Amina's Driving Results

The American State Department has (seriously) issued warnings that Americans who travel to the Middle East are in extreme danger of death due to road accidents. So. The results are in... here is Amina's unofficial rating of the driving in the past four countries she has visited.

1st place goes to... Iran. Iran definitely has the best driving in the Middle East. Not only do they drive backwards on the sidewalk on the wrong side of the street, but they then yell that you're driving like a Qommi. (No comment) When in Iran, I rapidly learned to cross the street in groups. It's somewhat embarrassing shadowing an old lady to make it to the other side safely... but better that than the alternative.

2nd place goes to... Lebanon. In Lebanon, driving is somewhat like a game of chicken. Both cars rush towards each other as fast as they can, and you wait and see which car will swerve first (note that which side of the road does not seem to have any bearing on who gives way). I was somewhat impressed that, unlike in other countries, women seemed to participate just as actively as men do in this national sport.

3rd place goes to... Iraq. In Iraq, you get the feeling that the people are taking out decades of frustration due to wars, economic sanctions, and a brutal dictatorship on their accelerators. I don't blame them. The only mitigating factor was the frequent appearance of farm animals, which somewhat slowed the traffic.

And last places goes to... believe it or not... Syria. Despite the fact that my neighbor (who is not Syrian) says that Syrians drive "like they are drunk", and despite the fact that I saw three car accidents in the past couple weeks, I have found Syria to have the tamest driving in the Middle East. Although, like other areas in the region, you find the same spirit of independent interpretation of road laws, the sheer number of cars and pedestrians forces the traffic to flow at a very moderate pace. Plus, you really feel like they are trying NOT to hit you. Kudos to Syria!

That's all for now... more to come wherever life takes me.

At the Roman Ruins in Bosra

The other day, my friend decided that she wanted to go visit the Roman ruins in Bosra (not to be confused with Basra, Iraq; I suggested that I'd rather go to Basra since I actually know people there, but she didn't go for it). I am ashamed to admit that I actually tried to wriggle out of the trip by pretending to oversleep, but since I somehow managed to set my clock two hours ahead and not notice that it was 8 AM and still dark outside, my plan backfired, and we set off at 6:30 as scheduled.

Aside from the 2 hour bus trip (which some poor guy that she knew and I didn't ended up paying for), the Roman ruins really weren't that bad. Since I used to study Latin many years ago, I was excited to read my first real-life Roman inscription. Scores of schoolchildren on guided field trips swarmed the area, and I realized the human truth that schoolchildren on field trips in Syria behave much like schoolchildren on field trips in America (and also that selling plastic flutes to large crowds of kids is not conductive to peaceful contemplation -- even though some of them put their flutes away after I put my hands over my ears in protest). We sat there at the top of an ancient Roman theatre and read out loud from her Syrian guidebook. And it was then that I discovered that the guidebook was wrong. The Roman theatre was not the most interesting thing in the city of Bosra. We were the most interesting thing in the city of Bosra. Kids crowded around us as she read out loud in English, and one continually shouted out the two phrases he knew in English -- "What's your name?" and "How are you?" -- at great volume until some lady shouted at him to cut it out.

My friend escaped onto the rocks and began leaping from one portion of the ancient roof from another. Lacking her sense of balance, I elected to stay behind, and a second crowd began to gather around me. As my friend bounded about, oblivious to my plight, about 40 Bosra-ites (yes, I asked, they actually were from Bosra) surrounded me -- mostly women and children. Although I have a fear of mobs just like I have a fear of heights, the crowd seemed friendly, so I tried to appear unconcerned. A boy took it upon himself to tell me each and every name of every person there, and also how they were all related. Several of the women pulled out cameras and took pictures of me, the ajnabi in hijab. (I found it odd that some foreign tourists were also taking pictures of me -- presumably as the token Syrian) I wanted to photograph the crowd too for posterity's sake, but unfortunately my camera was out of batteries.

All in all, it was a memorable day. It wasn't quite the day that the guidebook promised, but maybe it was better.

