Dear Friends,

Tom is a former US airforce officer. He's a rugged old thing, but he
knows what's what.

He reckons that if there's a principle worth living for, then it's
worth dying for.

There's Anna, she's an outspoken mother of two from France. Her
kids, 12 and 16 are proud of her. They've let her go for a few weeks
to Iraq.

Bernard is a 19-year-old Spanish student. He's articulate and
passionate  - a great future ahead for him.

And Faith, a retired schoolteacher from the USA. In her late 60s,
she's sweet, caring and grandmotherly.

And so it goes.

We are the `Human Shields'. We come from all walks of life from many
different countries.

As we share our stories and goals, we nod vigorously within, tears
come to the eyes, skin tingles. We feel the same. The same as so
many others around the world.

We don't want a war. We believe we can settle differences with non-
violent methods. We fear the decades of misery and suffering that
will result from an attack on Iraq.

We are heading to Baghdad tomorrow with a message of peace.

The Human Shield Project expects hundreds of volunteers to arrive in
Baghdad in coming weeks.

The two main goals are to deter a military attack with our physical
presence and to be in solidarity with the Iraqi people.

My personal goal is to be a messenger. To convey the feeling of the
Australian people to ordinary Iraqi families.

To say `we are not your enemy, we don't want to hurt you. You're our
friends'.

My Government has managed to convey a different message - that we
want to attack them and see them suffer.

I will work hard to counter this message.

Many days I pray the profound and powerful words of St Francis of
Assisi.

It starts, "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.'

What a privilege if that prayer is answered for us at this time as
we do our `bit' here in Baghdad and others do their bit at home.

I have an amazing journey ahead - it starts with a 10-hour bus ride
from Jordan to Baghdad.

It will have its ups and downs - as will the emotional journey, the
inner one I'm about to take.

Come along with me,
Your pilgrim

Donna

PS:  Been in Amman, Jordan the past few days. There is a McDonalds,
KFC, Burger King and Pizza Hut (long story for those just joining
the list!). But I have developed an addiction to chicken shwarma and
those amazing, sticky Middle Eastern sweets! Yummmo!

PPS: We had a press conference tonight, so if can tune into the news
in Abu Dabi, Amman and Hong Kong you'll see yours truly as
the "spokesperson".

PPPS: Keep an eye on the Aussie media for me…they are interested in
the human shields. Ch 9, A Current Affair and Today Show are keen to
talk.

PPPPS: I won't have access to my Yahoo e-mail account in Iraq, so
please hold off sending messages there. I'll get another account in
Baghdad.

PPPPPS: "All we are saying, is give peace a chance" John Lennon -
and the Human Shields!

Hello fellow Pilgrim Watchers,
As Donna can not access the Pilgrim group from within Iraq, her
messages are being relayed through me. The following message was
received from Donna this morning.
Regards,
Paul.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friends,

Baghdad.

The thought of it conjures up images of Ali Baba and the 40 thieves.

I think of exotic architecture, shiny domes, tall spires, belly
dancers, and music in the air. Tall, dark, handsome men wearing tea-
towels on their head….and of course, hidden caves full of treasures.

Well, it's all this…and more!

It's a sophisticated, bustling, busy city.

The people are open, friendly, curious, generous and smart.

They love life. And they'd like to continue their lives in peace,
thank you very much.

We come here as foreigners. Outsiders. Our Governments: the
aggressors.

Yet they accept us and embrace us.

It's humbling.

Thankfully they are smart enough to distinguish between the actions
of a Government and the views of its people.

They love Australians. Sometimes it's embarrassing how much they want
to fuss over me because I'm an Aussie.

They're happy when I tell them that John Howard's support of US
military attacks does not represent the opinion of the Australian
public.

I tell them we are their friends. We stand with them. It's such a
privilege to convey this message of peace from ordinary Australians
to ordinary Iraqi's. Makes you wonder what the Government is for,
doesn't it?

I went to the Al-Aamiriyia bomb shelter the other day. It is now a
memorial to the 408 people killed there during the Gulf War.

It's in the middle of the suburbs, a civilian location set up as a
place of refuge.

It was destroyed by a guided missile in the Gulf War bombings of
Baghdad. Of those that died, 52 were children under 12.

I saw the hole in the roof where the missile penetrated. They never
had a chance.

I saw their pictures, women, men, children, grandmothers, teenagers.

I saw their blood on the concrete. I saw the images of their faces
burnt into the walls.

Collateral damage they call it.

There'll be more of this `collateral damage' if Iraq is attacked.
More mothers lost, husbands, wives, sons and daughters.

Baghdad.

It's cosmopolitan, lively and tolerant.

Under the threat of war life goes on. There are weddings every day (I
got offered the choice of three sons from an eager father the other
day!), buildings are under construction, people go and see movies.

Baghdad.

I would not be anywhere else in the world right now.

And I found the treasure! It's not hidden away in caves – but in the
wide smiles of the people that warm my heart like a hot (and very
sweet) cup of tea!

It gives me (and humanity) hope.

May God bless Baghdad and give courage to its people - its treasure.

Your pilgrim
Donna

PS: I'll check out the three sons and report back. I've yet to settle
on how many Camels to accept for my hand in marriage.

PPS: Thanks to the hospitality of the locals, I'm quite comfortable
here. Yes, Mum, I'm eating well and doing my laundry.

PPPS: There are about 200 Human Shields here now. Amazing people from
around the world. We have a busy life …I'll write "A day in the life
of a Human Shield" soon.

PPPPS: Please keep the pressure on! We're waiting for the bombs here,
but we'd prefer they didn't come!

PPPPPS: You can now e-mail me at andalus206@.... Please ignore
any other addresses you may have for me. Make sure you put my name in
the subject box because it is a shared account. If anyone wants to
phone me, let me know and I'll tell you the best numbers.

PPPPPPS: "If Jesus Christ were here today, he'd be in Baghdad, not
Washington!" Godfrey, brave Human Shield and sweet 68 year-old
grandfather from England.



TRUTH JUSTICE PEACE HUMAN SHIELDS IRAQ
E-MAIL: andalus206@...
WEB:    www.humanshields.org
PHONE:  +964-1-719-2303  Rm 206
         +964-1-718-4290  Rm 206
(it can take a long time to get through to us on the phone, be
patient)

Hello fellow Pilgrim Watchers,

Donna has asked me to let you know that you should "Keep an eye on the Sunday Program this week...." as she put it.

Regards,

Paul.

Hello fellow Pilgrim Watchers,
The following message was received from Donna this morning.
Regards,
Paul.
PS. To send an e-mail to Donna send it to andalus206@... with
the subject "Message for Donna Mulhearn".
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friends,

Meet Arean.

She's a 12-year-old Iraqi girl with fair skin, hazel eyes and long
eyelashes.

I met her as she lay on a bed drenched with blood in the leukemia
ward at Baghdad's main children's hospital.

Soon she will be dead.

Of course she should be at home. Playing with her friends, doing her
homework, dreaming about the future.

This little girl should not be preparing for death.

Neither should the 800 or so other children in Iraqi hospitals dying
with leukemia.

But she comes from the south of Iraq, where the use of depleted
uranium by the US military during the Gulf War has changed the lives
of the Iraqi's there forever.

