'Please get to know us'
Mohammed and Zainab Al-Baaj live in two cultures. They use the best of both to raise their three children. Home was once Iraq. But then came the Gulf War, followed by Saddam Hussein’s bombs. Thousands died. Thousands disappeared. Mohammed and Zainab were among the tens of thousands of Iraqis who fled to refugee camps in Saudi Arabia.
It took 3½ years before they and their families were granted permission to come to America.
In September 1994 they came to Lincoln.
Lincoln is their home. Mohammed and Zainab are American citizens. But their roots are Iraqi.
And so they have blended their two worlds — preserving their Iraqi heritage, traditions and culture, while giving their children the opportunities, education, safety and freedom offered to them as American citizens.
In their south Lincoln home — as well as in Lincoln’s Middle Eastern community — the Al-Baaj family speaks Arabic. At home they watch Arab Satellite TV. They practice their Muslim religion, praying five times daily.
But outside, in the American community, Zainab expects her children to speak and think in English. They must remember they are Americans — with Iraqi roots.
She wishes her neighbors and others in the community could understand this — and not be afraid or angry with her and her family because they came from Iraq, because they are Muslim. She wishes people would try to get to know them, instead of looking at them with suspicion and fear.
Cuddling 4½-year-old Suzanne in her lap, Zainab thinks back to 1991 — when she was just 15, a ninth-grader about to prepare for midterm exams, when the Americans liberated Kuwait.
Her family lived in Basra, less than one hour from the Kuwaiti border. She was one of 10 children — five boys and five girls.
“People were saying the U.S. will bomb us. … They said the U.S. would gas everyone,” she said recalling reports from Hussein-controlled radio stations.
Families prepared for the attack, shuttering their homes to protect them from the poisonous fumes.
“I spent days and days taking pieces of fabric and making them into masks,” Zainab recalls with a rueful laugh.
As if that would help, she says.
The bombs fell at 1 a.m. Jan. 17.
“At the time we didn’t know why they were bombing us,” Zainab says. Non-Iraqi radio stations said the U.S. had promised not to attack innocent citizens and homes.
Later we learned Saddam had placed his army everywhere — in schools, hospitals, public buildings and even some homes,” Zainab says.
The family sought refuge with an uncle in Basra, then moved to the holy city of Najaf, where her parents had a home.
In Najaf, people talked of America rescuing them from Hussein’s rule. People took to the streets firing weapons at Hussein’s police and soldiers, burning buildings and painting anti-Saddam slogans on walls, vehicles, even the side of a donkey.
Ten days later Hussein was still in power. He sent in troops, tanks and planes to quell the rebellion. People talked of the planes dropping acid from the sky, Zainab says.
Most, like Zainab’s family, fled on foot — without money, food, water or clothes.
Zainab recalls the sight: “Thousands of people walking in one direction as far as you could see.”
“We could hear the bombs. … We could hear them coming. We didn’t think about eating or going to the bathroom. We were running for our lives,” she says.
Zainab pauses.
“Sometimes I don’t want to remember all of this,” she says.
Ultimately her family found protection in Saudi Arabian refugee camps.
“We were told we would be in the camp for three weeks, and then they would get Saddam,” Zainab says.
They were told Saudi Arabia had set aside apartments for families, and had erected tents in a huge stadium for others.
“We got to Saudi Arabia and there were tents and tents and tents,” she says. “(But) there was no stadium. No apartments. No trees.”
They were in the desert.
Three weeks turned into 3½ years for her family. And, “we were very lucky,” she says.
“They (Saudis) gave us clothes and blankets, but still we felt like prisoners,” Zainab says. “…We didn’t have freedom. They didn’t treat us like human beings.”
To this day, there are hard feelings among many Iraqis about their treatment. Single men were separated from their families. In some camps people were beaten and killed. In some camps food and water were scarce.
Zainab, too, has mixed feelings. But she lets her religion guide her feelings.
“Islam teaches us that if someone gives you a glass of water you have to appreciate that,” she says. “You have to appreciate that they have done something for you.”
“If it hadn’t been for them (Saudis) I wouldn’t be here. We would be in the mass graves,” she says.
Zainab and Mohammed were married in the refugee camp.
Norhan was born.