Don't Talk the Talk When They Walk the Walk

Part of the human condition is that -- depending on where you live -- certain ethnicities tend to get a bad rap. Among the Muslims in the city I was living in in the United States before I came here, it was the Iraqis who bore the a large part of the criticism. (Sorry to inform you of that if you're Iraqi and living in that city -- but it's true. That's just how people talked, and no one could convince them otherwise)

So it is because of this that I feel compelled to describe my experiences with my Iraqi neighbors here in Sayyida Zaynab. To begin with, everyone I have met feels incredibly sorry for me because I am here alone. Therefore, they have been trying to help me in any way possible. Forget just offering lunch and dinner. Several of my neighbors have suggested that I move into their houses so that I will not be alone and vulnerable. I was particularly touched by one newlywed lady who insisted that I come and live with her and her husband; I'm not sure I would have the same faith in human goodness to ask a strange, young, foreign woman to live with me and my husband if I were married. Of course I have been getting a lot of marriage offers (and assurances that theirs are the best of men to marry). But what completely floored me was today at the hawzah when this woman -- whom I know is by no means rich -- tried to give me money. When I declined to take it, she proceeded to hide it in my clothing. I really was at a loss for words. I have rarely been offered money before from anyone, and I really did not know how to respond. I felt completely embarrassed that alhamdulillah, Allah has freed me for the time being from need, and yet she was still trying to give me something.

So since I have nothing to offer here except du'a, all I can say is may Allah reward all of the people who have helped me so far -- from whatever ethnicity they may come -- and may Allah grant me some of their human dignity and good akhlaq.

The Helpful and the Helpless

He flashed me a giant smile as I got onto the bus from the border town of Shataura to the place they call the "factory" (why? I don't know. Ask someone in Lebanon) He seemed determined to help me the entire way. Whenever the bus was about to move, he came and got me. When we got to the "factory", he walked me up to the border. And even though I realized with some surprise that he could barely read, he attempted to direct me to the correct lines and the correct forms in Lebanese emigration.

I wasn't sure whether he befriended me out of idealism (in wanting to help me), opportunism (in wanting to make a buck off of me), or just loneliness. Generally I am wary of strangers, but since he was technically young enough to be my son, I grudgingly accepted his attention. Anyway, since I had no idea where I was going, I figured I would be better off following him than the hordes of men hawking currency exchange. With a face full of pimples and a shock of blonde hair, he looked no more than 15 or 16, but his eyes had a hardened, mature glance that -- along with his clothes -- betrayed his poorer roots. Although I didn't ask him anything about himself, I gathered that he was from Bint Jbail (where I had also left that day), and that he was going to Syria to visit his family. Somehow I doubted that, but I didn't say anything.

He showed me his ID card with pride as we got to the border. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. I wondered if this was the first time he had gone to Syria -- or at least, the first time alone. I told him to go on without me since I would be a long time at Syrian immigration, whereas as a Lebanese citizen he could go straight to Sham. But he insisted that I wait for him. I wondered why I felt compelled to do what he said, and then I remembered the hadith -- he who shows you kindness makes you his slave. So I waited at the door.

When he returned, he said nothing. He walked over to the side of the road and stomped his foot. He looked like he was doing everything he could to stop himself from bursting into tears. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn't say anything. Finally, a man came up to him and asked why he was there. He said that the Lebanese officials had told him that he was too young to go to Syria without his family's permission. "Of course," the man said, "what are you doing going by yourself? They'll throw you into the army over there." I didn't know if that was true or not, but that was what he said.

"Don't worry, we'll find a solution," he said. A couple girls about my age came over and consoled him.

I asked him if he needed anything and he said no. If he did, I'm sure he wouldn't have said. I felt terrible, but I really had to go since I was afraid the visa agent who had the papers to get me into Syria would leave me stranded between Syria and Lebanon if I didn't get to immigration fast. Feeling like Judas Iscariot, I thanked him and apologized and got into a taxi.

"Going to Iran?" the taxi driver asked.

"Insha'allah, from Syria," I said, with enthusiasm.

"That kid with you?" he asked.

"No," I said, averting my eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, he's not with me," I said.

We drove on, and I avoided looking back. I regretted not doing anything to help him. I hope he got back to Bint Jbail all right.

Ten Practical Lessons About Lebanon

Ten Practical Lessons About Lebanon

1. Bring a jacket.
2. Everyone knows each other.
3. If they don't know you, then even if they do not appear to be looking at you, be assured that they will be able to give a completely accurate (and slightly embellished) version of what you did, what you said, and what you were wearing to everyone within earshot.
4. When you associate with religious women, you need to wear sleeve extenders -- even if you are at a women's gathering. Otherwise, see #3.
5. Sayyid Nasrullah is awesome.
6. Plain raw meat does not taste like anything and looks deceptively like tomatoes.
7. The larger and more ornate a house is, the less likely that someone is living in it.
8. The quickest and most effective way to preserve the environment is to make gasoline $16/liter.
9. To convert from Lebanese money to American money, divide by 3, multiply by 2, and drop 3 zeroes.
10. Lebanese hospitality is some of the best in the world -- except of course for maybe Syrian and Iraqi. :)

The Islamic Revolution of Lebanon

I remember when I was sitting there on the streetcurb, I was somewhat surprised that no one seemed interested in seeing Rafsanjani but me. In fact the only acknowledgement of his presence that I heard was from some Iranians who were muttering in Farsi that "some Iranian" had come and now they had to go outside of the haram.