You see, depleted uranium remains in the air, like dust particles,
for about 500 years.

It causes birth defects so horrific that midwives are refusing to
attend births because they "don't know what's going to come out."

In any given week an average of three new patients is admitted to
hospital with leukemia. Prior to the war it was one patient every few
months.

Arean's lips are cracked and bleeding. Her head is bald but for a few
tired wisps of hair. She has been sick a year and a half.

When I came in her eyes were closed. Her father held oxygen over her
mouth, her mother stroked her forehead. A limp needle lie in her arm,
in a pool of blood. I stood by the end of her bed. Numb.

Arean has not received chemotherapy. Her family can't afford it. Nor
can they afford the medicines required to ease her pain.
International sanctions, imposed on Iraq since the Gulf War has made
sure of that.

The sanctions have caused immense suffering in Iraq. They have made
every day life  for this graceful, educated, middle-class community
unbearable.

Standing at the foot of Arean's bed, in that moment, it all came into
clear, sharp focus. The thought of her suffering made me sick, my
head started to spin. I wanted to curl up into a ball and sob.

After a while Arean opened her eyes. She looked straight at me. Her
eyes were soft, but piercing….searching.

I moved to the side of her bed. Her eyes followed me. I held her gaze
for a few moments until I couldn't take it anymore. I had no answers.
My eyes were full of fear and hopelessness. I felt there was nothing
I could offer her.

I sat with her family and they received me with graciousness and
understanding. I couldn't speak Arabic with them, but the gesture of
holding my hand to my heart seemed to express what I was feeling.

They nodded and accepted my meek apology on behalf of the western
world.

My group headed towards the next ward, but I couldn't move. I sat
there with Arean and her family for ages. Every now and then she
would open her eyes to look at me.

I wanted to be strong, but the tears sitting in my eyes betrayed me.

My education, my resources, my mind, my convictions….all of these
were reduced to nothing in the face of depleted uranium.

I leaned closer to her and touched her skin. She tried to smile but
her cracked lips wouldn't let her – but it didn't matter, I could see
it in her eyes….

Her lovely hazel eyes that shined for a moment with an amazing
courage that inspired this pilgrim to eventually stand up and walk on.

Love
Your pilgrim
Donna

PS: Sorry about this sad note, but sanctions and sickness have made
sadness a part of life here.

PPS: I have a photo of Arean, I will try to scan it and send it to
you.

PPPS: Please keep the pressure on to stop this war. Some people here
are starting to panic and leave. I am staying.

PPPPS: Just spoke to Hugh Rimington, channel 9 news, so if you check
the news on Mon and Tues night you'll see I'm still alive and well….

PPPPPS: "What did my son do to George Bush to deserve this?" An Iraqi
mother in the cancer unit of the children's hospital.





TRUTH JUSTICE PEACE HUMAN SHIELDS IRAQ
E-MAIL: andalus206@...
WEB:    www.humanshields.org
PHONE:  +964-1-719-2303  Rm 206
         +964-1-718-4290  Rm 206
(it can take a long time to get through to us on the phone, be atient)

This is Arean, 12-year-old leukemia patient in Baghdad
Children's Hospital. A victim of depleted uranium left
lying around the south of Iraq after the Gulf War.

http://mobile.yahoo.com.au - Yahoo! Mobile
- Exchange IMs with Messenger friends on your Telstra or Vodafone mobile phone.

Hello fellow Pilgrim Watchers,
The following message was received from Donna this morning.
Regards,
Paul.
PS. To send an e-mail to Donna send it to andalus206@... with
the subject "Message for Donna Mulhearn".
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Friends,

Life's pretty hectic as a human shield in Baghdad.

Our days have been full of meetings, media interviews, talking to the locals, visits to hospitals and other important places around Baghdad, and demonstrations and more demonstrations.

Remember, I'm here with a couple of hundred peace activists so any chance they get to hold a placard and chant - they take!

We've marched to the UN to make a point, to the press centre to complain, to the square for a candlelight vigil - hell, just for a Sunday walk in the sun we had a march!

But these demonstrations have been valuable occasions because we always had the world's media there to report our message. That is, that this war is not justified.

The human shields have involved themselves in different issues. Some focused on the peace demonstrations, others on hospital visits, others schools.

We have met together each night as a large group to co-ordinate everything and organise the logistics of the mission.

This has been a quite a challenge.

The meetings are like a session of the United Nations - more tedious than a Labor party branch meeting!!

With more than 30 nationalities represented we have to translate into five main languages (phew!) and because we are all inclusive social democrat types we want the decisions to be made by consensus. This makes for excruciatingly long meetings!

I quickly got involved in organisational matters and was handed the job of media co-ordinator. I was often left to run the office and this meant long hours and a lot of demands on me.

The phone never stops ringing with journalists from around the world wanting the latest information. I'm writing press releases and organsing media events and yes, I feel like I'm back in my old job. But instead of dealing with Seven Nightly News, the Daily Telegraph and 2UE, I'm dealing with CNN, The NewYork Times and BBC! I even called Ken O'Keefe, the initiator of the movement, 'Minister' once or twice!

This responsibility has meant that I've had little time to myself and to write home as I'd hoped. I became quite exhausted and pressured, so after we did the letter to George Bush and publicised it with a press conference - I asked the group to release me for a break. That was a few days ago, and I'm still trying to make the break!

We moved out en-masse to the sites last Monday, so we now have all the human shields staying at five important sites around Baghdad.

I'm based at the Taije food silo in North Baghdad. It stores and distributes wheat, rice and barley to 5 million people in Baghdad. It's a very important site for the Iraqis'.

I'm here with 10 other human shields and we plan to stay here throughout any military attack on Baghdad. We have notified our Governments and the US President of our locations, with the aim of detering any bombing of this site.

We're living in staff accommodation, so our neighbors are workers on the site. They've received us warmly and look after us with great generosity. When we arrived there was a banner hanging over our door which reads "Welcome to the Messengers of Peace.."

There's a bunch of adorable children in the neighbourhood who always manage to brighten our days with their wide smiles and large, brown, curious eyes.

My fellow shields are a great bunch - this mission has certainly attracted its fair share of oddballs, but our site is mature and reasonably normal. The group here includes: Annette, an outspoken Scottish lady; Ruth, a nice Australian lady from Adelaide (we are the only two aussies left); David from America and Jean-Michel from Belgium.

We spend our time at the silo with the locals, doing media interviews, having more meetings and planning for when the attacks starts.

We feel Bush is playing a psychological game with us. Each day there's a new report or theory on the timing of his attack and the possible nature of it.

Things have got tense in the last few days - both inside our organisation and outside on the streets of Baghdad.

One day last week, we saw soldiers with huge machine guns set up on every corner - prior to this I hadn't even seen a gun! They were gone the next day, so perhaps it was just a dress rehearsal?

I was in the market today and things were bright and bustling, yet you can't help noticing that all the footpaths are ripped up to provide fast access to water..so normal life goes on side-by-side preparation for war. It's quite a surreal environment.

Some people think that we've won. That there's no way that Bush can strike. Others believe it's inevitable, that he's gone too far to back out now.

I hope for the first theory, but fear the second and prepare for it.

