How I fled Iraq as the US bombs fell

THERE were so few moments to think. We had been up late - I'd had a whisky. The Dura Electrical Power Plant in Baghdad is home to about 15 shields, plus a nice staff. It's really quite comfy. But on Wednesday morning, we were awoken by a fellow calling urgently to me. We went, those of us who came in on tourist visas, to a meeting and were told to pack up.

We were to meet Dr Hashimi, of the human shield host group "Friendship, Peace and Solidarity", known cynically to some who had left Baghdad earlier as "Dr Mengele". He met us in his suite on the 17th floor of the Palestine Hotel, also home to the human shields office, where we organise and communicate.

I had heard of Hashimi for months. Finally, I met the short man. He was very affable - or was it seductive?

First, he apologised - he had told us twice we could be human shields. And we would spent two nights at Dura. However, security was telling him we must be deported. He was very sorry.

I managed to quiz him. I know of Saddam's famous poor human rights record, and, since I was being deported, and since it is known that Hashimi is a senior advisor to Saddam Hussein and a cabinet minister, I decided to take the plunge.

There was no rough rebuke. Maybe Hashimi was being smooth - he was an ambassador to France, at one time, so surely was a diplomat.

He said: "What is democracy? What are human rights?" And he asked, "Isn't it democracy to give free health care for all? And to promise jobs for all? And is free education, through university level for all, democracy? Aren't these human rights?"

It's not well known in the West that Iraq has these things, now or in the pipeline, so to speak. He spoke of the parliamentary system - and how candidates for office are given equal time on TV, and campaigns are funded fully.

I asked what of the Shia minority, famously oppressed? He said, they are fighting like hell in the south. And they are a majority in parliament. "Do these sound like people who are repressed?"

What about torture? His reply was not direct. He said no candidate can be sponsored by foreign concerns. Iraq is for Iraq's people. Foreign powers buy governments.

We were deported to Syria - we left at 3.30pm for the 380km drive. We had good reason to fear the roads. On our road, five people in a bus were killed by a bomb recently. We were driven through almost impenetrable dust storms.

We had a goon, a police stooge with us - unshaven, overweight, sporting the omnipresent "'slug" moustache, and overfamiliar, so unlike most Iraqis, who have delicate sensibilities. I had to shout at him not to stroke me and my hair, and felt saddened and a little worried I'd made a mortal enemy.

We drove on, into the night. We were nervous. We were ready still to put our lives on the line to defend vital civilian infrastructure from American bombs, but to die in the desert by ourselves seemed silly.

We had to divert on to a rough track at several points - the bridges on the road to Damascus were bombed out. We finally stopped to ask about the road ahead. We could hear the bombs raining on Baghdad even here, three and a half hours away.

The soldiers we talked to laughed, told us not to go on! Americans and British were between us and the border. How many? we asked our guides. Lots!

How many? 3,000! Tanks? Yes! (True? I don't know. However, it was plain we had best not go on.)

The fat man came up trumps. He took us to his cousin's house, five minutes away, in the town of Habitha. We spent the night there.

And the family was so warm. So open. So much respect there is in this country, for women, and for strangers, for hearts are full here.

We had been inside ten minutes, smiling and having sweet tea, being welcomed, when absolutely huge crashing bombs started to fall within a mile.

Everything shook, women screamed, lights went out.

We made a shelter for the grandmother. Sat together, and listened to these brave people, strong and calm, calling to Allah for peace and for protection for the next three hours, taking care of one another with us, as our countrymen's bombs smashed their town.

Government buildings were hit, and maybe they were "softening the lines" of the Iraqi soldiers for an attack down the main road to Baghdad. Helicopters flew overhead, then jets would come in.

In the windows that weren't yet taped, we'd see a brilliant flash, count two, and boom! Boomboom!

Thank goodness, there were no children with us.

On the porch we watched anti-aircraft fire, red balls rising and exploding in the west. One of the sons held my hand, like a brother. Stars so bright - never seen so many, except at sea. So much beauty, so much pain. I was ashamed. I'm still ashamed.

However, we were pleased to be 'human shields' amid the people, as our movement had intended us to be. We felt we were where we wanted to be.

Morning. We had slept a few hours. Nawar, an old auntie with a heart condition whose hand I held all evening (who wore happily my "No War" badge I got from the Quakers), brought flat bread and cheese, and a son brought lovely sweet tea (Iraqis drink more tea even than Brits). We left these wonderful, life-long friends - such intense time seems to bond people.

It was decided we would go to the border, 60km away, but pay a bribe to the border guards, get human shield visas.

We did! We thought we had the requisite five-day visa, that we could extend once in Baghdad.

How foolish we were. We learned later, after a beautiful drive alongside the palm-lined Euphrates back to Baghdad (and Dr. Hashimi...) that our guides had gypped us. For upon our arrival happy in the capital, we were told we must leave in the morning at 6am for Jordan.

I'm sad to leave my friends, and this country I came to love. However, I'm glad I survived.

Now, I'm glad to say, I will not go back to America, but instead seek asylum in Europe. I'm no longer proud to be American, and would only go back when the government is really our own.

My next step? Sleep. And lots of it.

Updated: 10:47 Tuesday, April 01, 2003