There is no angel here

During my last class at at Ashrafiyya School, after the obligatory cake and Mirinda, the conversation somehow shifted to kidnapping.  One after another, men and women told stories of how their brother, their father, or their son was taken and held for ransom.  They argued about whether paying the ransom, sometimes as much as $100,000, hurts one's chances for resettlement with the UN or IOM.  They argued about whether it was the Shi'a or the Baathists, or just criminals who had abducted their loved ones.

Finally, one soft-spoken woman raised her hand.  She's a mother of two, an electrical engineer who's waited for seven months to immigrate with her family to the U.S. or Canada.

"I was kidnapped," she said as the room quieted down.

She then proceeded to tell the story about the time she got into a taxi in 2006.  She was leaving the hospital where she had been visiting her father.  After a twenty minute drive that should have taken ten, she got confused. She wasn't back at home yet.  She began seeing trees all around.  She lived in Baghdad, a treeless city if there ever was one.  She asked the driver to stop the car.  He stopped and took her out.  He told her that her family would have to pay for her life.

"I start to pray," she said to the class.  "I read the Bible every day.  I know that when there is danger, God will send an angel to save you."

She saw him pull out a gun.

"There is no angel here.  This is a bad place."

As she knelt in those woods, crying and praying, a police car drove by, unaware of what was occurring just yards away.  It spooked the would-be kidnapper sufficiently that he jumped into the taxi and drove away, leaving her there.