But it makes me angry...I look around and think: what right does the US have to put this nation into a state of suspension and then terror?? ...Who has the right to inflict civilian casualties and call it collateral damage when it's murder?

I kick the ball with the kids next door and I ask myself, who has the right to drive these children underground in concrete bunkers and cower in fear?

These people have suffered much over the past two decades with wars and oppression....who has the right to inflict more suffering?

Who, I ask?

Your pilgrim
Donna

PS: You may have heard reports about human shields leaving and about the deportation of five human shields. I'll explain it all as soon as I can.

PPS: Because of organizational changes here that I don't support, I am now in a very difficult position and have a huge decision to make. For those of you who pray, please pray that I can have some wisdom and clear direction.

PPPS: I am proud to say that I get the most e-mails.so keep it up andalus206@...

PPPPS: "We will match your capacity to inflict suffering, with our capacity to endure suffering. We will meet your physical force with our soul-force." Dr Martin Luther King Jnr                   


HUMAN SHIELDS IRAQ
E-MAIL:  andalus206@...
PHONE:  +964-1-816-4400 ext 4666
(it can take a long time to get through to us on the phone, be patient)

Dear friends,

The last week in Baghdad has been busy and emotional as we sit out the rollercoaster ride to war. Here’s a little of what this pilgrim human shield has been up to…

* I went walking with the monks the other day. ……

There are four Buddhist monks here with bright orange robes, shiny shaved heads, soft faces and big smiles. The teacher is from Japan, the others from Russia. They travel around the world to war-zones and hotspots with a message of peace and hope for a miracle.

I remember the day they arrived, I felt a sense of relief when I saw them. They are wise and calm and I have spent much time seeking their counsel on various issues. The sight of them always comforts me.

The monks are doing a peace march from the ancient religious town of Samara (140 kilometres north of Baghdad) right into the capital.

They walk, sing, chant, meditate and beat their drums as they walk about 20 kilometres each day.

I joined in their walk the other day, and although I had aching limbs and sore feet after three hours of walking, I felt wonderful. The simple act of walking, praying and meditating on peace for a few hours felt so productive.

The town’s people cheer along the way and children run alongside….the monks will walk into Baghdad Monday night, greeted by a full moon and hundreds of children and others with candle laterns which we’ll then float down the river Tigris.

* As children around the world downed their pens and held rallies, the Iraqi children in Baghdad did their bit……

We attended a children’s rally with about 500 screaming, crazy and absolutely adorable Iraqi children. They had signs and banners with messages of thanks to the human shields and messages of peace to the outside world. The slogans were simple, but  powerful including:

“Please do not kill us”
“We have love to give”
“Why me?”
“Look into my eyes” and the poignant
“Can’t we be friends?”…

 The kids mobbed us like celebrities, but they were the stars of the day with their warmth, energy and affection…it was a special time…

The thought of these kids being injured or killed makes my stomach churn….

* One night we were invited by the Iraqi Union of Artists to attend a play outdoors by the river…..

It was intense and dramatic – the actors performed with great passion. The play was a love story about Baghdad, and although it was mostly in Arabic, you could feel the emotion in the air which bought tears to my eyes. It was a warm night in Baghdad, I looked around to the ancient river Tigris, it sparkled with the reflection of the lights of the city. There is such grace and culture here in Baghdad. It has a fine arts community of music, drama, writing and sculpture.

The thought of this all going up in flames and smoke is heart-wrenching.

* It’s getting warmer here now……

Spring is upon us and Summer is fast approaching. Baghdad at night is full of life. Some streets are lit up with outdoor cafes, colourful juice shops and coffee shops with music flowing out to the footpaths. In the evening families are out walking, young couples meet at the fountain and hold hands.

The famous fish cafes by the river are filling up as people go out for dinner to enjoy the balmy nights.

Baghdad is magic at night…

The thought of this all going up in flames and smoke makes me feel so angry.

* We had a soccer match the other day….

Human Shields International V’s Iraqi University Squad. Our team consisted of members from Belgium, Mexico, Britain, Argentina, France, Italy, Slovenia etc decked out in shirts bought at the market that morning. Some hadn’t kicked a ball for years, and certainly never with each other!

The disciplined Iraqis had us for dinner, but they graciously let us win 5-4. The stadium was full of kids and locals. It was a lot of fun, there as a great feeling at the stadium with the slogan of the day being: “Make Football, Not war!”

Makes you wonder…. if the world leaders gathered to kick a ball around, we just might get somewhere??

* I went to church last week at St Raphael’s Catholic Church where they have a mass in English…..

When we were saying the Lord’s Prayer, the nearby mosque rang out its call to prayer. It felt like the two prayers were interwoven with each other as they rose to heaven.

The mosque and the church are on the same block. Here in Baghdad there is religious harmony – unlike Sydney where one middle-class suburb objected to a mosque being built in the area.

The Iraqis would not understand this bigoted view – they believe that religion is a personal thing. They have great respect for the Christian faith, in particular.

The thought of this tolerance being threatened is terrifying.

The Iraqis have a simple faith where often throughout the day they use the phrase “Inshallah” which means “God Willing…”

* The past week has been an emotional rollercoaster re: preparation for war…

One minute, peace is on the horizon and we prepare to go home in victory. The next minute we are given the final countdown, as journalists whisper to you a different deadline each day. The latest one, of course is March 17.

It’s the nigh the monks march into Baghdad, greeted by children with candles.

It’s St Patricks Day. It’s a full moon.

It starts at midnight tonight.

But I trust that the prayers from the monks, the mosque and the church tonight will see us through tomorrow and the coming weeks.

Inshallah….

Your pilgrim

Donna

PS: Can you believe that anyone would plan to bomb on St Patrick’s Day? That’s sacrilegious! They should all be at the pub! As for me, I’ll be wearing my Guinness baseball cap all day as a sign of respect for the Irish and if there’s a glass of the brew anywhere in Baghdad – I’ll be the one to find it!

PPS: Just a reminder that you won’t get through to me on my Yahoo account, Use andalus206@....

PPPS: This may sound silly, but I just want to say that you should not worry too much about me in the coming week if war starts. I will be sensible, I’m going to stick close to the monks and I have faith that I will come home safely soon. Please share this faith and just continue to pray for peace and mercy.  

PPPPS: “We believe in miracles and pray that peace be given a last chance” the monks in Baghdad.

HUMAN SHIELDS IRAQ

E-MAIL:  andalus206@...

PHONE:  +964-1-816-4400 ext 4666

(it can take a long time to get through to us on the phone, be patient)

> Hi everyone,
>
> Just to show that I should read Donna's e-mails before sending them on her
> e-mail address is palestine@...
>
> Remember to include Donna's name in the subject line as this is a shared
> e-mail address.
>
> Thanks and regards,
>
> Paul.
>

Hello fellow Pilgrim Watchers,
The following message was received from Donna this morning.
Regards,
Paul.
============================================================================
PS. Donnas e-mail address has changed to donnamulhearn@....  This is a private account so there is no longer a need to enter Donna's name in the subject line any more.
============================================================================
PPS. To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ThePilgrim-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com
PPPS. To subscribe from this group, send an email to: ThePilgrim-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
______________________________________________________________

Friends,

It is Sunday evening here...the bombs have been going all day...they going now and it’s making me nervous...for heavens sake it’s the Christian Sabbath. Is nothing sacred in war?