In August, 1994, the family learned they were going to America — a place called Fargo, N.D.
“Where’s that?” they asked.
“It was very scary,” recalls Zainab. “We hoped there were people there. ‘Maybe,’ we thought, ‘we are the first people to come to this place.’”
To their surprise they were greeted by people, settled into an apartment stocked with food, furniture and clothes.
“Fargo was beautiful. All the green trees,” Zainab recalls. And shopping — picking out your own produce, pushing your own shopping cart … it was so foreign … so exciting.
“We bought a lot of candy,” she says with a laugh. “Everything chocolate I bought.”
Her family arrived 15 days later.
In September, Mohammed and Zainab moved to Lincoln at the invitation of other Iraqi refugees, who said the city promised good jobs, good schools, milder weather, less snow and a growing Iraqi community.
They took a Greyhound bus to Lincoln.
“It was like being placed on a new planet,” Zainab says.
Mohammed immediately went to work to support his family here, as well as family members who remained in Iraq.
Zainab, who was just 18, enrolled at Lincoln High School in the English as a Second Language program. Norhan attended the school’s day care.
The experience changed her life.
“My teachers were the ambassadors to America. We saw America through their eyes and their attitudes. They were our window to see this new world,” she says.
Today Zainab serves as that window helping immigrants and refugees through MENA (Middle Eastern and North African) Hope Project at the Good Neighbor Community Center — an organization dedicated to helping people learn English, obtain family and health services, find jobs, fill out immigration papers, take citizenship classes and learn their rights and responsibilities as new Americans.
She also leads programs educating health-care workers, law officers and schools about Middle Eastern cultures and traditions.
She sees herself as part of that link for understanding and acceptance between both cultures.
“I want people to know we are people like them,” Zainab says. “We have feelings. We are educated. We love. We care. We have children. … This is home to us.
“Please get to know us.”
Reach Erin Andersen at 473-7217 or eandersen@journalstar.com.
Meet the family
The family:
Mother: Zainab Al-Baaj, 30, director of MENA Hope Project at the Good Neighbor Community Center.
Father: Mohammed Al-Baaj, 40, works at Kawaski.
Children:
Norhan, 12, sixth-grader at Pound Middle School
Taha, 11, fifth-grader at Humann Elementary School
Suzanne, 4½
The artist: Kate Brooke
It took 3½ years before they and their families were granted permission to come to America.
In September 1994 they came to Lincoln.
Lincoln is their home. Mohammed and Zainab are American citizens. But their roots are Iraqi.
And so they have blended their two worlds — preserving their Iraqi heritage, traditions and culture, while giving their children the opportunities, education, safety and freedom offered to them as American citizens.
In their south Lincoln home — as well as in Lincoln’s Middle Eastern community — the Al-Baaj family speaks Arabic. At home they watch Arab Satellite TV. They practice their Muslim religion, praying five times daily.
But outside, in the American community, Zainab expects her children to speak and think in English. They must remember they are Americans — with Iraqi roots.
She wishes her neighbors and others in the community could understand this — and not be afraid or angry with her and her family because they came from Iraq, because they are Muslim. She wishes people would try to get to know them, instead of looking at them with suspicion and fear.
Cuddling 4½-year-old Suzanne in her lap, Zainab thinks back to 1991 — when she was just 15, a ninth-grader about to prepare for midterm exams, when the Americans liberated Kuwait.
Her family lived in Basra, less than one hour from the Kuwaiti border. She was one of 10 children — five boys and five girls.
“People were saying the U.S. will bomb us. … They said the U.S. would gas everyone,” she said recalling reports from Hussein-controlled radio stations.
Families prepared for the attack, shuttering their homes to protect them from the poisonous fumes.
“I spent days and days taking pieces of fabric and making them into masks,” Zainab recalls with a rueful laugh.
As if that would help, she says.
The bombs fell at 1 a.m. Jan. 17.
“At the time we didn’t know why they were bombing us,” Zainab says. Non-Iraqi radio stations said the U.S. had promised not to attack innocent citizens and homes.
Later we learned Saddam had placed his army everywhere — in schools, hospitals, public buildings and even some homes,” Zainab says.
The family sought refuge with an uncle in Basra, then moved to the holy city of Najaf, where her parents had a home.