However, it seems that in Lebanon, EVERYONE knows that he was there. And not just him -- but, unbeknownst to me, Sayyid Nasrollah was also there on that night in those cars.

Sayyid Nasrollah is cool. Although I've only been here two days, he has rapidly risen to the top of my good list. I am still continually touched by the amount of respect many people show towards him and also towards the rahbar in Iran. In fact, I think the people here show more respect to the rahbar than they do IN Iran. I respect the rahbar too, but I have to admit my view of the Islamic Republic has been tainted by the fact that Islamic Republic does not want me in their country. Despite the fact that, to the best of my knowledge, neither Imam Khomeini nor his successor have ever been here, the Islamic Revolution took root a lot deeper here than it did in Iran. Here, I don't see bureaucracy or formality. (For example. While I cannot even enter the border to go to Iran, I was waved by a checkpoint which clearly stated "No foreigners past this point") Just action. And not just religion but schools, organization, and development. Those who wear hijab here wear it MUCH better than you see on the average street in Iran, and yet you don't have to deal with these silly cultural ideas like your hijab is not proper if it is not black. And you don't sense the same resentment towards the Islamic movement that you do in some places in Iran.

Of course as impressed as I have been by the amount of development in South Lebanon, at least economically, there has been a price -- at least half of the families have men who are working outside of the country to support their families. As a result, there are a lot of strong women. But I feel for them because I would not want to live like that.

I'm in Lebanon!

As I drove over the border to Lebanon, I suddenly understood why Lebanese people are so passionate about defending their homeland. It is so incredibly beautiful here. It looked as if God Himself had hand-painted every detail on the mountainside. I could imagine Khalil Gibran and others wandering around and taking inspiration from the countryside.

The ocean was equally beautiful. I realized how much I had missed the ocean the past few years. When you grow up around it, you get used to it.

Now I am experiencing South Lebanon. So far it is really great! You wouldn't believe that there was a war here. They have built the country back up so much. One of my teenage dreams was to come to the land of Hizbullah, but like so many other dreams, it faded away as I became busy with other concerns in life. But once I got over the unease of entering to Lebanon alone (among the sentences I never thought I would say in my life was "How much is the taxi fare to Beiruit?"), the excitment came back. And so far so good -- Lebanon is really awesome!

Guess Who Came To Town Tonight

I was alerted to the fact that we had a special guest tonight not by the word on the street and not by friends, but by the heavily armed Farsi-speaking bodyguard who came to our door asking for a cup of water. (All right, actually I had already heard earlier in the day who was coming, but I had been too dense for it to occur to me that he would be passing by our neighborhood) Figuring I had nothing to lose, I hastily dressed and ran out the door towards the place where the former president of Iran was heading towards, the haram of Sayyida Zayab.

To give some background to my story, I have to mention that I have been chasing after an Iranian visa for the past couple years -- and, especially, the past couple weeks since my current visa expires tomorrow, and I have to go SOMEWHERE. With options on the table like Jordan and Qatar, I felt that it was now or never to resolve my visa issues with Iran. I really didn't expect running into Rafsanjani to help me with my visa issues, but at least I hoped to catch the eye of some of my recently made friends who are acquainted with the visa process and whom I knew were accompanying him so that I could beg and plead some more. Plus, I figured that since I was locked out of my house until 10:30 PM, I may as well sit at the door of Ahl Al-Bayt (as) and chat with God instead of sit at my own doorstep and chat with the bodyguard until my hosts got home.

Therefore, I took myself to the haram. As I walked there, I couldn't help reflecting on the difference in security between Rafsanjani and my marja'. Admittedly both were potential targets, but I remember that when I had once in a lifetime privilege of going to my marja's house, the only security between me and him consisted of a group of men who asked me what my nationality was and requested that I leave my purse with them before going inside. Here, they were clearly taking no chances. Armed men lined the rooftops, and they cleared all of the people out of the haram four hours before the expected guest arrived. Looking at the haram from the outside in, I felt like the distance between me and the haram of Sayyida Zaynab was the same as the distance between me and Iran -- so close, and yet separated by so many layers of security and bureaucracy. Men inside of the haram rapidly began sweeping up the dust and laying down special carpets. I wondered how my view of the world would change if every place I visited was impeccably cleaned and prepared. I reflected that I must not be standing on the street that the guest would be arriving on because they started to pile up the trash next to me.

