Out of stricken Baghdad, into uncertainty

A mortar tumbled out of the sky and onto the Baghdad elementary school. Two of their three children were inside. The girls escaped, panicked but unharmed. Parents Mayada and Ali Hussein al-Obeidy decided enough was enough. They were getting out of Iraq.

That was six months ago. Since fleeing Adamiyah, a once middle-class area turned nightmare-zone even by Baghdad standards, the Obeidy family has taken shelter in Amman, Jordan. They spend days waiting. Like most Iraqis here, they aren't allowed to work and haven't been able to renew their temporary residency permits that expired months ago.

But they consider themselves fortunate: At least the children are safe and in school. The Jordanian government has said this is the last year it will allow Iraqis to send their children to class. With anywhere from 700,000 to 1 million Iraqi refugees pushing Jordan's already-stretched public services to bursting, the Iraqi presence in Jordan has become – in the words last month of the chief government spokesman – "a burden."

On the wall of their apartment are snapshots of the Obeidy's relatives, some living halfway around the world in Texas. There, the Obeidys have a slew of relatives. Mayada's older brother and mother, both citizens of the US, live in El Paso. They have been trying for several years – and recently, with great intensity – to get her and another brother in Amman to join the rest of the family in America.

They haven't been successful and they are not alone. Only 202 Iraqis were permitted to take refuge in the US in 2006. Since the US-led invasion, 466 Iraqis have been allowed entry to the US as refugees, according to figures given by the State Department at a Senate hearing last month. The numbers are particularly stark in comparison with the scope of a burgeoning refugee problem.

The UN High Commissioner for Refugees estimates that there are some 2 million Iraqi refugees, most in the region, with the numbers in Jordan rivaled only by those in Syria. Add to that number another 1.8 million Iraqis who are internally displaced. During the first half of 2006, the UN says, Iraqis became the largest asylum-seeking nationality in Europe.

US policymakers are gradually waking up to the reality of the scale of the refugee crisis caused by the war, and the likelihood that the numbers of people seeking a haven will increase. Under growing international pressure to do more, this week Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice announced a task force to enable more refugees to come to the US. The Bush administration this week said it would allow about 7,000 Iraqis into the US this year.

But to the Obeidys, change feels far off. Despite having immediate family members in the US keen to sponsor them, they've made no progress on their two-year attempt to come to America. Mayada's brother, Mustafa Ali, reached at his home in El Paso, said that he was told by the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) that the process could take five to eight years.

"For some reason, no one wants Iraqis in their countries," says Mr. Ali. "We've been suffering long enough. We were hoping we'd get a better life. The INS should process the Iraqi applications more quickly, because their situation is different from any other country. [The US] could make a special effort and arrangement, couldn't they?"

It's getting close to noon on a recent chilly February day at the residency office in Amman, a place through which any foreigner seeking permission to stay in Jordan must pass. Mayada and Ali Hussein are leaving after a long morning in which they, along with hundreds of other Iraqis, sought help in extending their residency permits. Hundreds of thousands (numbers are difficult to pinpoint) are now in Jordan illegally, fearing expulsion.

"The residency office isn't giving us an answer. Not 'yes' and not 'no,' " says Mayada. She looks down at the notepad of the reporter who has come to speak to her and, seeing that her name was misheard as "May," she begins to well up with tears. May was the name of her sister, who was killed when Baghdad was under bombardment by the US military four years ago next month.

Her husband's face locks up, he looks away. So many people have it worse than they do, he says. They are the fortunate ones. They're out. They and the throngs of Iraqi couples walking up and down the hill, looking for solutions.

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