When Home Becomes Hell

Back in August when I met Brahim in Amman for a three-week reunion, I begged him not to return to Iraq. He refused. He said he wanted to be buried in our family cemetery in the holy Shiite city of Najaf, "not in Syria, Dubai or Amman." Then this great big man who used to scare me began to cry. The tears came through in tiny little whimpers, so quiet they were barely audible. "Things will be better, Loreen. When we meet next time, habibi, it will be in Baghdad, inshallah." I said inshallah [God willing], too, but now I know as well as he does that this will never happen in his lifetime.

© 2007