Dark, black clouds hang over Baghdad. Smoke from the bombs or from the oil wells that are burning.

Air raid sirens are bellowing as I type.

We went to the Catholic hospital this afternoon across from the church. It was a sobering visit.

We spoke to Sister Marianne...a short, gentle elderly woman.

She told us that there have been several expectant mothers who have lost their babies in the womb because of extreme stress.

So here we have this attack killing the unborn as well as women, men and children!! Tell me that that is not a crime against humanity.

Our talk was interrupted by huge blasts that almost knocked us off our feet...the noise rocked my eardrums. It was 5.30pm. The bomb would have hit only a few blocks away.

Sister Marianne also told us about the effect the bombing is having on small children around Baghdad. Many are coming in very sick, mostly severe vomiting because of the intense fear.

So now we have the smug, rich powerful leaders of the world forcing innocent children into such a state of fear that they are physically sick....and no doubt emotionally damaged for years to come...

I wonder if they are proud of this attack. I wonder what they think they will achieve

Sister Marianne eagerly took up our offer to help in any way we could. So we have been placed on a roster to come in to the hospital each day.

I told her I’m not trained in medicine, but she smiled and said, just be here to comfort the women and children, that’s what we need.

So now I will go to St Raphael’s Hospital to cry with the women and try to comfort the children...

People say that I am naive to be here...they say my mission is a waste of time...they say that I am foolishly mislead...well, if showing compassion to a fellow human being is naive and foolish then so be it...

My only fear is that as I do this work is that my anger will betray me...

I have to stop now cos the bombs are rocking this place...

God help us all...

Donna

Hello Everyone,

I have just got off the phone from talking to Donna and she has asked me to
pass on some messages to you.

First of all Donna is well and in good spirits but a little tired.  Tired
from the all night bombings, that result in only having one or two hours
sleep, and tired from the stress of living in a war zone.

There has been a lack of communication because the access point to the
internet has been down for a couple of days and in not likely to be back up
soon.  I gather that her attempt to send a Pilgrim Note two days ago is
still sitting in some computers outbox somewhere in Bagdad!  Donna has been
keeping her diary and will publish it as soon as she can.

If you want to catch up with what's happening then your choices are either
2UE or ABC Radio and "The Sun Herald".  Donna has been keeping "The Sun
Herald" up to date with her diary and she expects that there will be a
story, possibly with a photo, this Sunday.

The good news is that, as Donna doesn't want to be involved in the ground
war or be "liberated" by the Americans, she with a number of fellow Human
Shields are organising to hire a car and leave Bagdad as soon as possible.
(Talk about leaving it to the last possible minute.)  They will be
travelling wets by road to either Jordan or Syria.  When they travel, day or
night, will be up to the driver, who I assume comes with the car.

After Donna gets out of Iraq, she hopes to stay in the Middle-East for a
short while but hopes to be home in a few weeks, possibly before Easter.
Donna asked that you keep her in your thoughts and prayers (as if she is
ever out of them) while the group attempt to leave Bagdad and Iraq.

Donna also want everyone to know that when she gets home she will be looking
for lots of support to put as much pressure on the Prime Minister as
possible.

That was all Donna had to say.  Personally I felt that she did sounded a
little tired but was still definitely Donna.

==========

Finally a practical point regarding The Pilgrim group.  It is possible that
some people have not been receiving the pilgrim notes via the group e-mail
system.  To ensure your e-mail addresses are correct this message is being
sent out via the group and directly to your e-mail address.

This could be for a number of reasons:

* Your address was entered incorrectly.  If that's the case you wont
get this either but your e-mail will bounce and at least I'll know which
addresses are invalid and possibly correct them.
* If you don't get this e-mail via the group then you can subscribe
yourself to the group by sending a blank e-mail to
mailto:ThePilgrim-subscribe@yahoogroups.com. Clicking on this link should do
that for you.
* If you only get this e-mail from The Pilgrim group then it's because
you have joined after I extracted the e-mail addresses from the list.

If you want to Donna's previous e-mails from this trip are all available at
the Yahoo group site http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thepilgrim/ or after a
few days delay at http://www.pilgrimstoryteller.com.

Also, if you know someone who thinks that they should be getting these
e-mail and is not, or you know of someone who would like to get these
e-mails, then forward this message to them and ask then to click on the
e-mail address above and they will be subscribed.

If you have any questions about "The Pilgrim" group or my conversation with
Donna let me know and I'll try to answer them.


Regards to all,

Paul Heywood.

"The Pilgrim" moderator.

"The problem with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the
intelligent are full of doubt."
Bertrand Russell

Hi Paul,

Not sure if you've heard that I'm out of Iraq now...I hope to write a pilgrim note tomorrow that I can send out to everyone....

I am safe and well in Amman, Jordan, after meeting Australian SAS troops on the road!! Quite an experience!

.
.
.

talk again soon,

Donna

I found the following article on the Sydney Morning Herald web site and thought some of you may be interested.

http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/04/01/1048962744900.html

Regards,

Paul.

Hello friends,

It's so nice to talk to you again...I'm sorry that I've been out of
touch for a while, but I'm sure you understand....

I have so much to write about and I hope to work hard doing that
over the next few days and to get the stories out to you...

I'm still suffering the effects of being in a war zone, I am still
exhausted and my head is a bit fuzzy, so please forgive me if it
takes a few days to get all the info out...

But in the meantime, I can send you some of the diaries that I wrote
when the bombing started in Baghdad. Of course, they are now out of
date, but they will give you an idea of what the situation was like
there and the sort of experiences I was having.

I have already sent out Diary 1, but for those new to the list you
can access it and my other stories from Iraq at the website
www.pilgrimstoryteller.com

So here is Diary two, I will send the others separately.

Let me say thank you so much to you all for your support, I did feel
it strongly when I was in Baghdad.

I look forward to coming back to Australia next week to continue the
campaign to stop this stupid war. I am more determined than ever.

love to all
Donna

Diary of a Human Shield 2

Back at the site on Thursday (March 20) everyone was in a strange
mood.

We were expecting a heavy night of bombing, but now that we had a
little experience to draw on, perhaps we weren't as tense as the
night before?

Someone put on classical music. Bach, to be precise. It seemed to
have a soothing effect on everyone…

We dined on a gourmet mix of rice and pototoes in a lovely sauce
made by our mad Italian friend and comedian Giavanni.

We enjoyed the meal, we joked and laughed with some George Bush
jokes and impersonations of world leaders…scenes of war and
patriotism flickered on the TV in the corner, some listened on the
short-wave radio to BBC world service. Thankfully there is a nice
sense of humour in our group. We laughed and joked some more.

There we were in a war zone, expecting bombs at any minute, joking
around. It was surreal…but what else can you do???

It was 9pm when the first explosions started, much earlier than the
night before.

The fireworks, the blasts, the shaking went for about an hour or so…
they seemed a safe enough distance away for us to be able to go
outside and watch..

I thought about my friends at the other sites and hoped they were
okay.

We expected another blast later, but the Americans were polite
enough to give us a   rest for the remainder of Thursday night.

