By Cathy Breen
Voices in the Wilderness
Baghdad

Dear Friends,

The last two nights on the roof have been restless ones. Last night especially the roar of helicopters and planes nearby was unrelenting. So were the sounds of gunshots and explosions. It was obvious that something was going down, and the tension in the neighborhood was palpable. I got up this morning feeling tired and unnerved.

This past Friday 9 Iraqi police (trained by coalition forces) were shot and killed in Faluja by American soldiers. In white and blue police vehicles, the police were chasing 2 thieves in a BMW. Killed by “friendly fire” was the term the media used. As one “accident” after another of this type occur, one is left speechless. This event unleashed a call for revenge from the townspeople of Faluja. The next day we heard that 2 Amercian soldiers were killed and 5 wounded. Daily we hear personal accounts of car bombs being placed around the city, of carjackings and kidnappings. There is not a person we speak with who hasn’t been affected by the violence. We are sitting on a time bomb!

Planes and helicopters fly low overhead. Tanks appear periodically driving down the street. The city of Baghdad is militarized and yet no one is safe.

Yesterday was Sunday. As I walked to mass in the late afternoon several women approached me begging for money. When I arrived and found that I was 1/2 hour early, I walked around the corner to Amal and Sa’afa’s house. Sa’afa and I visited as Amal and the kids were out. He said that Amal told him not to scare me with stories or I wouldn’t venture out to visit them anymore. He reached for his prayer beads and pressed them into my hand. He wanted me to use them as I walk the streets. “They will help keep you safe” he said.

After mass I visited with Mother Teresa’s Missionary Sisters of Charity who run a small orphanage alongside the church for severely handicapped children. One of the sisters that I know told me of a family they know that was apprehended by kidnappers intent on taking the young daughter captive. After pleading with the men and trying to resist them, the father ended up killing his daughter rather than giving her over to them. The sister herself was stricken with grief as she related this to me. Who can understand the enormity of such an event?

Early this morning as MIchael, Ed, Eva and myself were putzing around the kitchen getting coffee and tea and speaking about the restless sounds of the night, someone came out with the statement “If I were to be kidnapped, I don’t want anyone worrying about a ransom. You know, my parents feeling they have to sell their house, etc.” Then one after the other chimed in agreeing. We thought it might be good to sleep on this and speak about it again.

As circumstances would have it, I needed to take a taxi to a hospital this morning. I got in a run-down taxi (as we hear nice cars are stolen) after showing the driver the address of the hospital which I had written in Arabic. He seemed to know where it was and agreed to take me. As it turned out the address proved incorrect and we arrived at the wrong hospital. We set out again in the opposite direction to try and find the hospital. “Money, dollars?” he said in English. When I told him I had no dollars, he pulled a big wad of Iraqi dinars out of his pocket and indicated that he wanted as much from me. When I hesitated he sped up the car, his mood changing. I could feel myself getting defensive and hot under the collar. It was very hot in the taxi! I tried to restrain myself and make conversation in a friendly tone, but I had the distinct feeling he was taking me off somewhere. Luckily we reached a stretch where he was forced to slow down due to traffic, and I jumped out of the car thrusting a decent bundle of dinars through the window at him. I proceeded to find another taxi driver and off we went to another hospital which was also the wrong one. An hour later we finally reached the hospital I’d been looking for. Despite the close call I had with one taxi driver, I have to say that we are all flabbergasted at the good grace of 99% of Iraqi drivers. The deference and good humor they show in the midst of bristling heat, gridlocks and roadblocks is astounding.

I want to end with some comments from a young man, Muhannad, whom I met in the neighborhood and with whom I’ve had some very meaningful conversations. He is 28years old, has studied biology at the university and is an observant Muslim. He works with computers and tells me that he has “given up trying to teach his aunt how to use a mouse!” After a long conversation the other day at a fruit and vegetable stand at the end of his street, I asked him what he would say to my own people if he could. “Why do you send your brothers and sons to be killed? The Iraqi people don’t want the occupation. No country wants occupation. What right do you have to money, power and oil? But what about the people? The human being is more important than money, power and oil. You can by a kilo of apples for 3 dollars, but you can’t do that with humans. A human being is priceless.

It is not just our lives, it is our history, it is our country. I love the air and soil and health and people of this country. Up until now they [American forces] haven’t been able to control the country because they don’t know Iraqi history, because you need to know something about us…Your people need to get back to their spiritual values. You have to go back to your churches, mosques and synagogues.”

Tomorrow I will go to the hospital again, to the Oncology unit where we used to visit the mothers and children. Today I was so touched to meet the children and mothers as well as the young resident doctors. Without exception the children are seriously ill, many dying of leukemia. I had exactly 8 fingerpuppets that Jonah had given me from his own toys for the Iraqi children, and there were exactly 8 children in the ward. I had a picture of Jonah to show them, and they readily agreed for me to take a picture of them displaying their puppets for Jonah. Alas, the camera needed new batteries. But they agreed to let me take their picuture tomorrow. In a room by herself was a lovely 14 year old girl, Johan, from the north. She has acute lymphoblastic leukemia. She weighs maybe 75 lbs, but her beautiful smile belies her wasted condition. She has been in the hospital for a month and is struggling with depresssion. She likes to speak English and seemed to lighten up at my suggestion to come and speak with her tomorrow. She can teach me some Arabic. So you might see her lovely face soon.

I send you much love and count on your prayers, cathy