They lived in fear.. now they're free

Since US-led coalition forces deposed Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein in 2003, the country has been beset by civil disorder, violence from insurgents and sectarian tension. Ten days ago, JOANNA VALLELY travelled to Basra, where she talked to Scottish troops on the frontline. Today, she speaks to Iraqis who have fled to Edinburgh to find out what life was like under Saddam and how Iraq has changed since.

Aisha Majid, 40, a fashion designer from Duddingston, and her sister Esraa Majid, 38, a shop manager, from Portobello. Aisha fled Iraq in 2006, while Esraa left in 1996
AISHA woke up in her house in Baghdad, filled with dread at the thought of the new day ahead. Fearful of suicide bombers attacking the school, she roused her children for another day of study at home. She kept her teenage son Hamza and daughter Fatima off school for a year after a Yemeni bomber tried to blow himself up at her daughter's school as the children filed out.

But as she went down for breakfast, Aisha was horrified to find that the militia had paid a visit to the family home. A note had been slipped under the door overnight warning her that the females in the house must wear hijab, traditional modest Muslim dress and headscarf – or be shot.

Today, over tea at her sister's flat in Portobello, Aisha Majid recalls the fear and deprivation of everyday life in the broken country left after dictator Saddam Hussein was toppled.

"We left because it wasn't safe," she says, with a shudder, "Militias were kidnapping wives and children and then phoning their families asking for money for their return. The electricity was off for 22 hours a day and there was no water or gas. If you didn't have a friend who was a supplier, it didn't matter how much money you had."

In 2006, Aisha fled Iraq with her children and husband Ibrahim – pictured above in 1997. They came to Edinburgh where they were helped by Aisha's sister, Esraa, and her Scottish partner Robert. They were initially shocked by how dead the city centre seemed in the evenings – a far cry from the bustling city of Baghdad they remember before the US-led invasion.

"We would go to nightclubs and restaurants till 3am or later," says Aisha, "It was safe then."

The family was comfortably off in Iraq – Ibrahim had a good job in the Food Ministry. Despite having to leave her home and most of her possessions behind, Aisha, a fashion designer, still manages to exude glamour; as does Esraa, a bubbly woman with a noticeable Scots lilt, who has been here since 1996 and runs an upmarket clothes shop in the Capital.

After the invasion, it was no longer secure in Baghdad for Aisha to go out alone, drive her car or wear the Western styles she favoured. Militias wreaked terror, with random bombings and killings. In 2003, the home of Aisha and Esraa's sister Amina suffered severe bomb damage.

On another occasion, militia members entered Fatima's school, and ordered all the female students to wear hijab – even the Christians. They stirred up religious hatred between the many different groups, including Sunnis, Shias, Kurds and Christians, who had formerly lived side by side in relative harmony.

"We used to be told in primary school never to ask our friends if they were Sunni or Shia. I am Sunni but my ex-husband was Shia as were three quarters of my best friends," says Esraa, while her sister adds: "All the racism comes from Iran and al-Qaida. There's a big Iranian influence now."

A run of terrifying incidents made Aisha and Ibrahim finally decide to flee. One afternoon Hamza's young friend was kidnapped on his way home from school. The boy was held for six weeks before he was finally released after his parents paid a ransom. Aisha is convinced it was her son, now 18, who was with him, that they were really after. "The militia asked the boy if he was Hamza. I kept my children off school after that."

On another occasion, gunmen pulled up alongside Aisha and Ibrahim's car when they were returning from the market. The killers were about to open fire on them when they caught sight of a coalition forces tank, so they fled. The family escaped in a van, travelling 15 hours across lawless Iraq to Jordan, where they stayed with relatives for three weeks before getting a UK visa.

"We followed a US tank part of the way for safety," Aisha recalls, "We saw cars in flames and bodies, when we were five hours from the border. I started to cry as I was shocked and worried for my children. Maybe it would be our turn next in a few miles.