But I didn't sleep - too busy sharing the duty of answering the
phone to media enquiries from around the world and too busy thinking
about all this….

Diary of a Human Shield 3.

On Friday (March 21), we drove into central Baghdad through the
smoke and haze to check the news. We realised that the outside world
probably knows more about the targets and the damage than we do.

We touch base with human shields from the other sites. Everyone is
okay. We head back to the site early.

We heard that tonight would be a `doozy'.

It was.

8pm – The fireworks started early as we were serving up dinner…

So I had my dinner on the front steps, not by moonlight or
starlight, but by missile light!

The sky glowed with the red missiles and bright, white anti-aircraft
fire.

It was more intense than the previous two nights.

We can hear the planes overhead now, but we can't see them.

We always wonder when they will come close to us.

I'm sitting on the front steps in a conversation, the fireworks now
in right in front of me. The noises are louder, a mixture of
explosions and anti-aircraft missiles.

The conversation is the same as always – theories of the military
attack, what will be the strategy, the truth about what's happened,
what might happen next etc etc

I'm getting tired of these conversations, they just go round and
round in circles.

There's fire again in the south.

They've been going an hour now – the largest campaign so far.

The guys out on the hill have come inside – they can feel pieces of
debris fall down in front of them…

It's getting louder now. It's right out front.

The planes sound like mosquitoes buzzing.

We've had a solid 20 minutes of intense bombing and fire back. Every
now and then a bomb shakes the building.

Tom the American ex-vet is playing the harmonica: Danny Boy, Silent
Night…..As the noise gets louder, Tom plays louder.

Then a lull.

I guess they're having a coffee break. We put the kettle on too.

We try to call around the other sites to check everyone is okay…

I do a phone interview later in the night and I hear US journalist
Peter Arnett's report when I'm on hold.

He said 300 cruise missiles fired on Baghdad in one hour.

He said it was the start of Operation "Shock and Awe". He said it
was "shocking and awful"…(his words not mine!) He said the blasts
sent him flying across his central Baghdad hotel room right on his
back.

I know how he feels. I had a similar experience later that night.

I was about 10pm I was walking towards the glass doors to go outside.

"Kaboom!"

I was blown backwards and almost off my feet by the air pressure.

I then instinctively fell to the floor and crawled over to the
concrete wall and huddled up against it. My eardrums ached, my head
was spinning. I braced myself for what may come next, but there was
nothing but the sound of my heart pounding.

After a few moments, I gained the courage to stand up and ask `Is
everyone okay?' . We gather together and de-briefed. We agreed that
it must have been a missile that hit the site next to us – a
training camp.

We are now all hyped up. We talk and compare stories. We go a bit
stir crazy.

Giovanni, by far the craziest, labels our odd behaviour as the
natural effect of PMS – Post Missile Syndrome!

Rosemarie suggested we throw a tomatoe at John Howard for every
missile that dropped on Baghdad this night.

I told her I couldn't condone that because I'm a pacifist, but
nevertheless the thought amused me – That would mean 300
tomatoes….mmmmm, could be interesting, and I know enough angry
Australians that would do it…

Giovanni then suggests that it would make a nice bolognese sauce…we
then joke about the flavours that our world leaders would provide to
such a sauce…as we proceeded the conversation gets crazier and we
laugh some more…

We blam it all on out Post Missile Syndrome.

One human shield came into the living room and said she was thinking
about the people that may have died tonight. She thought it was
inappropriate that the rest of us were laughing…

To laugh or not to laugh? That was the question for us after that
stinging rebuke.

We were all still in a bit of shock from the closeness of the attack
and we all responded in different ways…Patricia went back to bed,
Rosemarie got angry and dreamed up plans to throw tomatoes,
Gionvanni put on some funny hats and created new bolognese sauce
recipes, others sat outside in silence…I just joined in the banter
and talked…

I went to bed tonight with my clothes on. There's no point changing
into pyjamas because we are up three or four times a night with the
bombs and phone calls anyway…may as well be prepared!

Diary of a Human Shield 4

Saturday (March 22)

We went in to the human shield office to compare the `shock and awe'
experiences of the night before. Thankfully everyone at the other
sites were fine. It seemed that we had one of the worst blasts of
the night before.

Today was the first instance of the day-time bombing. When you're
sitting down in the middle of the day having a cup of team it seems
rather unusual to all of a sudden have the whole room shake.

My initial though was "God, what a hide! You keep us up all night
and now during the day we still have no respite?"

Sat 4pm – the bombing continued all afternoon and thick, black smoke
now covered Baghdad in a dark cloud.

Driving back to the water site later, we noticed that people on the
street were looking up at the sky.

Sure enough, what I saw next was like something out of a sci-fi
flick….

I saw two small, silver missiles with little yellow headlights just
gliding through the air.

I turned my head and watched them out the back of the car until they
were out of sight.

I admit, it was a nervous drive back to the site with two missiles
in the background.

Back at the site Giovanni had whipped up yet another culinary
delight with the same ingredients (potatoes and rice) and Angell
from Norway called it the "third last supper' he has labeled each
evening meal the `last' each night since the bombs started…

7pm – Here they come. They seem to start an hour earlier every
night. Someone puts on the Bach CD again. We try to relax. We seem
to be getting used to this now.

Nevertheless the large explosions still shake us…we try to talk and
be calm with the colourful propaganda flickering on the TV in the
background, Bach playing and cups of tea. Lull. At least they
respect our tea break!

9pm – It starts again. I go outside and we can actually see the
missiles fly overhead and hear them whiz by. It's an eerie feeling.
I just hold my breathe until they have gone past us, but I feel
dread for the target that will receive them.

I went to bed after midnight on Saturday night…but we were not able
to get a good night's sleep.

Another session started at 2.30am, then another large and loud
session at 4.30am.

We heard some machine gun fire from the police compound next door.
We shuddered at the thought that soldiers may have arrived. One of
our greatest fears is that we'll have a groundwar around us. It's
too frightening to even think about.

We woke up to air raid sirens and more bombs at 8.30am.

"Good Morning Baghdad!" it felt like a scene from that movie of a
similar name.

We've had constant bombing for 24 hours now…and not only do I sleep
in my clothes now, but also my shoes….

The constant media interviews that come all through the night are
almost as annoying as the bombs! But they do serve a valuable
purpose for us.

When journalists or radio announcers at home ask me what's gong on,
it gives me a chance to de-brief to the outside world and also to
remind them, and therefore me, why I am here.

The questions are helpful:
"Now you're stuck in a war zone, do you regret coming here?"

That's an easy one. The answer is No, because every day I feel how
my presence here is valuable. I can see that the Iraqi people are
encouraged by this action.

It is a privilege for me to be here and to tell them that they are
not alone. That there are millions of people around the world who do
not believe this war should happen. The fact that I can pass on this
message in person is an honour. And they appreciate the message. It
is important to them and they are moved by it.

It is solidarity in its most humane, compassionate form. What a
special experience for me to participate in this two-way solidarity.

It is something I will remember always.

Do I regret coming here? Are you kidding? Here, under the threat of
death, I have never felt more alive!

