ll be busy living,” just to tease him. Of course B. was also busy, but covering car bombs, assassinations, mortar attacks, and did everything but living normally!

The next day, I took the train to Durham, North Carolina, where I was supposed to spend the first month in this trip. The train trip was great. I couldn’t turn my face. I kept looking through the window at the scenery the train passed. Most of all, I was amazed how many houses waved the American flag at their outdoors. It just made me feel guilty. We need this kind of love to our country if we want to restore dignity. But it will take a long time. America also suffered a lot until they achieved this spot.

I arrived to Durham and met with L. B., the Program Director at the university where I was going. I was attending journalism and communications seminars. L, a very nice and lovely person, took me in a tour in the town before we headed to the mine-to-be place. The next day I and the other fellows went to the campus and took a tour of orientation and we were issued the university’s fellows ID cards. Then we went back to the apartments.

The fellows were form Austria, Germany, France, South Africa, China, Vietnam, South Korea, and the U.S.

The girls in the group suggested that we should gather to introduce ourselves to each other. They decided to cook dinner, and men could help! It was Spaghetti, which had Tomato sauce of course! Tomato is my worst nightmare in food. I cannot stand its smell and taste, that’s if there is one. Of course, as a polite Iraqi, I had to eat. I even ate the Tomato alone after I finished the pasta. That’s how far I go to show respect!!! (you can see a picture of the real meal I ate attached here!)

The next day the sessions started. The most interesting session would be “The Challenges” in journalism in everyone’s country. These are very important and interesting to me. I heard journalists talking and discussing the media in their countries and challenges they face in the fields and their work. It is very strange. No one said “I suffer being a journalist in my country because it is dangerous.” I didn’t here the word “Dangerous” yet. Being a journalist in Iraq, whether working for the Iraqi media or the foreign, is Very dangerous. I cannot show off in Iraq and be proud of being a part of the process of how people get the news. My distant family and friends don’t know I am a journalist. I would be killed if the word spread and the “Insurgents” got tipped. Especially in my case; A “Collaborator” working for the Americans.

I heard journalists from China and Vietnam saying how limited their work is. They are forced to obey the rules. They cannot write on subjects their government doesn’t want them to write about. They cannot pass the “Red Lines,” otherwise; their career would be in danger. “Their career” would be in danger, not themselves. I stopped at this point and thought for a moment. I don’t have “red Lines” in my country. I am free to write about everything. Anything I would like to report on is accessible. So why am I afraid?Iraq is recovering the consequences of the 2003 war. People are still frustrated. Nothing has changed in their lives. No security, no water, no electricity, no development, and the places that were bombed and demolished during the war are still as they are. People would pass in every street and see the traces of devastation to remind them that they are in a war zone. How could they forget and start a new life? Every reminder of the war still there. People got more salaries, that’s true, but where would they spend the money? There is no place in Baghdad or in Iraq that a family could go to without being afraid of car bombs, mortar shells, and assassinations. I live and work in this situation. I have to interview people who lost their dear ones in a car bomb, or their relative was assassinated because of links to the foreign forces or the Iraqi security forces and government.

“Do you want to know how difficult it is to do my job in Iraq?” I asked them on dinner. “Let me tell you. I would go to an explosion scene and try to interview people that just witnessed the explosion and might have lost someone to it. I would start saying, ‘I am sorry for what happened. I see how painful it is, but could you tell me what you saw, when and how?’ Now, put yourself in my shoes. Is it easy? Is it humane? You might say no. But anyway, I have to do it so people around the world, like yourselves, could know what is happening. I have a friend, an American, who always says that I am emotionless and have no feelings. Do you think someone in my position could feel and do the same job?”

We spent the rest of the night exchanging ideas and thought. We talked about Germany, the U.S., the Middle East, especially Iraq. I don’t know if it is our fault, the journalists, or it’s the readers’ fault, but I know that the world doesn’t know all the truth from Iraq. For instance, the asked me if the Iraqis hate the Americans in general, and I said “No.” they asked if the Iraqis want the Americans out of Iraq immediately, and I said “No.” they asked me if all the Sunnis were terrorists, and I said “No.” they asked me to reason why the insurgency in Iraq is mainly Sunnis-fueled one, and I said “this is because when U.S. forces ended the main military operations after the invasion and a U.S. administration installed, they attacked the Sunnis. The spread the word that the Shiites, Kurds, and every sect in Iraq was oppressed under Saddam, but the Sunnis, which wasn’t true or even any way near the truth. They created revenge-will among the Iraqis and it was directed against the Sunnis in general. Therefore the Sunnis became in a defense position, wrongly directed, misinformed, and uncontrolled. That’s pretty much it and as simple as I could explain it.”

Also, they asked me if I were a Sunni or a Shiite, “I am a secular,” I said, toasting my wine glass high in honor of the moment!

Wait for more tomorrow.

Feeh!