Again, having nothing better to do, I sat down and decided to wait, trying to ignore the fact that I was sitting by myself on a streetcurb in Damascus at night. No one really took notice of me -- not even the various men that call out marriage proposals at all hours of the day and night -- except for the security men standing around the gates and on top of the buildings. I felt conspcicuous, but I also didn't feel like leaving, so I held my ground. Gradually the hustle and bustle lessened as various people started going back to their homes. Occasionally, Hujjat Al-Islams would come by the gate to the haram, give their salaams to Sayyida Zayab (as) from outside, and then go on their way. A very old man who could not walk sat outside, bent, and prayed. I was also praying too, for some kind of miracle.

As I sat there, two kids wandered up to the trash and began to search it for something useful. One found some aluminum foil and a shoe sole, and the other found a plastic tray and an empty bag. I felt sorry for them that their circumstaces were forcing them to go through the trash, but I really respected the fact that they were electing to search through the trash rather than beg.

I sat there for three hours. The men with guns looked at me, and I tried to avoid looking at them. Eventually, one of the ladies who for some reason had also been sitting outside asked me in heavily accented Iraqi Arabic whether I was waiting for my husband. I said no. She asked me whether I was waiting for my brother. I said no. She then asked me who I WAS waiting for, and I said, "Rafsanjani."

"Who?" she asked.

I left.

As I made my way down the street, trying to ignore the fact that I was walking alone down the street in Damascus at night(somewhat unsuccessfully I might add since I ran into 5 people that I knew who all asked me why I was walking the streets by myself), suddenly several soldiers pulled me and the passerbys aside as the convoy finally arrived -- police cars, and many, many black limousines. I watched in silence as they keys to my Iranian visa drove past me. The soldiers then felt obliged to escort me home, where I climbed the stairs and noted with some relief that the bodyguard was gone.

Message from Ayatullah Seestani

Since I heard this with my own ears, I feel obligated to convey it -- especially because I had the distinct (and slightly terrifying) honor of translating for Ayatullah Al-Uzma Seestani in Najaf Al-Ashraf! Ayatullah Seestani was asked to send a message to the Muslims in the West. He said that, first and foremost, Muslim parents in the West need to teach their children their native languages because Islamic resources are lacking in English (you can say THAT again). I then abused my translator's privilege and asked what the Muslims whose native language IS English should do, and he replied that we need to learn Arabic to the degree that we can read Qur'an and tafsir.

I've been reflecting on that message for the past few days. On the surface, it seems simple. But a number of issues get in the way. For one thing, most parents just assume that their children will just pick up their native languages, but that does not happen beyond a very basic level unless the parents take the immense amount of effort required to teach their language at a level of literacy AND the children take the immense amount of effort to learn it. However, the more I think about what he said, the more I realize he was correct, because even I -- a native English speaker -- would have a much shallower understanding of my religion if I could not understand Arabic and Farsi.

Along these lines, I do have to comment on two counterproductive trends present in many Muslim communties in America. On the one side, there are those Muslims who believe that religion on exists in their native language and that everything has to be in Urdu/Arabic/Farsi/Urdu/Gujrati/Urdu/whatever. This way of thinking simply does not work in the West because not everyone is fluent in Urdu/Arabic/Farsi/Urdu/Gujrati/Urdu/whatever (partcularly the youths), and ALSO because we have a responsibility to do da'wah. However, on the other side, there are those Muslims who harbor suspicion and resentment towards other Muslims who speak languages that they do not, and they are always pressuring them to abandon their native languages and use English only. I don't see why we can't have a happy medium -- for example, do most of our religious programs in ENGLISH, but some also in other languages so we can appreciate the beauty of each other's languages and be encouraged to learn them.

Qaf

Qaf. Qaf. Such a wonderful letter. One of the final letters in the Arabic alphabet, Qaf was described in the book I first learned Arabic in as the letter than sounds like "the top of a soda bottle being popped off".

