"If I had known you were unveiled, I would have brought you a scarf to cover your head with," Abou Amin told me as he got into the car that was to take us to Baghdad. Those were his first words to me. It was 2 a.m. in Amman, Jordan. Four of us were setting out for Iraq, and we faced a 12-hour ride east through the desert. We were all nervous. I'd arrived in Amman a few hours earlier that day in May, en route to see my native Baghdad for the first time in about 20 years. An uncle long exiled in Jordan said he didn't want me to travel alone -- there were too many stories about desert bandits and other dangers -- so he arranged for me to make the trip with a young driver and two older men. His wife advised me that the older men were religious. She had prepared me to speak with them in a particular way, one virtually required by the culture. The first of the men, Abou Haider, was sweet. He asked me where I wished to sit. If I'd sat next to either of the men, I might have accidentally brushed against one of them during the long trip, ruining his ablutions and making him impure, because I'm a woman. I didn't really want to ride in the front seat, but I did. As we were about to pick up the second man, the driver worried if he'd be bringing much luggage.
News 
Market Data 
Discover 
