Photojournalist Andrea Bruce writes: "After covering the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan over the past 10 years, I found it important to bring attention to the similarities in the cultures involved in these conflicts. I believe that getting people to relate to each other in different countries and from various religions is the first step to empathy during war. I hope photography can help cut down stereotypes and cliches." To this end, Bruce photographed Afghan-Americans who left comfortable lives in the U.S. to work in unstable Afghanistan.

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Aman Mojadidi, 41, artist.

"Afghanistan definitely didn’t seem like home per se but it was very much this place where my family was from, and I still had this very strong kind of sense of having an Afghan identity … it makes me kind of understand more my American identity. It's funny ... [it took] growing up in the U.S. to feel Afghan and it took living in Afghanistan to feel American.

"I think probably by far one of my favorite ones [art projects], yeah, was the pay back, which was basically a fake checkpoint set up on the street in Kabul where we offered money back to some vehicles rather than asking for bribes … trying to take something that a lot of people spoke about all the time, which was the corruption, the bribes that they have to pay and all this kind of stuff and turn it into, you know, an art work and kind of flip it on its head."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Hassina Sherjan, 51, girls' school founder and administrator.

"I really believe in what I’m doing, and when you really believe in what you do, you hardly get frustrated. I started clandestine girls schools in '90s. We have 3900 students in nine provinces. I don’t really see it as an Afghan thing or an American thing. You just do what you need to do.

"As the elite who left when everything became rough, we have a responsibility to come back and do something here. Not to just be comfortable and make money but to do something. To really make a difference. And a lot of us can. There are a lot of Afghans abroad who are educated, who have done a lot of work, who understand education building, who understand governments ... but nobody is coming."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Koukaba Mojadidi, 35, an architect for International Organization for Migration in Afghanistan working on building a womens' center and police training facilities.

"I grew up in Jacksonville, Fla. Which was really boring, most of the time. Very safe, very quiet. We never struggled. Upper middle class, living on a river. Pretty fortunate. 

"Both of my parents are from Afghanistan. The minute I came into my house, I was living in a different set of rules, a different context. And the minute I left my house, I was living in the real world. Having to consider both cultures at the same time, all the time. For instance, we couldn’t socialize with a lot of Americans. My parents were really into keeping our heritage alive, our culture alive. There are are more differences than similarities, in my parents' minds.

"Everything in your life before you are 18 revolves around how you fit in in school, and learning how to establish yourself as an individual ... and at the same time you are balancing western ideas of your culture. Individualism (in the US) contrasts deeply to the idea of Afghan culture which is all about being a collective and being together and being close and feeling what that other person is feeling, and being emotionally enmeshed in everyone’s problems."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Mustafa Ali Nouri, 44, an architect for the International Organization for Migration in Afghanistan working to build a womens' center and police training facilities.

"In the end, home for me will always be Washington [DC]. The longest period of time in my life was there. I will always consider it my hometown. But I feel I have roots here. Emotions that I don’t know how to explain. You feel connected to the land. Doesn’t matter how dusty it is, or how terrible it might be in some ways. Even as an architect, the environmental mess, but at the same time there is something beautiful about this place.

"Because I am Afghan American, I feel I can see it better. I can see it in the eyes of the young people. They are craving to be a part of the world society. How can they go back to before 2001? You can not drag them. Either push them out or exterminate. But it is in their brain now. You can not kill that. They know now. They know what is out there in the world. They want to be. They want to have a society for themselves and for their children where they can have opportunities. They are the ones that give me a lot of hope."

Andrea Bruce / Alicia Patterson Foundation - NOOR

Tooba Mayel, 38, Gender Justice Advisor with International Development Law Organization. She monitors protection centers who work on legal and mediation cases. IDLO's work is currently supporting the work of lawyers and training programs for prosecutors who defend victims of violence, since violence and protection laws are vague or not implemented. Training and working with local authorities is vital during this time in Afghanistan, Mayel believes.

"Being an Afghan-American to me means that I am able to unite two different worlds under one frame of thought, mind and heart that exceeds boundaries and distances. As an individual that was raised under two cultures, where experiences and circumstances have taken me from conflict to freedom, from a poor nation to a rich one, from deep rooted traditions to new and modern ideologies, but more importantly the courage and the compassion to come back where vulnerable peoples fight for human liberties. 

"I have not only helped a country I call my motherland in its rehabilitation and progress, but also that same country has taught me to be sensitive to issues of human rights and not to take for granted the liberties that America has raised me with."

Photographer Bruce continues: "In the process of covering Afghanistan, I met many Afghan-Americans who said they sometimes feel caught between two different worlds. And they have felt the events of the past 20 years most harshly. When Sept. 11 happened, many saw great possibilities in combining their two homelands. Since then, some have wrestled with their identity. Others have become disillusioned. Regardless, all of them have spent a lot of time thinking about their two countries, and what dual-citizenship means to them in a time of war."

See more images from Afghanistan's current events in this slideshow, and more Afghanistan images in PhotoBlog. 