Diary of a Human Shield 5

Sunday March 23

We hope for a quiet day today, having endured the 4th night and 5th
morning of bombing…

I'm starting to suffer from sleep deprivation now. I generally only
get one to two hours sleep in a row…"Please, Mr Bush", we
plead, "Give us a rest for the Sabbath?"

We head into town, the sky is dark with thick, black smoke. We drive
straight into a cloud of black smoke that's covering the highway. We
are in darkness a few moments and then come out the other end. The
scene is sombre and eerie.

3.30pm – I'm doing an interview with an Iraqi magazine in the hotel
café when we hear three loud explosions close by that shake the
building.

My interviewer does not batter an eyelid and says in way of
explanation….

"We are not afraid of the bombs. We are the generation of war, of
sanctions. Please don't worry…."

The interview continues….life continues…

On the other hand our Iraqi friend, Faris is feeling down. He is
worried about his wife and children. He had hoped to get them out of
Baghdad, but couldn't do it in time. We sit with him for a while,
wishing we had more answers or some hope to offer. We offer tea
instead.

5pm – We head down to church, but on arrival are told we missed it.
They had to move it forward because of the bombing. So we go across
the road and visit the St Raphael's Catholic hospital.

It was a sad visit and we walked away with a heavy heart.

Sister Marianne told us about several pregnant women who have come
to the hospital in the past few days having miscarried.

She said the woman lost their babies after suffering extreme shock
because of the bombing. So now we are losing the lives of unborn
children as well as other innocent civilians. No one seems to have a
chance against this war?

She also told us about young children – aged from say three to five
who have come in hysterical. They have also suffered intense shock
from the loud explosions which made them physically sick with severe
vomiting.

The thought  made me ill. I know what it's like when a small child
hears a loud `bang'. I can only imagine what it must be like for
them when their eardrums are almost blown away with a huge explosion
outside their window.

Then just as if to accentuate the point, as we spoke to Sister
Marianne we are shaken by loud explosions from bombs nearby….it's
never ending now…

Sister Marianne eagerly accepted our offer to volunteer at the
hospital to help comfort the women and children that come in.
Although we had no medical expertise she said it was important just
to sit with them, listen to their stories, play with the children
and hug them. I could not think of anything else I wanted to do more.

Of course, I would have no answers for these people, but I would
hope that our touch, our embrace…our presence would provide some
encouragement.

This war is a disgrace.

I wish that George W Bush, Tony Blair and John Howard could come to
this hospital and meet these women and children. Then they would
know who the real victims are.
It is not Saddam Hussein. It is the ordinary people of Iraq.

Back at the office we see images on the television of young US
marines who were captured by Iraqi forces in the south.

One looks white with fear. They ask him his name and position and
then they ask him "Why are you here in the south of Iraq?"

His answer was pathetic and poignant: "I was following orders".

Orders from powerful men in the Whitehouse who will never meet these
people whose lives they are destroying - American and Iraqi.

I walk away from the television disgusted by the whole spectacle.

We drive back to the site through the deserted streets of Baghdad
fast and anxious.

Back at the site we bunker down. We are warned it will be a heavy
night.

Diary of a Human Shield 6

Sunday night, March 23

Back at the site, I go for a walk up the hill to seek some quiet time befor=
e
the bombs start.

As the sun sets I find a spot and start to pray in silence. Meditation. The=

familiarity of my mantra is comforting. Food for the soul...I haven't done =

enough of it in Baghdad and I really needed it this night.

When I opened my eyes it was growing dark. But I notice to the left of me, =
just
over near the gate, a man. Must be the caretaker. He was on his knees, pray=
ing
on his little rug.

He looks over to me and we hold a gaze for a second. We are both praying to=
  our
respective Gods, but we are aware it's the same prayer. For a moment our
spirituality connected us.

I smile to him, rise and go back inside…the prayer on my breathe this night=

simply "Lord have mercy".

We make it through dinner in relative peace and I get excited about the
prospect of some rest. At 9.30pm I head to bed early and do some writing. O=
ther
human shields are pottering around our make-shift dormitory. I tell myself =
I
must relax and ignore the phone tonight. I have to do Channel 9 at 11pm and=

that's it…I'll do no more!

10pm – On the dot. A blast that shakes my head so bad I let out a scream.

God it felt like it was outside my window.

In an attempt to lighten the room with humour Tom yells out: "Don't worry i=
t's
only the bathroom door again!"….We laugh and take a breathe…

Bang! Another one. It felt closer. I scream again and move to the middle of=
  the
room away from the window.  I feel vulnerable there, so I crouch against a =

piece of wall near the door, further away from the windows.

Whooahhh...another one....sounds like a gunshot right in my ear. I put my h=
ead
between my legs, my screams now reduced to little squeals…

Another one.....God, each time they sound like they're getting closer. They=

shake the building, they shake my insides. Jean-Michel leans over me. Just =

breathe, just breathe, just breathe, he says

I breathe. There's nothing more I can do, but repeat the prayer of earlier =
this
evening....mercy....

God, I wish Channel 9 would call now so that they could hear this!

They're falling all around us now.

Between each one we hear the sound of aircraft overhead…it makes me sick wh=
en
I hear it because I know it means another one.

I brace myself....another one…

Will the next one hit us?? That's the only thought in my head. I clench my =

teeth and try to breathe.

The Imman from the nearby mosque has started a call to prayer. He joins my =
cry
for mercy. Its 10.20pm now and the bombs are still going off all around us.=

It's relentless.

I stay against the wall, now with my head up. I've never felt anything like=

this, but I'm fully aware that this is what I came here for.

I feel like my ear drums will explode. A dozen missiles in 20 minutes – a
shower of terror.

There's silence for a while, but I don't get up until I am convinced it's o=
ver.
Eventually I rise in a bit of a daze.

I go to speak with everyone. The media calls came thick and fast.

The interviews help me to de-brief. I speak to ABC Newcastle which was a gr=
eat
relief that my home town could hear that I was okay.

More interviews…the night passed on the phone…at one stage the others were =

talking and laughing in the background – I wondered how that sounded to tho=
se
on the other end of the line.

Would they think that we were brave, insensitive or just crazy?

As usual the human shields responded in their different ways.

That night I slept on the couch in our makeshift living room to answer the =

phone. It never stopped. Faint bombs exploded in the distance…a rain of ter=
ror
for someone else, no doubt.

I remember an interview I did the first week I was in Baghdad. A journalist=

asked me what I wanted to experience here. One of my answers was that I wan=
ted
to know what it feels like to be under siege. Under attack with no way out.=

That's the only way I felt I could have a pure solidarity with the Iraqi pe=
ople.

Under siege... I felt it this night

It feels horrible. You feel vulnerable. Weak. Powerless to defend yourself.=


Under siege and no sleep for the fifth night running. When's it gonna end? =

Diary of a Human Shield 7

Monday March 24

We head into town and share our experience of the night before with the oth=
er
human shields. It seems that each night a different site seems to cop it ba=
d.

Later on we head down to St Raphael's Church to go to mass. Near the church=

there is a little section of the street that seems to be alive with activit=
y.

It's almost as if the traders in this little precinct don't realize that th=
ere
is a war going on, or they've just decided they will not allow it to steal =

their livelihood.