In Najaf, people talked of America rescuing them from Hussein’s rule. People took to the streets firing weapons at Hussein’s police and soldiers, burning buildings and painting anti-Saddam slogans on walls, vehicles, even the side of a donkey.
Ten days later Hussein was still in power. He sent in troops, tanks and planes to quell the rebellion. People talked of the planes dropping acid from the sky, Zainab says.
Most, like Zainab’s family, fled on foot — without money, food, water or clothes.
Zainab recalls the sight: “Thousands of people walking in one direction as far as you could see.”
“We could hear the bombs. … We could hear them coming. We didn’t think about eating or going to the bathroom. We were running for our lives,” she says.
Zainab pauses.
“Sometimes I don’t want to remember all of this,” she says.
Ultimately her family found protection in Saudi Arabian refugee camps.
“We were told we would be in the camp for three weeks, and then they would get Saddam,” Zainab says.
They were told Saudi Arabia had set aside apartments for families, and had erected tents in a huge stadium for others.
“We got to Saudi Arabia and there were tents and tents and tents,” she says. “(But) there was no stadium. No apartments. No trees.”
They were in the desert.
Three weeks turned into 3½ years for her family. And, “we were very lucky,” she says.
“They (Saudis) gave us clothes and blankets, but still we felt like prisoners,” Zainab says. “…We didn’t have freedom. They didn’t treat us like human beings.”
To this day, there are hard feelings among many Iraqis about their treatment. Single men were separated from their families. In some camps people were beaten and killed. In some camps food and water were scarce.
Zainab, too, has mixed feelings. But she lets her religion guide her feelings.
“Islam teaches us that if someone gives you a glass of water you have to appreciate that,” she says. “You have to appreciate that they have done something for you.”
“If it hadn’t been for them (Saudis) I wouldn’t be here. We would be in the mass graves,” she says.
Zainab and Mohammed were married in the refugee camp.
Norhan was born.
In August, 1994, the family learned they were going to America — a place called Fargo, N.D.
“Where’s that?” they asked.
“It was very scary,” recalls Zainab. “We hoped there were people there. ‘Maybe,’ we thought, ‘we are the first people to come to this place.’”
To their surprise they were greeted by people, settled into an apartment stocked with food, furniture and clothes.
“Fargo was beautiful. All the green trees,” Zainab recalls. And shopping — picking out your own produce, pushing your own shopping cart … it was so foreign … so exciting.
“We bought a lot of candy,” she says with a laugh. “Everything chocolate I bought.”
Her family arrived 15 days later.
In September, Mohammed and Zainab moved to Lincoln at the invitation of other Iraqi refugees, who said the city promised good jobs, good schools, milder weather, less snow and a growing Iraqi community.
They took a Greyhound bus to Lincoln.
“It was like being placed on a new planet,” Zainab says.
Mohammed immediately went to work to support his family here, as well as family members who remained in Iraq.
Zainab, who was just 18, enrolled at Lincoln High School in the English as a Second Language program. Norhan attended the school’s day care.
The experience changed her life.
“My teachers were the ambassadors to America. We saw America through their eyes and their attitudes. They were our window to see this new world,” she says.
Today Zainab serves as that window helping immigrants and refugees through MENA (Middle Eastern and North African) Hope Project at the Good Neighbor Community Center — an organization dedicated to helping people learn English, obtain family and health services, find jobs, fill out immigration papers, take citizenship classes and learn their rights and responsibilities as new Americans.
She also leads programs educating health-care workers, law officers and schools about Middle Eastern cultures and traditions.
She sees herself as part of that link for understanding and acceptance between both cultures.
“I want people to know we are people like them,” Zainab says. “We have feelings. We are educated. We love. We care. We have children. … This is home to us.
“Please get to know us.”
Reach Erin Andersen at 473-7217 or eandersen@journalstar.com.
Meet the family
The family:
Mother: Zainab Al-Baaj, 30, director of MENA Hope Project at the Good Neighbor Community Center.
Father: Mohammed Al-Baaj, 40, works at Kawaski.
Children:
Norhan, 12, sixth-grader at Pound Middle School
Taha, 11, fifth-grader at Humann Elementary School
Suzanne, 4½
The artist: Kate Brooke
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