My friend has lived in Baghdad for the better part of his life. He’s in his late 30s with a wife and three children, two of them girls. We’ll call him Rashid, because revealing his real name is simply too dangerous. He’s a Sunni Arab, a proud man, a tough man. Under Saddam’s regime he was a well placed military official with a pleasant life.

How his life has changed.

I spoke with Rashid on the one year anniversary of the bombing of the Golden Dome al-Askariya mosque in Samarra. Sacred to Shias, the bombing of the shrine is the seminal event in Iraq’s spiraling sectarian conflict. The event that opened the floodgates for ferocious Shia reprisal attacks against the Sunni minority in Iraq. Rashid remembers the day with uncanny clarity. The first though that came to his mind: “Oh my God -- this is it.”

In Iraq, the sectarian split has always rumbled under the surface, to some degree. But on this day one year ago, the divide ripped wide open. Rashid recalls seeing the effects immediately. In his mixed neighborhood in eastern Baghdad, Shia friends of his were inconsolable. “I could just see the look in their eyes,” he says. “I tried to tell them that we are all Iraqis, but I couldn’t calm them down.”

Rashid’s best friend was Shia, one of about 20 Shia friends he had in his neighborhood. Rashid and his buddy would get together almost every day. “We would share a coffee, a cigarette, a game of cards. If we couldn’t meet face to face, we would always find a way to talk on the phone.” With the Samarra bombing came an end to that bond. “He stopped returning my calls and e-mails immediately. Just because I am Sunni.”

Rashid’s friend picked up his family and left the neighborhood five days later. They still have not spoken since February 22, 2006, and will likely never speak again. Years of friendship vanished in an instant.

A year later, life in Iraq has become nearly impossible for Rashid. Every day when he wakes up, he is torn; he must earn a living for his family, but he also fears leaving them home alone. Death squads, camouflaged in Iraqi police uniforms, have been making more frequent appearances in his neighborhood. But, he tells me: “When you have children and a wife to care for, you have to keep working and continue the cycle of life.”

Rashid worries constantly, even if he can hide that pain from his face. His two girls go to the same school. Recently, a mortar landed close by, shattering the school's windows and terrifying classrooms filled with young, innocent girls. His wife and young son stay at home, protected by a neighborhood watch that has grown from two guards to 14 armed men in the past year. His wife sometimes tells him to stay away, afraid that the death squads will come to their neighborhood again, take him away and turn him into another of the unidentified bodies found floating in the Tigris River every morning.

Rashid is desperate to leave Iraq now. He is tired of the death squad patrols, tired of the constant fear for his, and his family’s lives. I remember meeting him for the first time, over a year ago, and I was impressed with his toughness and strength. My admiration remains, but I do now see in his eyes the pain that he has been through this past year.

“The bloodshed will continue,” he says. “We are close to all-out civil war. All it will take is for something else big to happen … And it will happen.”

From CNN Producer Terence Burke

Posted by In The Field Online Producers: 2:51 AM

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Cirilo Nebit is a very fortunate man indeed.

Held with 23 fellow seamen for more than three weeks in the Niger Delta, by masked gunmen, he is now back home in the Philippines, reflecting on what a surreal month this has been for him. I met him just after he’d been reunited with his anxious family, at the Malacanang Palace in Manila. He’d been invited with his wife and four sons to a special homecoming dinner with the Filipino President Gloria Arroyo. There, the men finally relaxed with their loved ones and chatted about their brush with death in the heart of Africa.

Fifty-three-year-old Cirilo has worked on ships of all types for more than 30 years. His voyage on the Baco Liner II started prosaically enough from Belgium, but it was when they were off the coast of Nigeria that suddenly things changed for the worse. Cirilo, the second engineer, was below deck, when he heard on the radio that armed men were approaching the ship. “They blocked our path with 12 speed boats” he says.

He describes how the gunmen were wearing few clothes, but were heavily armed with machine guns, assault rifles and rocket-propelled grenade, as they stormed the ship and forced the captain to weigh anchor. Cirilo says he was terrified and thought it would be “his last day.” The men were taken off in speed boats to the rebel camp in the swamps of the Niger Delta. Cirilo says the men claimed to be from the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta or MEND. He says they were well looked after.

When asked what they did for the long three weeks they were held, Cirilo replies: “We just stayed inside, read some books, played cards and watched television."He says the gunmen promised they weren’t killers and said the sailors would be released after only a few hours. But it soon became clear that the men would be held for longer.

The seamen shared their food with the gunmen and were unharmed. Cirilo says the rebels stole some of the ship’s cargo, including explosives and even 900 tonne barges that were kept within the superstructure of the massive vessel. Cirilo says he knows nothing of the negotiations which led to their release and doesn’t know whether any ransom was paid. His family had been waiting anxiously for news in Manila and watched CNN Correspondent Jeff Koinange’s reports from the camp showing the hostages. Melinda Nebit, Cirilo’s wife, says even their three-year-old son Dax watched and was soon declaring that his father had been “kidnapped by militants.” Now the entire family has met the president of the Philippines, have appeared on TV and are quite the talk of the neighborhood.

It’s difficult getting back to normal life, after such an extraordinary month. But Cirilo is clearly traumatized by his experience saying: “Every time I remember this happened to me … to us … sometimes I cry.”

From Dan Rivers, CNN International Correspondent

Posted by In The Field Online Producers: 2:42 AM

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