Like most letters, you don't appreciate Qaf until it's gone. Most Syrians I know simply do not say Qaf. I am beginning to learn to emulate them and say words like "taree' " and "ti'ra", but it's a shame. Such a lovely letter...................... now gone.

No, REALLY, Thank You

One thing I am having difficulty with is explaining the concept of food allergies; someone suggested that this might be because food allergies are much more common in the West than here. As those of you who know me know, I am allergic to approximately half of everything that is potentially edible -- in particular, nuts, dairy products from cows, and coffee -- all of which seem to find their way into local food. In Amerca, declining food on the basis of allergies was never a problem, but here -- given the linguistic and cultural barriers -- it can be quite akward. I have become adept at sneaking proffered sweets back into their containers and switching full for empty coffee cups when no one is looking, but there has to be an easier way.

Allergies can also lead to some potential etiquette dilemmas. For example, yesterday, I had the unexpected honor to meet a famous poet who writes about Ahl Al-Bayt (as). (Actually, he is the second poet I have met here; I guess birds of a feather flock together. It is somewhat humbling hanging around literary people because they have a way with words that I do not, not even in English) I was paying attention to the poet and not to the cake I was eating when all of a sudden my mouth began itching like fire, and I realized that swallowing whatever was in my mouth would be a very, very bad idea. So, casting etiquette aside, I jumped up, ran to the kitchen, spat the offending matter out, and explained to the lady of the house that YES, I did like to eat cake, but I couldn't eat peanuts or I would drop dead. I then returned to where I was sitting and pretended like nothing had happened (and that I wasn't the slightest bit concerned about an upcoming allergic reaction).

What to do. On the bright side, I have found goat cheese here, and it is much cheaper than it is in America. But to find it, I did have to dispense with some of my dignity and "baa-a" to the shopkeeper since I didn't know the word for my fluffly friends that graze here and there along the street and comprised today's lunch.

Kids

I have to say that one thing I have been very impressed by here is the children. All of the children I have met so far have been considerably politer, more religious, more hard-working, and more innocent than their American counterparts. When this one seven year old heard that I had been in Karbala, she began rattling off ahadith about the merits of visiting Imam Husain (as). To say I was impressed would be an understatement.

The kids here also seem to follow the old American adage of being seen, not heard in adult company. I'm not sure whether it is considered odd in Syrian culture to pay much attention to children, or whether Syrians just consider children to be boring because there are so many of them, but since I do like to talk to kids I have been engaging a lot of them in conversation and have heard a lot of pleasantly refreshing perspectives.

So what is it that makes them this way? A more religious environment? A closer family structure? Less distractions? Whatever it is, we need to learn from it in America quickly because we all know we are losing 90% of our youth there.

Where am I?

I am currently staying with a friend in the Sayyida Zaynab neighborhood of Damascus about 5 minutes from Sayyida Zaynab! (See picture) After all the times that I have wanted to come here in the past 8 years and find some peace in my life, I am really appreciating the opportunity to literally walk out the door and down the street and be in the picture to the left. I like living in the Sayyida Zaynab neighborhood. Primarily, I think I like it beacuse it is mostly Shi'a, and I don't feel out of place here. There are a lot of hawzah ilmiyyahs and bookstores selling books on Ahl Al-Bayt (as), and you can occasionally hear latmiyyah in the street. Plus, there are a lot of other non-Syrians here and people who speak Farsi, so I feel comparatively at home. The only downside is that prices have been a bit expensive due to the number of people who came from Iran, Lebanon, and the gulf countries for ziyarat, and I wouldn't advise drinking the water.

The rest of Damascus is nice too, but I'm not sure I would like living in another neighborhood.

Coming from America, I can't help but reflect on the differences between Syria in America. As in America, most people here are unhappy with and concerned about the economy, but, unlike in America, there is a general sense here of trying to make the best of what you have. In contrast, in America -- particularly in Houston -- I always felt there was this general sense of misery and despair. I always felt it was somewhat ironic that in one of the richest countries of the world, I was afraid to roll down my windows while driving or walk down the street alone. Being outside of that sort of environment really makes you realize how unnatural it is.

I am also appreciating the social aspect of living in the Middle East. In America, life is so busy that we rarely have time to see anyone we know outside of our housholds more than once a week. Here, it is relatively easy and not unexpected to drop in on people. It is too bad that we in America cannot regain the part of our culture that used to go calling on neighbors, family, and friends.

It is very peaceful also being able to walk a land which prophets walked. A while back I went to the mountains and visited my great-grandfather (or great-uncle, or most likely both) Habeel. We have no connection with any of our roots in America. There is a sense of peace and spirituality in the land which I don't find in America (particularly in Texas).