The supermarket is open. It has stalls out the front with big bags of potat=
o
chips. Next door is the kebab shop. The friendly man there whistles as he u=
ses
his large sword-like knife to shave off bits of chicken for his sandwiches.=

He's running a brisk trade. The sandwiches are popular and today there's
people out to enjoy them.

Across the road is a barber shop with a queue of gentleman waiting patientl=
y
for their trim and shave.

Next to that are the fruit and veg shops with displays of colourful oranges=
  and
bananas.

Then there's the coffee shop where men sit and smoke from ornate pipes with=

hoses. We sit there and have a coffee. It could be an ordinary day in any
middle-eastern city, but every now and then the sound of bombs reminds you =

that you are, in fact, in Baghdad under attack by America and its friends.

But it's encouraging to see these little pockets of resistance around Baghd=
ad.
People seem determined to get on with their life despite this terrorism.

Another example of this determination is the bright red double-decker buses=

which continue to run to schedule each day – public transport at its best! =

Other days you see the older boys on sporting fields playing their club soc=
cer
matches, determined not to miss a game.

4pm - We go to mass, the congregation is made up mostly of the local nuns a=
nd
women. It's nice to experience the familiarity of the mass, and even though=
  it
is in Arabic, it is immensely comforting to me.

But again, it seems there is no escape from the bombs. During mass, we hear=

some blasts nearby, the building shakes and the simple chandeliers above my=

head start to sway. I let out an angry sigh, but the priest continues witho=
ut
missing a beat.

6pm – We head back to the site and tonight I'm determined to get some sleep=
.
We have a relatively quiet night. There is a strong wind outside, it's
starting to blow up some dust.

About 4am I'm woken up by channel 7. While I'm speaking to them I see a hug=
e
explosion in front of me. Like a big mushroom of fire. It must have been a =

plane hit, or perhaps an oil field set alight.

I hear more explosions from central Baghdad in the early morning.

As always I sit and wonder, what damage and misery it has caused who took t=
o
those who took its brunt.

Diary 8

Tuesday, March 25

We head into town as usual....the wind is blowing a gale now...

The black smoke mixes with dust coming in from the desert whipped up by the=

massive wind.

The sky is orange and brown with dust and grime. The air is so thick you ca=
n
touch it. It feels so eerie. I walk outside but can't even see my hand in f=
ont
of me let alone my favourite mosque across the road.

It looks apocalyptic. Like it's the end of the world, this is how I've alwa=
ys
imagined it...…

I expect the Battle of Armaggedon to start any minute now…I go inside for a=

cup of tea and wait for the four horseman of the apocalypse to show up…    =


Nina, a fellow human shield, says the sky is angry.

She says it's mother nature playing her part. The US troops will not be abl=
e
to advance tonight. This will set them back days. The Iraqis say extra pray=
ers
of thanks today.

I try to write some e-mails and almost fall asleep at the keyboard. I've ha=
d
no proper sleep for days.

War is exhausting.

Back at the water treatment plant where we live, I mention to Giovanni how =
much
I hope we have no serious bombs tonight.

"Oh come on," he says, "We're used to a little bombing after dinner. You wo=
n't
know what to do without it!"

6pm - The bombing, in fact, starts before dinner. We put on Bach and carry =
on.

It is Angell's birthday today - our human shield from Norway who walks arou=
nd
speaking into a small cassette recorder. He is a sociologist and has a rese=
arch
project here that will keep him busy for years. Every now and then he
interviews us to keep track of our thoughts and feelings.

Yukiko, our Japanese human shield sweetheart, brings home hamburgers for di=
nner
to celebrate Angell turning 35. We wonder where on earth she found them, bu=
t
eat them happily and I go to rest.

10pm – it's blowing a gale outside. Giovanni is pacing the dormitory swipin=
g
mosquitoes on the wall with a pair of old stockings. Tom is lying on his be=
d
listening to the radio on his earphones.

Yukiko is looking into her mirror playing with different hairstyles. Rosema=
rie
is sound asleep. I don't know how she does it with the lights on and a room=
ful
of people moving about.

The others are in the loungeroom playing backgammon, talking and enjoying s=
ome
birthday sweets.

I start reading Michael Moore's book "Stupid White Men", seems very apt for=

now.

It's a strange night, we can hear the air aid sirens through the raging win=
d.

I seek some quiet time, but don't know where to go.

Finding a place of peace in a war zone is hard.

Finding an inner peace is harder still, but I think that goes for any
circumstances.

Seeking peace, outwardly and inwardly is so important to our lives…. I'm
learning a lot about it here.

I think the reason we don't have peace outwardly on a wide scale is because=

too few people have it inwardly.

If we all responded to aggression non-violently then collective violence wo=
uld
be less, because the whole is, after all, is a sum of its parts.

"You can only stop the war within yourself,' says Jean-Michel.

I reflect on how I've failed to be at peace, with myself and others….

I decide the next rally I should attend, must be within myself. To challeng=
e my
capacity to be aggressive to others.

Perhaps we all should attend such a rally?

Some people are sitting outside watching the sleety rain. It's a mix of dir=
t
and oil which falls more like a mud than water.

We wash some clothes in buckets and someone puts on my Crowded House CD.

More bombs come at 11.15pm – a normally patient Yukiko looks up at the sky =
and
says in frustration `please, just go home".

Diary of a Human Shield 9 – Decisions….

Wednesday, March 26

We caught a taxi into town through the brown haze which seems to be
getting thicker.

I'm getting seriously tired now, seven nights in a row with little
sleep. I can hear it in my voice. My friend Janeane called this
morning which was great, and my brother Paul called last night.
Newcastle Trades Hall Council and my local newspaper, The Maitland
Mercury have also been calling with offers of support. It's always
nice to connect with home.

In town the internet is down, which is a great disappointment that
we can't send our latest reports. It's a terrible feeling to be cut
off and very frustrating that we can't get information out.

Hard-working Australian human shield, Rosemarie, says that if we
don't get back on line, one of us must leave to take out
information. She says the Australians should stagger their
departures every couple of weeks to get fresh information out. She
reckons since I'm the youngest, I should be the first…I start to
think about when it will be the right time to go home…

At a chance, I tried to phone Mum again and got through, thank God.

It was a really bad line – I could hardly hear her, but I could hear
that she was hysterical. She was crying and saying "I love you, I
love you, I love you…" over and over again and then `come home,
please come home'.

It was gut-wrenching, I choked back tears, but tried to stay strong
so she would hear no weakness in my voice. I told her I would try to
come home soon…she was relieved…now I'm starting to question when I
should go home…we will soon lose the phone lines, then we will be
powerless to get the message out…

Then another disturbing event. Several human shields were asked to
leave Iraq under the suspicion of being spies. "Security reasons',
they said. Two of them were my good friends, Phil from England and
Jurgen from Germany. We all came in at the same time. I respected,
trusted and confided in them - the most unlikely spies you'd ever
meet. I couldn't believe it. Surely of all the people asked to leave
it should have been me? I always ask questions and challenge things –
  maybe that's a dead giveaway that I'm not a spy?

The boys were thanked for their `brave and noble' work as human
shields. No hard feelings.