I Felt Safe, But I Knew It Won’t Last!
Journal of a trip to the US, March 18th-April 29th, 2005


I visited the United States of America in late March through later April, 2005. I wanted to share my days, nights and feeling with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Friday, March 18, 2005.
The alarm clock rang at 4:45am. I was already awake and taking a shower. I couldn’t sleep that night. Whenever I try to convince myself to fall asleep, force my eyes to close, but no luck. My eyes don’t want to close. They feared, as I did, to close and not open the next day until it’s late. I am going to the US for God sake. How could I sleep?

My flight was on British Airways. The taxi driver, as all of his kind, wanted to know my destination. (In Amman, Royal Jordanian has its own terminal, and all the others share another one. So I was going to the “another one”) so now he wanted to know the reason why I didn’t book on Royal Jordanian “If you have other destination, tell me,” he said. Even though I didn’t even tell him my destination, he just assumed I wasn’t going to Iraq. When we arrived to the airport, I gave him his fee and thanked him “Just tell me where you are going,” he said, with a tricky smile that suggested he now knows for sure I was not going to Iraq, but doesn’t know where either and he had to know. That’s how I felt it.

“To the U.S.” I said to him while taking my suitcases out of the trunk. I tried to look at him through the sunglasses, just curious how would his face react to this “News.” He did nothing, said nothing at first, but before he left he said “Be careful, they would kill you there,” and left.

It’s very strange. All the people whom I told that I am going to the U.S., have warned me. Even my American friends. The closest ones. I don’t take it serious yet.

In the airplane, I was the only Iraqi heading to the US. I don’t know, there might have been Iraqis going to London, my transit-city, but I was sure no Iraqi was going to the US. The hostess told me so.

I wasn’t in a window-seat, but I fought to look when the plane was landing in Heathrow. I wanted to see Big Ben. I couldn’t. I don’t know if it is possible to see it from the plane, but I wanted to try.

The plane landed. I would express this better in Arabic, but I would say I was mouth opened, eyes wide-opened as if I saw God himself. In Heathrow airport, I was wondering here and there. I didn’t sit or stop, but to answer nature-call, which for me is smoking! I was going back and forth all the time. I couldn’t see London the city, because I am an Iraqi, although it isn’t my fault! So, I wasn’t that excited about London. Why should I? Something I cannot get, why should I think about?

The plane took off at 3:05pm London time. This time I was excited. I didn’t think about the horrible time I’ll spend sitting and watching the same movie again and again. Just wanted to forget everything and think only about landing. Touching the US soil…. Well, standing on it.

The time passed. Nothing really interesting happened during the flight. But the whole time I was thinking about N., B., and S. I would be more excited and happy if they were with me. I know they were happy for me, but I felt sad for them. Why couldn’t they come with me?

The last hour of the flight I turned the seat-screen (the one in front of the passenger) on the flight information channel, where I could see how we approached Dallas Airport and how much time needed to arrive and all this stuff. I counted the time by seconds, I would say. When the pilot announced we are ready to land, I jumped of my seat to find which is the best side to look from. I wasn’t in a window-seat. I saw the airport. I saw the landing track (or whatever it is called.)

I flashed back the past 2 years almost day by day. To be more accurate, event-by-event. I remembered the first day I talked to a foreigner, an American. That was 8 days after the U.S. troops entered Baghdad back in April 2003. I remembered every important incident and event I covered for my newspaper, and they are many. I just thought how much I gave of my time, my life, my family, friends, and weight to deserve the invitation to the U.S. I wasn’t forced to do so though, I wanted it. This is my philosophy; give now while you have something to give then you will get more when you need. I don’t know if that would work always, but it did so far.

When the plane was landing, I remembered how many times I was promised to go to the U.S. Top people, including editors, promised, but no one was honest or true enough to do it. I didn’t take it serious when they said “You will go to the U.S. Just do this and that and then we will talk about it.” I do what they ask, not because I was promised to get something out of it, but because it’s my job. And then after I finish, nothing happens.. As I expected.

I didn’t think of going to the U.S. seriously until she offered me. J.S. [A very Special Person in My Life] said “do you want to go to the U.S.?”
“It’s impossible,” I said. "No it’s not. We have to work it out,” she responded.

I was told that she fought on behalf of me to make it happen. She wouldn’t tell me, I don’t know why. But she did fight and argued and paid money to make it happen and make it a great journey when I am there. It happened.

I got all these thoughts while I was watching the plane approaching land. My heart was beating real fast. I remembered what J. did to get me here. I would never be able to thank her enough. My eyes were full of “water” I would say, because I don’t believe in tears!!!! I put my sunglasses so no one would see me this way. I like to talk to myself. I like to talk to the situation I am in. I don’t know if you could understand this, but I would talk to my heart and complain, cheer, and argue with the situation I am in. I didn’t know what to say when the plane stopped. I just let my tongue go for me. I said “Hello America. I am here. I said I am coming, and I did. Welcome me please” I was afraid of the procedures I have to go through. I didn’t know what they would do. I know I have invitations from my newspaper and the university I was going to, but even though, it is not easy. It was the first time I expect the Americans treat me like “Others.” I am a big newspaper correspondent in Iraq. That is a privilege. But now I am an Iraqi visiting the U.S. That’s it. So, “Welcome me Please, U.S.”