"My daughter had her head in her hands and sucked her thumb, as she does when she's scared."

All the family bear mental scars from life in Baghdad. Aisha recalls: "When we first came here my daughter was surprised that there was electricity all the time. On the first morning she woke up and it was quiet and she remarked: 'No bombs'."

Esraa left Baghdad to follow her fiance, an Iraqi who had settled in Scotland. "I came with my sister-in-law and some other Iraqis by bus, organised by a trafficker for about £5000. We had passports and the road was safe then. It was explained that if we came we couldn't go back, we would be refugees," she says softly.

Esraa sometimes watches Al Jazeera TV in her flat, but has taken British nationality and says there are few things she misses about her home country. "If I miss the heat I go to Spain or Italy," she jokes.

Aisha's family, who now live in Duddingston, are studying English at Telford College and have been given leave to remain for five years. "It's a good country, with good people who have good manners," says Aisha, "We would go back to Iraq if it was safe, but not now."

Asam Al-Abodi, 31, a barber from Saughton, left Baghdad in 2001
ASAM holds the flame against his client's cheek as he gives him a traditional up-close shave at the Willowbrae salon. The Iraqi barber began cutting hair in his native Baghdad when he was 17. "Business was going downhill and I couldn't make a good living," he sighs, "The jobs all went to people around Saddam."

Asam fled Iraq after his brother, who handed out anti-government leaflets, disappeared. "My brothers were against the government and the security forces took one of them away and we never saw him again. They came three or four times looking for him and one day they were waiting for him when he came home.

"My family was very upset and we went to the government to ask about him but we couldn't get any answers. Anyone who went into prison you had to forget about them.

"A year after that I decided to leave. Another reason I left was because if you are not at school or college and you are 18 you have to go to the army. I was lazy and they pay peanuts and you don't know where they will send you."

Asam's father organised for traffickers to take his son to Turkey. He went north to Mosul, where he was given a fake passport and driven to Turkey. "My target was anywhere in Europe but they didn't accept my asylum application in Denmark so I flew here. Now I have an indefinite right to stay."

Asam worries about his parents, two brothers and two sisters who are still in Iraq. He phones often and has met them in Syria. "I can't get into Iraq, the situation is really bad, you can get kidnapped or killed easily. I lost a cousin last month, he was shot.

"My mum says it's a nightmare there now. There are bodies all over the place and kidnappers and thieves. I'm a lot happier here, though I would go back if I was sure of not getting kidnapped or killed."

Should the British and Americans have intervened? "I don't know." he says. "They did us a huge favour taking Saddam away but now there's many people worse than him, just on a smaller scale."

Awf Quaba, 57, a plastic surgeon from West Lothian, left Mosul in Iraq in 1978, before Saddam Hussein came to power.
AWF came to Britain with his wife Awatif on a scholarship to do further training in plastic surgery. He describes the Iraq as it was when he left as "a fantastic place".

He says: "The medical school contained all colours of Iraqi society; Kurds, Arabs, Sunnis. No-one knew who was who. I thought the hospitals here were below the standard of where I had worked in Iraq."

Conditions worsened under Saddam, but are more severe now. "I lost my dad ten years ago and couldn't even go to the funeral because it wasn't safe. But now it's most unsafe, which is ironic and disappointing. With the loss of infrastructure there are gangs roaming the streets and a lot of criminality."

Awf, who famously treated Hannan Shihab, the Iraqi girl badly disfigured in a US bomb attack, says he never intended to stay here permanently, till Saddam came to power. "We didn't like the man or the police state."

"It became even worse after sanctions when the country was brought to its knees. People have to feed their children and when they can't you get corruption. Under Saddam you had rationing so each family was entitled to petrol, kerosene and basic food free. Now you have to buy it on the open market it's very expensive.

"The number one concern is not feeling safe in your own home. Iraq was a country in the Middle East with money and resources, but I went back after the American invasion, a month before they captured Saddam, and the image of the country I left was shattered."