“My father tried to gather evidence to present to the foreign press. When the Ba’athist found out…” She sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me.” I said.

“No. I am proud of my father. They broke into our home at night. My mother held my brother and I as we were forced to watch them beat my father. Then they took him away. I heard later that they tied him to a concrete block and threw him off a bridge into the Tigris.”

“Is your mother still alive?” I asked.

“No. She went to the police every day for a week, looking for my father. One day, she did not come home. I was sent to live with my uncle.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My uncle was wealthy. When the time came he sent me to schools in Europe. But Iraq is my home. I had to come back to her.”

Her jaw clenched and her face became stone.

“I came home to make Iraq a better place. To give back to my people the fruits of my education and to help raise them above the sectarian hate.”

She dropped me off at the entrance to my hotel and drove off into the night.