It did welcome me. It was very smooth. I just needed to register my name and give the information to the immigration office and I’m done.

I took my luggage and left the airport. As I was walking into the waiting area, I saw my friend. T. waiting for me. She was the first one I saw after that door opened. She and the small U.S. flag. Can you imagine? She was waiting with a U.S. flag to welcome me. That’s the best part so far. My wish has become true. I was welcomed in the U.S. I was welcomed like someone in his home. Like a hero. I felt like I was welcomed to my home. I just cannot remember that moment when I saw her waving the flag. I felt like an American was assigned to work in Iraq and here he is coming back.

She shouted “Oh my God. Oh my God,” and ran to me. I left my luggage and hugged her. She cried.

“Don’t make a scandal here,” I whispered to her. She laughed lowed, as usual, and said “shut up.”

After five minutes of laughing, crying, gazing at each other, and taking some pics in the airport, we walked out. In the parking lot, a man was pushing his luggage cart and stopped saying “Oh, you were the one shouting in there!” to T. we laughed and said “Yes.” I knew it will be a scandal!!!

She drove me from Virginia, where the airport is, to D.C. The high way wasn’t much more than any other high way. But when I entered the city, everything changed. This is the U.S. I would imagine. Thanks for the U.S. movies. The first thing I saw was the Washington Monument. Nothing more than cement poll in a wide field. Then I saw The Capitol. It’s like in movies. The big white building, with the white carved dome. “Oh my goodness, I am near it,” that’s what I said to myself. I saw my newspaper’s building. I saw the China Town, Adam Morgan’s, the D.C. Convention Center, I saw almost most of the places everyone should see the first day arrives in D.C.

T. and I went to a place called “Madam Organ’s” to have dinner. The name is very funny because they just moved the initial of the second part of “Adam Morgan’s," the name of the street, and initialed the first with. I don’t know what the point is, but that’s how they named the restaurant, I was told. I had my favorites; Macaroni & Cheese and Cosmos. What else could I spoil myself with in the first night in “Heaven.”


Wait for more tomorrow!

Feeh

Happiness And Threats In The Same Day!

Yesterday, the second day of Eid [the Islamic feast marking the end of the holy month of Ramadhan], my American friend, J, and I decided that we have to go out. After all, it’s Eid. She needed to buy some groceries to make dinner and we also decided to order food for lunch. She just wanted to live a normal day. and it was.

She put on her ugly scarf and ugly skirt. I put my sunglasses and left!!

We went to a grocery shop. She mimed all the time. She wouldn’t dare to speak in English for fear I would be exposed with a foreigner. Whenever she needed something, she pointed her finger to the way and I would follow her. But it was also normal. We bought everything she needed and left. My mute friend suggested Pizza for lunch, so we headed to a very famous Pizza place in Baghdad.

Wearing sunglasses gives you a privilege of looking at people and they wouldn’t notice it. I was looking in the car’s side mirror at her. She was looking at the streets. She looked so happy.

Suddenly, she said “I don’t know why I love Baghdad!”

“Because you are sick,” I said.

“Yah,” she responded, but not convinced. She said that just to shut me up!!

We arrived at the Pizza place. We ordered and waited outside. We sat on a table in the street looking at people feeling happy.

“A friend of mine asked me to tell him something he doesn’t know about Iraq when I was in the U.S.,” I told her, “the thing you don’t know about Iraq, I responded, is that Iraqis are nice. Not all of them are terrorists.”

“The Americans are misinformed. They should read our newspaper,” she suggested with a big smile.

We, for a moment, forgot we were in Baghdad. But when the U.S. military vehicles showed up in the street, we came back to real life. even when we wanted to feel normal, we couldn’t forget about the war. We were looking at children and families walking and gathering in the street. “It is a good place for a car bomb,” I said, she looked at me with wide opened eyes and said “yah, I was thinking about that.”

After we got the Pizzas, we decided to go a friend’s house nearby. We did, but told his Kids that the alien woman is a friend from Kurdistan. Kurdistan is the northern region of Iraq where Kurds live. And that would be enough as a reason why she doesn’t speak our language!!!

We had fun there. She was happy. All the people with us were happy. But I couldn’t take this much happiness in one day.

“I am not used to this happiness,” I told my friend, M. I turned to J and said “let’s go back. Enough happiness today.”

We came back to our house. Then my other male friend, J, made us Margaritas. We sat in the backyard. Chatted for a while, took dinner, then I realized it was 9pm. So I left.

That was a normal day in Baghdad. Normal for the foreigners and for me. We don’t have these days very often.

Before I leave the house/office, I wrote a report about 14 Iraqi policemen killed in Iraq and over a dozen wounded and I included a statement from Qaeda in Iraq Organization, led by Jordanian militant, Abu Musab Zarqawi. The statement warned all the diplomats in Iraq and threatened them to be killed if they don’t leave the country. That was part of our normal day, but this part we have very often!!!

Feeh