An Iraqi war cameraman finds a home in America
(CBS News) Lancaster, Pa., is not where I thought I'd find him. But here in a place where the old so easily meshes with the new, maybe there was no better place to find an old friend's new home.
We hadn't seen each other in more than a decade, since the unwelcome circumstance that first brought us together: the war in Iraq.
It was in Baghdad on the eve of the U.S. invasion that I first met Atheer Hameed.
He was an Iraqi photographer, a cameraman, well-known in Baghdad for his work shooting soap operas and documentaries. CBS News hired him not only for his eye, but for his language and local knowledge.
But it turned out Atheer's greatest asset was his courage.
When the U.N. headquarters in Baghdad was attacked in 2003, Hameed was inside. He kept his compassion, his composure -- and kept his camera rolling.
"After the blast happened, everything became dark," Hameed said. "Too dark. Even I can't see my hand. All of the people around me laying in the floor, some of them dead, some of them injured, some of them crying, some of them screaming, and only me, I am good."
He led people to safety using the light on his camera.
WEB EXTRA: Watch raw video from Atheer Hameed's camera which was running when a truck bomb struck the United Nations Assistance Mission in Baghdad on August 19, 2003 - and kept running in the chaotic aftermath of the attack which killed at least 17 people. WARNING: Graphic images.
But it wasn't just the violence he covered. In his battered Volkswagen Bug, we'd go bouncing around Baghdad to find the touching, too.
We found the Baghdad Symphony getting back to playing music again. We ventured to the Baghdad Zoo -- stormed by looters who took every morsel of food -- where starving animals were fed and watered thanks to the U.S. military.
And we went to a hospital maternity ward to witness the first of a generation NOT born under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein.
"Nice, nice memories," said Hameed. "They are nice. Even though it was a tough time, difficult. But when you remember when you see them, remember that you think you did something."
"We did do something, didn't we?" Cowan said.
"Yes we did, we did something yes, for sure."
He still has that venerable Volkswagen in a garage in Baghdad, though now it's mostly been lost to the dust of the desert.
In the months and years that followed, we couldn't drive it anyway; Baghdad's security situation had deteriorated so much, we rarely got outside at all.
"I used to have hope that things will be better," said Hameed.
"Do you remember a point when you were covering all this that you thought to yourself, maybe things aren't going to get any better?" Cowan asked.
"I also have this feeling. And I am afraid from that feeling."
For good reason. It wasn't only Westerners in danger; anyone in the media was a target.
Atheer's brother, who worked for a local TV channel in Baghdad, was murdered by one of the many militia groups that had surfaced in the chaos.
"It was a big shock for us," said Hameed. "And it was a big sign for me. Some people told me, 'You will be the next, so take care and leave the country. Better for you.' That's why I left my country."
It was a difficult decision, but Hameed didn't only have himself to worry about -- he had a wife and two children.
The threats against his family allowed him to gain refugee status from the U.S. government, and four years ago Hameed and his family arrived in the U.S. to face both the promise and the hurdles of immigrant life in America.
"So of all the places, though, why Lancaster?" asked Cowan.
"It's a quiet and peaceful town," he replied. "That's why I choose it."
Lancaster was recommended to him by a friend at Iraq TV who had once visited here. It was his only guidance, and he took it -- and is now as proud to be living here as he is proud to be Iraqi.
Hameed showed Cowan a little bit of home -- a license plate from Iraq for his car which translated reads, "Lancaster, Pennsylvania."
But his wife, Areej, says the adjustment hasn't been easy.
"Nobody know us, Nothing. We start from zero," she laughed. "But we are a strong family."
Strong, indeed. But the price of their much-deserved peace meant they couldn't return to Baghdad, not even when Atheer's mother passed away.
"I couldn't say goodbye to her because I was here," he said. "Make me cry for three days. But what should I do?"
Atheer also lost his job as a cameraman. There wasn't much of a need for a war photographer in the Pennsylvania countryside, so he took what he could find.
His first job was on an assembly line at a chicken processing plant; and then, a job as a custodian at a public school in Lancaster.
His college degree is of little consequence in this job, nor is the fact the images his camera once captured were seen by millions -- history's first draft of a controversial war.
His station in life has indeed changed -- and that often bring him to tears.
"This job is respectable, good job. But it's hurt me," he said. "But I had to do it because I need to survive to feed my family, and now, I have a big family."
He is grateful beyond measure for all the opportunities, and his reputation for hard work is sterling.
"I still have hope to find my real life as a cameraman," he said.
"You're not giving that up? Cowan asked.
"No, never."
He knows the sacrifice has meant he's been able to provide for his family. Haneen, his daughter, is a junior in high school. His son, Haider, is now in the fourth grade.
And late last year, Atheer's family grew by two. His twin girls were born happy and healthy -- and American citizens.
"When they are grown up here, they can vote, and maybe they can be president someday," Hameed laughed.
Baghdad, though, is never far from their minds. They keep connected as much as they can, and this year -- for the first time -- the family felt it was safe enough to return to Baghdad for a long overdue visit, for both fun -- and family.
Atheer was finally able to say a proper goodbye to his mother, and return to his neighborhood streets.
But as calm as some of Atheer's recent pictures make it look, Baghdad may be as bad -- or worse -- than when they left.
The U.N. Secretary General called a recent upsurge in attacks "appalling." More than a thousand people were killed in the month of May alone.
It will always be their home town, but it's too dangerous to be home any longer.
Their flight to America has been difficult, and at times disorienting. But it HAS brought them safety.
Upon arriving back in the States from their Baghdad trip, the U.S. Customs officer who greeted them said it all: "He return me back the passports, and he said a very nice sentence; he said to me, 'Welcome home,'' Hameed recalled. "It's very nice from him, and this is the first time I've heard this sentence, somebody say to me, 'Welcome Home.' So this is my home now."
