Hidden casualties
Millions of Iraqis fled their homeland during the U.S. invasion in 2003 and the ensuing civil war. At the time I began documenting this story in 2008, only a handful of Iraqi refugees had been granted asylum in the U.S. or Europe. For the most part, displaced families languished in neighboring countries, struggling to survive in Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, and Turkey.
On May 25, 2005, an Iraqi named Haider Bahar entered the arrival gate at Cairo International Airport with his young son, Karrar. His goal: to find medical care for Karrar, who was steadily going blind. Karrar's eyesight had drastically deteriorated since his birth in 2002, and he hadn't seen a doctor since before the American invasion of Iraq, as many of Iraq's health professionals had either been killed or left the country.
Haider was also escaping the violence of his Shiite Baghdad neighborhood, Al-Dora. In the past year, Haider's brother and a friend were gunned down in the street, Haider's car was blown up and death threats bearing the Al-Qaeda signature were left at his family's doorstep. One day, gunmen forced the large middle-class family from their home. Karrar witnessed the killings of two people, including a child. He was traumatized and suffered from anxiety attacks and nightmares.
Haider began spending his savings on visits to Cairo eye specialists for Karrar. The diagnoses were varied but no doctor seemed able to treat him. Several recommended he seek medical care abroad, in the West. Haider began to set his sights on the only option for Karrar: resettlement in America or Europe.Meanwhile, Haider's wife Shaemaa and new baby Ali arrived in Cairo the following year. Like many of Cairo's estimated 100,000 Iraqi refugees, Haider was unable to find adequate and steady employment in Egypt, where 40% of the population lives on less than $2 a day. The family's finances began to teeter precariously. They couldn't even afford badly needed new glasses for Karrar. Refugees in Egypt rely on strapped non-governmental organizations and charities for support, as the Egyptian government provides no safety net.
The young couple struggled to hold the family together. Their sudden poverty, uncertain future, separation from family and lack of outside support exhausted and depressed Shaemaa, who said she felt hopeless. She and Haider worried about Karrar's decreasing eyesight, his isolation and his emotional fragility. The family's attempts to seek asylum in the United States were inexplicably stalled, and Haider began to talk about returning to Iraq, an idea that terrified Karrar. Finally, the United States, which had accepted only a handful Iraqi refugees since the war began in 2003, streamlined the resettlement process. As the cogs of America's bureaucratic immigration machine began to turn, a ray of hope filtered in to the small Cairo apartment-after months of paperwork, interviews and meetings, Haider's family received a medical referral from the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) because of Karrar's vision problems. The referral allowed them to apply for refugee status.On Dec. 8, 2009, Haider, Shaemaa, Karrar and Ali emigrated to the United States, settling in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio.
Karrar, a 6-year-old Iraqi refugee from Baghdad, runs down his darkened street after a trip to the market with his mother and brother in Cairo, Egypt. Karrar came to Cairo with his father on May 25, 2005. "I don't have one single friend," said Karrar, who was not attending school.
Karrar looks through a magnifying glass he received from his father while they were shopping one evening. With his thick glasses, Karrar can see objects close up. Without them, he is blind. His parents sought medical care for Karrar in Egypt, taking him to at least a dozen eye specialists. Now they're pinning their hopes on emigration to the U.S. and American doctors.
Shaemaa leads her son Karrar through Cairo's hectic traffic. She said she worried about what would happen to Karrar if he became blind and whether he would be able to take care of himself as an adult.
Karrar smiles during a rare connection to Haider's parents in Baghdad via Skype software, which allows people to use their computers for live video chats, but is only possible when the internet and power are working in Baghdad.
Haider draws a marker mustache on Karrar one afternoon in the apartment. Haider fills not the only the role of father for Karrar, he's also a protector, teacher, encourager, problem solver and best friend. Regardless of the family's precarious situation, Haider always makes time for play with his children, wanting them to enjoy life as much as possible.
Haider and Karrar wait in the office of AMERA, a non-governmental organization in Cairo that provides counseling and support for refugees. Haider hopes Karrar's talks with a counselor will help him deal with the emotional trauma he experienced in Iraq.
Karrar squints to see a picture drawn by a family friend. Karrar's eyesight is gradually worsening, and his parents have spent their savings on doctor visits in Cairo. The last eye doctor he visited said he needed stronger lenses in his glasses, his fifth new prescription.
Shaemaa tries to comfort a despondent Karrar. Although he's only 6 years old, Karrar sometimes carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He becomes afraid and upset whenever talk turns to the issue of Iraq. He also knows that his eyesight is growing worse, which makes him sad.
Haider tells Karrar not to play soccer inside the apartment. The family spent most days inside and alone. Haider and Shaemaa couldn't afford school for Karrar and Ali, a fact that contributed to the family's isolation.
It is a nightly battle to prepare Karrar for sleep. Karrar is troubled by memories of violence he witnessed in Iraq and sometimes doesn't fall asleep until 3 or 4 in the morning. He saw two murders in Baghdad and is haunted by frequent nightmares. Haider and Shaemaa try to calm his fears, comfort him, and make him feel safe. Recently Haider has talked about returning to Iraq, an idea that terrifies Karrar.
Shaemaa rubs her face while Haider takes a call from Baghdad. "I am tired," Shaemaa said. "It's not that I mind hard work. I work hard cleaning the house and taking care of the children everyday. But my mind is never still. I am always thinking about things and I am so very tired."
Karrar watches the buildings of Alexandria, Egypt, pass by from a rental car. A cousin settled in the United Arab Emirates had come to visit and brought enough money to treat the family to a quick weekend on the coast. Haider and Shaemaa had begun the process of applying for refugee status in hopes of resettling in the United States.
Karrar sleeps next to Haider, which helps him feel safe.
Haider lifts his younger son Ali into the air, while they play on the beach in Alexandria. The family received the hopeful news that they had attained refugee status in December 2008, paving the way for their asylum application to the United States.
Karrar tests out the scale and Ali cries while Shaemaa tries to pack as much as she can into their suitcases. The family was approved for resettlement in the United States and was scheduled to emigrate in December 2009.
Friends and fellow Iraqi refugees sit in Haider and Shaemaa's Cairo living room on the evening of their departure for the U.S.
Haider hugs a close Iraqi friend who came to the airport to see the family off. They don't know when they will see any of their friends or family again.
