Road to Baghdad

By Kelly Hayes-Raitt

4:00 PM, AMMAN, JORDAN -- I'm convinced there is no way to fully prepare for this trip over the road to Baghdad. I haven't slept more than 5 hours in the last three weeks, and the last few days have been no exception. Nerves, heat, jet lag, anticipation pop me awake at 3:00, 4:00, 5:00 a.m.

We leave for Baghdad in eight hours -- at midnight. The strategy is to make it to the Jordanian-Iraqi border by dawn and be among the first to queue up to cross. The delay isn't with getting into Iraq, but with getting out of Jordan. Once across, we will join other cars to form a caravan over what has been dubbed the world's most dangerous highway. We've been told to reach Fallouja by 3 p.m., before the "Ali Babas" come out.

We've sprung for an extra van and driver to provide a little insurance in case one of our other two vans breaks down. We've hired Iraqi drivers, considered the safest. (In a change from our February trip, Iraqi drivers are now allowed into parts of Amman. In February, we loaded our luggage into Jordanian cars, drove twenty minutes out of Amman, and switched cars and drivers for the remainder of the trip.)

Three of us have secured press passes to ease our border crossings. Our group includes two Iraqi-Americans, a Japanese-American and a veteran. We have introduction letters from Veterans for Peace and EPIC -- the Education for Peace Center in Iraq, to whose national board I was recently elected.

We've done all our last-minute shopping, made copies of our passports and spread around our hidden cash. My bags are filled with cases of power bars and my heart is filled with memories of strangers' unbelievable generosity, genuine compassion and deep desire to find a new way toward peace.

* Three weeks ago, I received an out-of-the-blue call from a retired minister in Oklahoma. He had heard I was going to Baghdad and asked me if I would visit his brothers and sisters. He knew his family was alive, but had not had more than an excruciating 60-second call from a nephew who had traveled an hour from Baghdad to place the call. The minister said the last two months of not being able to really speak with his family have been "Hades on Earth." He sent me -- a total stranger -- a $500 check to cash to bring to his family. I was so moved by his trust, and agony, and faith in me.

* The night before I left, I was interviewed by Earl Ofari Hutchison on his KPFK Tuesday evening show. His listeners donated money for me to buy power bars to take to Iraqi children. The Pakistani manager of my neighborhood corner store gave me a rock-bottom price on cases -- and threw in a few extra boxes for free. As we were clearing out every case in the store, strangers from my Ocean Park neighborhood handed me $10 bills to help purchase the food.

* Students Against War and Violence, high school students from Santa Monica High School, donated $150 from their T-shirt sale proceeds. They're facing potential losses in their music, athletic and arts programs from the most severe budget cuts in their lifetimes; yet, they raised money to reach out to Iraqi students.

* A quarter of the money raised for the trip was donated during the last three days. Total strangers and old friends came by my office to wish me well, give a hug and drop off donations.

* While addressing the Westminster Episcopal Church last Sunday -- Father's Day -- I got embarrassed when I choked up talking about my father's apprehension about my trip. A beautiful elderly woman approached me after the service and said, "Honey, I'm going to quote the shortest sentence in the Bible: 'Jesus wept.' And if He can, so can you." Then, she handed me an envelope with a $100 bill.

Graced with such love and faith, I've come to realize it's not the road itself that's dangerous, but the fear that keeps us from taking it.

Kelly Hayes-Raitt traveled to Iraq in February -- just five weeks before the bombing -- and is returning to reconnect with the people she met.