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Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Samad and Dina Jabbo dance at a banquet organized for the Iraqi community in El Cajon, Calif. Samad, 40, his wife Dina, 37, and their daughters Monica, 16, and Milano, 12, and son Antonio, 7 months, arrived in the United States in June 2010 after living in Damascus, Syria, for four years. They are Christians from Baghdad and have green cards. They felt their lives were in danger when they lived in Iraq.

Photojournalist Kadir van Lohuizen traveled from the southern tip of South America to the far reaches of Alaska on the North American continent to explore migration in the Americas. What he found both supported and defied stereotypes, which he reported on a website and an app for iPad called Via Panam.

“Little Baghdad” is the nickname for El Cajon, a suburb of San Diego that is home to a high concentration of the 116,000 Iraqis living in the United States. The Kurds came in the late 1980s, followed later by Sunnis, Shiites and Christians. They live together peacefully, far away from the violence in Iraq, but life is far from easy. Many lost their social status and networks of family and friends when they emigrated, and they often struggle to find work. Xenophobia is also an ever-present obstacle.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Monica Jabbo opens her locker at school in El Cajon. She and her sister Milano love being in the U.S. but it's still a struggle for the family -- they have to finance day-to-day life and pay their rent, which is $1,200. Because Monica's father Samad is unemployed, the family has to rely heavily on government assistance -- $760 per month.

The United States admits thousands of Iraqis each year as refugees -- although that is only a fraction of the number that Iraq's Middle Eastern neighbors and some European countries have absorbed. Nonetheless, their numbers in the San Diego area rose rapidly after the American invasion of Iraq. El Cajon, around 15 miles northeast of San Diego, has almost 7,000 Iraqi-born residents out of a total population of 100,000. A further 3,000 have Iraqi ancestry, according to the 2010 U.S. Census.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

The Baghdad cafe in El Cajon, above, is a popular tea house frequented by many Iraqis in the community.

In recent years, Iraqi stores and restaurants have been cropping up across the city, the Arabic script signs above their doors quickly becoming part of the city's scene. But the growing Iraqi presence has also brought some unsavory characters: According to authorities, members of Iraqi criminal organizations from Detroit are now active in El Cajon. In late 2011, police raided an Iraqi club in search of drugs and weapons.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Mohammed Mustafa, 68, in his store in El Cajon. Mustafa and his wife Nasrin, 58, have eight children, two of whom live at home. They are from Dohok in Iraqi Kurdistan. In August 1988 they fled to Diyarbakir in Turkish Kurdistan, and in September 1991 they arrived in New York. They made their way to El Cajon in June 1993. Mustafa feels he has made a mistake by coming to the U.S. and not returning to Kurdistan, where the economy nowadays is growing. The family recently opened this 'Community Fashion' store but business is very slow, he says.

Many Iraqis in El Cajon say xenophobia is common, and some fear being the victim of a hate crime. It is not an unfounded worry -- a 32-year-old Iraqi woman was murdered in El Cajon in what appeared to be a racially motivated attack in March. Next to her body police found a note threatening her family. "Go back to your own country, you're a terrorist," it read.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Breakfast at home. Khattab Aljubori, 37, and his wife Suhad, 31, frequently speak to their family in Iraq through Skype. The computer is parked near the table so that they can have breakfast 'together'. The family, including children Ibrahim, 4, Awos, 3, and twins Mustafa and Fatima, 6 months, as well as Khattab's mother Nhanaa, 61, came to San Diego in November 2010 from Babylon, Iraq. Khattab worked for the U.S. in Iraq as a computer and info system administrator and was often threatened for being a U.S. agent. In the end it became so dangerous for him and his family that they sought asylum in the U.S. and were granted visas.

Iraqis in El Cajon make an effort to support their fellow immigrants. Each year the Iraqi community organizes a large celebration that brings everyone together. Local businessmen meet one another and newly arrived immigrants learn about life in America from their established countrymen.

Kadir van Lohuizen / NOOR

Khattab with his family in a park in San Diego. While they lived comfortably in Iraq, they find it much harder to be successful in the U.S. and they say they feel they've lost their dignity. Khattab likes the U.S. but his wife wants to go back to Iraq. She says she feels locked up and misses her family. Finances are also an issue -- Khattab earns some money repairing people's computers but they depend on government support and sometimes find it difficult to pay the rent.

Slideshow: Migration in the Americas

K. van Lohuizen / NOOR

From Colombians fleeing war to North Americans retirees moving to Nicaragua, a photographer's journey from Chile to Alaska explores both the expected and unexpected patterns of migration in the Americas

Launch slideshow

Experience the entire journey, from Chile to Alaska, by exploring the slideshow at right, the Via Panam website or by downloading the app for iPad.

More Photoblogs from the Migration in the Americas series:
Mom works in US while family stays in El Salvador
US retirees flock to Nicaragua
On the run from water in Panama
Bolivia hopes for windfall from producing lithium

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