Pain of war follows refugees from Iraq to Tennessee

In less than a month, Maisoon Al-Qayem's son was kidnapped, her husband died, her grandson was taken away from her daughter and she had to flee her Iraqi home. "They destroyed us," Al-Qayem said of the kidnappers who took her only son. "I hoped that they would kill all of us; it's better than they would leave us," she said, tears in her eyes as she paused to think. "We cannot forget. We cannot forget." Al-Qayem, a 56-year-old pharmacist who left Iraq in 2006, resettled in Chattanooga in February with her two daughters after spending some time in Syria. The women are among 50 Iraqis who will resettle in Chattanooga by year's end with the help of Bridge Refugee and Sponsorship Services, a local agency that helps refugees adjust to the United States. Despite a new life in a new country, the pain of Iraq followed the women here. Al-Qayem's son, Laith Hassan, was an engineer who worked with the U.S. military. He was kidnapped in June 2006, and while the family suspected he was dead that wasn't confirmed until last month. Al-Qayem and her two daughters, Zahraa Hassan, 20, and Dena Hassan, 32, have been living in a two-bedroom apartment on Jersey Pike. In Iraq, Al-Qayem worked in a neurosurgical hospital. Because of the slow economy and a lack of transportation, none of the women has found a job, but they say they are trying to get a fresh start. They receive about $200 in food stamps and are using some savings until they get on their feet. "At first we didn't accept the idea of coming to America because we didn't know anything about (it)," said Zahraa Hassan. "My uncle in Germany encouraged us. He said 'You must go. You should have a homeland and a place that will give you another chance.'" Sitting in the living room of their apartment, the family is surrounded by mementos of what they left behind. A photo atop a display cabinet shows Al-Qayem' s grandson, Hayder Al-Qayem, when he was 5. His mother, Dena Hassan, and his father are divorced. After Laith Hassan's kidnapping, the father took the boy away. No one in the family has seen Hayder, now 12, in three years. Above the child's picture is Laith Hassan's certificate of engineering, which his mother displays with pride. She also has a letter of recognition of the work he did with the U.S. military. In Syria, she kept the letter hidden inside a family album because she was afraid terrorists would find it and kill them too, she said. Even in the United States, pain always lingers below the surface. "In every field of life we lost something," said Dena Hassan, who earned a bachelor's degree in English literature in Baghdad. "I was a teacher, and I was happy. I was employed, everything was OK, now I'm nothing." She stops talking and stares into empty space. Despite the horrors of the past, the Al-Qayem family is determined to make the best of their new life, Bridge office manager Marina Peshterianu said. "I really enjoy working with this family," she said. "I think they are great, strong, independent women who are getting adjusted to their new life. "They had to leave behind everything they earned by their hard work in their country, but they are very positive about America and very thankful to be given the opportunity to rebuild their lives," she added. The sisters are studying with a tutor twice a week to get a general education development certificate and hope to go to college. Sue Reynolds owns Clear Spring Yoga, one of the sponsors for the Iraqi women. She said sponsoring has been a wonderful experience. "When we picked them up from the airport, we didn't know what to expect. ... They turned out to be just thoroughly contemporary-looking, fashionable women, all three very beautiful, well-spoken, with lovely personalities," she said. Reynolds and the other co-sponsors helped the family with things such as shopping for groceries and getting Social Security cards. But they've also introduced the women to the local community by going to an art opening, a harp concert and other activities. Resettling in a new country hasn't been easy, but the family says Chattanooga is a safe and quiet place, exactly what they need. In Iraq, their lives were anything but calm. On the morning of June 6, 2006, 27-year-old Laith Hassan left home as usual. Late that night, the family got a call from his cell phone. A voice said they had an hour to pay a $20,000 ransom or he would die. "They told me, 'If you call the police, I will cut Laith and send him to you in a trash bag,'" said Al-Qayem. After paying two ransoms totaling $30,000 - money from savings as well as from friends and family - they still didn't have him. Ten days after their son was kidnapped, Al-Qayem's husband, Mustafa Hassan, died of a heart attack. "We were a family of six, now just three people," said Zahraa Hassan. "My father dead, my brother dead, and my nephew, seven days before my brother (was) kidnapped, he was living with us and he traveled with his father. ... When his father heard about the news, he decided to keep him." On June 29, after burying their father and husband, the three women fled to Syria. They kept getting calls from the kidnappers. Sometimes they were told Laith Hassan was alive and they should pay more money for keeping him that way. Other times the kidnappers would say he was dead and demand more money for revealing the location of his body. The women spent a year in Syria, living off $6,000 from savings and from selling their car and furniture in Iraq and from Dena Hassan's earnings from working in a shop. Then Al-Qayem decided to apply to the United Nations for refugee status. She said coming to the United States had always been her son's dream and she had hoped to make the trip with him. Even though they are far from the violence in Iraq, bad news has followed them here. Last month, they got a call from an uncle in Iraq who said Laith's picture and a number were found at a cemetery for the unidentified dead. "After three years, we know the truth," said Zahraa Hassan. "While they tried to make a deal with us, he was killed. We were deceived." "The bad came suddenly," said Dena Hassan. "Many things at one time, we feel we lost everything." "Until now," added Zahraa Hassan.