This decision on one hand, seems to me to be crazy, but then again,
this is a country at war and I guess they are entitled to make crazy
decisions if they want to. But perhaps, the idea was not so crazy.
We were quite sure there were spies among the human shields, and
often we would speculate among ourselves who they were…but never did
we think of Phil and Jurgen, two committed and hard-working human
shields. I'll miss them both.

With crazy things happening, it makes me ask the question of when is
it time for me to go…

Spent the afternoon de-briefing about what happened with Michel, and
older and wiser Swiss human Shield. He is concerned about the
situation and wants to leave. He encourages me to join him.

So many things seem to be pointing that way….but then came the
clincher.

A human shield described an incident she saw which indicated that
civil strife may be starting to break out on the streets. I always
said that I had two exit points from Iraq. One, if the Iraqi's asked
us to leave because we become a burden, and two if there was any
hint of civil unrest, because that's not my business as a human
shield. I have no place in a ground war, especially US-organised
civil war.

So I had to decide if I would honour that commitment I made to
myself two months ago…I thought about the communications block, the
fact that I did not want to meet US troops and have them claim that
they `rescued' me and I thought about the sound of my mother's
voice….

It was clear I had a decision to make…it seemed that someone was
trying to tell me something today. Something inside me was saying it
was the end for me…

I decided to listen to my gut.

Swiss Michel wants to leave tomorrow…but I don't want to rush…I'll
leave it as long as I can.

We hear that 20 South Africans are leaving on Friday. Giovanni also
wants to go and Tom as well. Remarkably, though, we hear of other
human shields arriving to take our place.

So the task now – to arrange a car, set a price and the hardest
decision…set a date.

With the coalition troops heading to Baghdad, timing will be
everything….

We need a safe road. I guess that can't be guaranteed and the longer
we put it off, the harder it will be.

Decisions, decisions….just when you make a huge one, it seems there
is a harder one waiting in the wings.

I spend some time with my closest companion here Jean-Michel. He
wants to stay but accepts my decision to go and vice-versa. At
first, I wanted to convince him to come with me, but I know this is
a personal decision for everyone.

The drive back to the site this evening is like a scene from Mad
Max. The streets are empty and we drive through the orange brown
haze and dirty rain. The speakers in the car play the haunting sound
of the Koran being sung. Jean-Michel, a sensitive soul, weeps
quietly. I stare out the window and notice the build up of tanks and
soldiers. A ground war is near.

Back at the site we go straight to lie down. I feel so tired. I'm
falling asleep on the spot. Jean-Michel cries some more, but there's
nothing I can say to comfort him. I can see now that he is in the
midst of making decisions and it's not easy.

My stomach is sore.

Giovanni cooks up a marvelous stew with rice. I ask him to marry me
again. He ignores me again. He has three ex-wives already and says
he is in retirement. Fair enough. We talk a bit and the black humour
gets worse. We discuss for some time the fact that the badminton
racquet hanging on the wall could be our last possible defence if
the bombs start dropping on us.

As if on queue, more bombs go off in the distance. It's still very
windy outside and cold and bleak, but we can clearly hear the dull
thud that has become so familiar to us.

Some of them come close.

I wonder what the night will in bring. The oil refinery received a
battering the last few nights and they lost power and water for a
while. The human shields are so vulnerable there, the brave souls.
Of course, I don't consider myself as brave at all…just angry. But,
I admit when you see the human shields at other sites you realize
the significance of what we are doing.

Jean-Michel and I do meditation with bombs in the background.

Giovanni paces the rooms and squats mosquitoes. Yukiko grooms in the
mirror, Tom falls asleep with his book on his chest.

With a departure in the next few days, I pray for the right timing
and that we make the most of our last days here.

Diary 10 – Lives destroyed.

Thursday March 27

I felt sick as we walked into the hospital ward. Rows of beds, full, mostly=
  of
children, but some elderly men as well.

These were the victims of the bombing from the night before. Just ordinary =

people, trying to go about their ordinary lives.

These are the ones that survived.

I met men who looked totally devastated and helpless with their various
injuries - severe, debilitating burns, deep wounds, limbs amputated. Their =

wives sat beside their beds weeping quietly.

There's the old man who was in such pain from third degree burns to most of=

his body that he could hardly speak. He didn't have to. His face said it al=
l.
He had a gentle, grandfatherly face…but his large eyes were full of pain an=
d
grief.

He reached out his hand to us and we held it as we cried by his bed. He loo=
ked
at us with such an innocent grace. I wondered about his family…as if she re=
ad
my thoughts the nurse said "He's on he's own now".…Oh God, I was too afraid=
  to
ask the story for fear I would scream in anguish or collapse in grief.

Here's a sweet, gentle old man apparently being "liberated" by the
Americans….now he's left to experience `democracy' alone, his body broken. =


I met the beautiful little girl, Rosool.  Her long, dark hair, in a plaited=

ponytail, stretches high above her pillow. She has huge brown eyes and the =

longest eyelashes I've ever seen. She sat motionless and looked at us with =
a
face that was wiser than her years.

Rosool was playing at home when pieces of flying shrapnel ripped out pieces=
  of
her chest and right arm. The wounds were deep. Her father, so distressed he=
  can
hardly talk, fears she may lose her arm.

Then there's Omar, who was wincing in pain as he moved about trying to get =

comfortable. He face is cut up by glass and shrapnel and he has severe inte=
rnal
injuries. I learnt that Omar lost both his parents in the attack last night=
.

He doesn't know it yet.

The nurses fear if he knows, the grief could kill him.

I wonder what Omar thinks of this `liberation'. I think George Bush should =
go
and explain it to him. But I don't think he'll be impressed with the concep=
t.
I think he'll just want his Mum and Dad back.

I left the hospital feeling numb.

We then went to the site of the bombing. What is normally a commercial stre=
et,
was a scene of mass destruction.

I saw the blood of three people having dinner in a corner restaurant splatt=
ered
across the walls and the floor. They were enjoying an evening meal when, fo=
r no
valid reason, their lives were cut short.

I saw many cars parked on the street, incinerated beyond recognition. I
remembered the man I met in the hospital who suffered severe burns as he
frantically tried to pull his daughter from his burning car. He had popped =
into
the shop to get bread when the bomb hit. His daughter didn't have a chance.=


And the worst….I met a man who lost every member of his family. His wife, h=
is
parents and his children when his house was hit. He was heading out the fro=
nt
door to get something when the bomb hit the back of his house where the fam=
ily
was gathered for dinner.

He could hardly talk but he `felt like screaming on the inside' a human shi=
eld
speaking Arabic said.

The crowd around us was tense. They were angry. They started chanting sloga=
ns
in support of Saddam Hussein.

If ever he was their enemy, then he is no longer. Now they have a new enemy=
  to
deal with:

The US-led coalition who are destroying their lives.

If this is supposed to be a war against Saddam Hussein then nothing I saw t=
his
day is going to remove him from power. It will only consolidate his positio=
n as
leader and protector.

"Go home Bush, go home Bush, go home Bush!" the people shouted.

"Indeed", I thought. "You have won no hearts and minds here. Your plan has =
not
worked. Now please, take your guns and bombs and violence and terror and go=

home."

I went to church that afternoon as usual and prayed the same prayer, but wi=
th
much more desperation …

"Lord, have mercy."