(This story by a former Reuters reporter is part of a special report on the exodus from Iraq. The author has requested that her location not be identified) By Hiba Moussa Feb 1 (Reuters) - It never crossed my mind that I would one day feel like a stranger in my own country, desperate to leave. But after losing loved ones and neighbours to the revenge killings and suicide bombings that have become Iraq's daily curse, I knew it was time to seek a safer haven abroad. The decision was not easy. But with every tick of the clock, the struggle of life in post-invasion Iraq was taking its toll. For years we had endured Saddam Hussein's dictatorship and the wars and U.N. sanctions that reduced Iraq to penury even though it sits on the world's third largest oil reserves. After the U.S.-led invasion that toppled him in 2003, we hoped to see solutions for Iraq's wrecked infrastructure, unemployment and lack of public services. But what troubled me, like all Iraqis, was the complete breakdown of security. In July 2005, Reuters hired me as a reporter in Baghdad. I kept my job secret even from my next-door neighbour. Many Iraqis who work for foreign companies have ended up threatened, kidnapped or dead. I wanted to avoid that fate. Things got even worse after the bombing of a Shi'ite shrine in Samarra in February 2006. Sunni-Shi'ite killings multiplied. The shadow of sectarian violence was chasing everyone. COUSIN KILLED Last year, my 29-year-old cousin, a Shi'ite, and his Sunni friend were halted at a fake police checkpoint while they were passing through one of Baghdad's most dangerous neighborhoods. My cousin was shot dead on the spot. His friend was so badly beaten up he had to be taken to hospital. I was becoming more and more terrified. As a Shi'ite married to a Sunni, like many Iraqi couples, commuting in Baghdad was simply a nightmare for us. Fearing to be kidnapped at a phoney Iraqi police or army checkpoint, we both stopped going out unless it was absolutely necessary. When we did move, we plotted our route to avoid districts wholly controlled by Sunnis or Shi'ites. Then death came too close. Abu Omar, my Sunni neighbour, was killed in front of his house because of his sect. A few weeks later, my Shi'ite neighbour, Abu Ali, was also killed. As the wheel of 'death news' kept turning, my religiously mixed neighbourhood gradually turned into a ghost town. Some families moved to other areas or towns, others fled abroad. But escaping Iraq was no easy matter. As an Iraqi national, getting an entry visa to any country is difficult, often impossible. My husband and I waited for months and had to pay thousands of dollars to get a visa for an Arab country. Finally, we packed our bags and took our last heartbreaking glimpse of Baghdad. Like so many other Iraqi exiles, we are now trying to find jobs, feeling homesick and worrying about our families at home.