Being an American Muslim woman in Syria is another story. I learned very quickly here not to tell the average person on the street that I was American. My first day here, I went to go use a public phone, and while I was sitting there trying to figure out how to use my phone card, a lady came up and asked me if I had change. I said no, and she promptly went to the next phone both and told the lady about the foreign lady at the phone next door. They called their friend over, and before I knew it there were about fifteen ladies surrounding the foreign lady in the phone booth, staring and asking me questions. I could have handled it much better than I did, but I didn't. When I realized I was literally trapped in the phone booth, I panicked and just took off running.

Since then, on the street, I am Iranian. (For some reason people actually seem to believe this) However, of course I am still telling people I know that I am American. People are very curious to know that there are indiginous Muslims in America, and they are always asking how I became Muslim. I always got these questions in America too, but here they do seem more credible since I probably AM the first American Muslim most of these people have ever seen. Some of the Shi'a Muslims I have met here have in particular wanted to know about English latmiyat, and I had the new experience of reading an English noha at a majlis where I knew that the women spoke little to no English at all. I was surprised to find them following and repeating, and even after the majlis they were taking apart the lyrics.

I have also realized where what a small world it is. There is a truck that drives around our street playing "It's a Small World" on a loudspeaker, and while I don't know if the vendor knows what that song means, I sure do. I had always thought that the Shi'a community in America was close because it was small. I now realize that this is a worldwide phenomenon. So far I have run into FOUR people that I knew from America. I think that is a rather large number for a foreign country. In addition, I met someone the other day who has to be the largest hub of knowledge I have ever met in my life. Despite the fact he has never been to America, when I said I was from America, he began rattling off many names of people I knew (and many interesting facts about them which I never knew either). I suppose now I, the American Muslim, am part of his library.

For the Spanish-speaking brothers and sisters: I wanted to mention that I met an Afghani sheikh today who spoke fluent Spanish (and was surprised that I didn't). I should have gotten his contact information so you could speak to him, but I am sure I could locate someone who knows him if you would like to meet him!

Karbala, Ya Karbala

By a miracle of God, I was able to take these pictures in Karbala on Arba'een myself!!!!!! According to the guy with a gun who drove us through Baghdad, there was 6 million people who walked to Karbala (and some Iranians too who ostensibly drove or flew). I have more pictures, but they are hard to upload from Syria, so these should at least let you know what it was like. It was really amazing. It was incredible. Words cannot describe it. You see the most beautiful displays of love for Imam Husain (as) from ordinary people. The only way I can express what it is like to be there is to say that the fact that 6 million people will walk for days just go to Karbala indicates that there is something very special and very unique there. So if you have not gone yet, you need to come too!!! I also had the privilege of being in Karbala on Arba'een 8 years ago, but it was a completely different experience. Back then, it was crowded too, but you couldn't even move without being harassed by the soldiers. It was so touching to see so much religious freedom. As I watched all the people, I had the uncanny feeling that the power of God and Ahl Al-Bayt was quite alive in freeing this land from the enemies of Ahl Al-Bayt.

The only thing I missed in Karbala were OTHER types of people -- I was told that this year they were not allowing foreigners into Iraq due to security concerns. (But apparently there were one or two exceptions...)

Although I really enjoyed being in Karbala, and I would have loved to stay if I had something to offer the country, I was sad to see that there is still so much poverty in Iraq, and that the country was largely a mess. Going from Syria to Iraq was like traveling back in time 100 or 150 years. Although Karbala seemed fairly safe, when I was at someone's house in Najaf someone missed with their missiles and killed some people on the street not very far away from us. I felt somewhat guilty that I had the option to leave as I pleased since most people do not. However, I did feel optimistic about a couple things. One was that I didn't see the throngs of orphans that you used to see on the streets of Najaf and Karbala. Someone told me that people built shelters for them, and I had the honor to visit a large orphan school in Najaf. Also, I was touched by the way many people really are dedicated to the reconstruction and the future. I had always assumed that the Iraqi reconstruction consisted only of power plants, sanitary services, roads, and so on, but after meeting some people who returned to Iraq from Iran to do religious tabligh I also understand the importance of spreading Shi'a teachings there after all of the years of repression.

Anyway may God help them with what they are doing. I am extremely entirely 100% grateful to God that He gave me the privilege to go to Karbala AGAIN in my life, and I hope everyone has this opportunity!!!!!