Mohammed Al-Bezerji
              Age: 34 Occupation: coordinator, Faces of the Middle East project Quote: "This program helps marry
              newcomers to their new society."

              Having survived the worst defeat in modern warfare history, he and others like him rose against their corrupt
              leader, Saddam Hussein, only to discover a bigger loss - the loss of homeland. Like many former Iraqi
              students and conscripted soldiers, Mohammed Al-Bezerji dreams of returning in peace to his country, its
              10,000-year-old culture, rich language and arts.

              Some day, after Saddam is gone, maybe Al-Bezerji and some of Lincoln's other
              3,000 to 4,000 former Iraqi residents can take back the best of what they found here. Until then,
              Al-Bezerji, coordinator of the Faces of the Middle East project, will help his people prosper and create a
              community here.

              Saddam waged war with Iran for eight years, wasting much blood and money, Al-Bezerji said. Then two
              years later, he destroyed Kuwait.

              "We know these are crimes by us," Al-Bezerji said.

              So the students and some soldiers fought against Saddam in 1991, and died. The defeated survivors fled,
              first to desert camps, and later to strange cities across the world.

              Five years ago, only 50 people from all across the Middle East lived in Lincoln. Since then, an average of
              that many Iraqi and Kurdish newcomers has arrived every month.

              Al-Bezerji, a humble man with a modest office decorated with sayings from the Koran, was studying
              automobile electronics when his country's misfortune swept him from a traditional Muslim life.

              After the revolt, he lived six years in a desert tent camp along the border with Saudi Arabia, enduring hot
              summers, freezing winters and always the strong, dusty winds. Water was carried in jugs from a tank. Food
              was thrown
 
               from a truck. Men slept five or 10 to a small tent. There were 50,000

              refugees living in tents after 1991. The number has dwindled to 4,000 as they spread to countries across the
              world.

              Detroit, with 17,000 Arabic people, is often the first stop. Most refugees are men, arriving without wives or
              families. In Detroit, they find people who speak their language and understand their culture. But many
              choose Lincoln. After the wars, they find it safer here. The police are more understanding. The University of
              Nebraska-Lincoln offers an opportunity for an education. And an Arabic community is growing.

              For those still arriving, Al-Bezerji's Faces program is often an important stop.

              "This program helps marry newcomers to their new society," he said.

              Al-Bezerji, 34, came to Lincoln directly from the camps four years ago. It was a struggle. When he first
              arrived, he spent two weeks trying to figure out what his electric bill was. He kept asking others: "What is
              this?" Finally, he figured out: "I should pay this."

              Language was the biggest obstacle.

              Like other new immigrants, he frequently bundled all of his mail, including junk credit card offerings, and
              searched for someone who could help him sort it out. Now, he does the same thing for others, trying to
              make their road smoother.

              He also helps with tax forms, job applications, Medicaid forms and the hundreds of other documents
              demanded by the machinery of American society.

              Al-Bezerji was hired to run the Faces program 20 hours per week in spring
              1999. He became full time about a year ago. He now has assistants to teach emergency English, computer
              skills to women, plus coordinate children's activities. Al-Bezerji also gives cultural awareness talks to
              Lincoln police and other groups.

              Instruction time on the four computers in his office is booked months in advance.

              "We need to learn computer," he said. "It's very important."

              In Iraq, Al-Bezerji learned a computer language by writing code on paper. His hands never touched a
              keyboard. None was available. Advanced technology and the lack of a heavy routine are among the most
              favored offerings of America.

              "Here, you can pick up the telephone and arrange things," he said.

              "There, you stand in line two hours to sign a piece of paper."

              He would like to see his country have the same technology and opportunities.

              "Here, if you try to make it, you can make it big."

              So many things are different here, he said. Here, friends don't walk hand in hand in the street. Adults don't
              engage in horseplay with children they don't know.

              "In Iraq, it is OK if you marry at age 14 to 16. Here, it's against the law."

              In Iraq, Friday is the holy day.

              The differences can cause some Iraqi to find themselves unexpectedly in trouble. They can needlessly raise
              fear in many Americans.

              The differences also divide Iraqi generations.

              At the Faces center at 27th and N streets, classes for the children of Iraqis teach Arabic as a second
              language. Kids growing up in America understand what their fathers say in Arabic but answer them in
              English, he said.

              "The father says: 'I don't know what my boy talk about. He answer me this.'¥"

              The new society can be troubling in other ways.

              "Society here is very busy," he said.

              Friends and family members might visit one another once a month or less.

              "People like us, we used to eat three meals a day with our family."

              The sudden changes his people face require a delicate touch. "In this job, I work with people, not metal," he
              said. "I have to be more sensitive."

              Like many Iraqis, Al-Bezerji works at more than one job. He sends money to his parents and poor siblings
              in Iraq while he also saves to continue his education.

              Conditions in Iraq are very poor, he said.

              "People work 18-hour days and have no bread to eat."

              Finding the time to eat is Al-Bezerji's problem.

              Often, his phone rings late at night.

              The child of an Iraqi family is at the hospital and there is nobody to translate. "OK, I'm coming."

              When a countryman stops in to report he has found a job, Al-Bezerji makes time to share his happiness.

              "I worry a lot," he said. "(But) when I go to sleep. I'm in a deep sleep."

              A couple of months ago, an Arabic man and his wife arrived in Tucson,Ariz., where nobody would help
              them. Amid this frustration, the man suffered a stroke, paralyzing part of his body.

              Family members helped him come to Lincoln, where he immediately went to the hospital. Al-Bezerji ate
              lunches at the hospital, where he could translate for doctors and coordinate assistance through various
              agencies.

              Others in the Arabic community stopped by to visit.

              "Now, he's starting to walk. He's visiting people in their homes," he said.

              "We're doing as much as we can to save his dignity."

              He came here, lost his country, his roots and his family. "We're trying to become his family."

              Still, he said, most Iraqis would like to go home.

              Al-Bezerji comes from Babylon, a place mentioned in the Old Testament.

              "Do you know what that means?" he asked.

              It certainly means something to him.

              Reach Mark Andersen at 473-7238 or mandersen@j....