SAN DIEGO -- Assad's desperate flight from Iraq began on foot.For days, he trekked from Iraq to Turkey and from Turkey to Greece. He slipped through remote rural villages and crossed a river's rushing waters to escape the violence that had left his cousin dead and his father in hiding.

Finally, after paying smugglers to get him on flights to Spain, Brazil, Guatemala and Mexico, he joined the crush of Spanish-speaking migrants on a bus ride to America's doorstep.

Assad, an Iraqi Christian and the 21-year-old son of a liquor merchant, said his stomach lurched as he tried to convince the U.S. border patrol agents here that he was no ordinary migrant.

"I'm not one of those people," said Assad, who crossed the border from Mexico last year and was granted asylum, describing how he pleaded for refuge. "I am Iraqi," said Assad, who asked that only his first name be published because he fears for the safety of his family in Iraq. "I need your help."

As the violence rages in Iraq and tens of thousands of its people flee to neighboring countries, a small stream of Iraqis is trickling into the United States despite improbable odds. Like Assad, some have traveled to the southern border because there were few good opportunities for resettlement overseas and tight limits on visas to come here.

Until last month, the Bush administration declined to admit significant numbers of Iraqi refugees stranded in countries like Syria and Jordan, saying it was striving to stabilize Iraq so that people could safely return home.

While as many as several thousand Iraqi refugees were typically admitted annually in the years of Saddam Hussein's rule before the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, only 466 have been resettled here since the U.S. invasion in 2003.

Under pressure from lawmakers in Congress, advocates for immigrants and the United Nations, the administration announced in February that it would resettle 7,000 Iraqi refugees living in Syria, Jordan and Turkey, with up to 3,000 arriving by Sept. 30.

Preference will be given to the most vulnerable refugees, along with those who worked with the Americans. (Translators who assisted the military, for example, currently face a six-year waiting list for a visa designated for them.)

Still, administration officials emphasize that they expect to admit only a small fraction of the 2 million Iraqis believed to be living in neighboring countries. They believe that most Iraqis ultimately will be able to return home.

"The United States and the international community can best help displaced Iraqis by quelling the violence in Iraq and assisting them in making their country peaceful, prosperous and secure," Paula J. Dobriansky, an undersecretary at the State Department, said last month.

Advocacy groups that favor limits on immigration have hailed that stance. "They're approaching it the right way by trying to limit resettlement," said Mark Krikorian of the Center for Immigration Studies.

So with few other options, some frightened Iraqis have taken matters into their own hands. The fortunate ones have obtained visas to study or visit relatives here and have applied for asylum when they arrived.

Others, like Assad and his 30-year-old cousin, Nader, have paid smugglers thousands of dollars to lead them on arduous journeys across several countries and have spent months in U.S. detention centers while their asylum claims were reviewed.

People fleeing persecution in their countries can seek refugee status here only if they are overseas. If they can get to this country, they are eligible to apply for asylum. And as the sectarian violence in Iraq has flared in recent years, the number of asylum applications has increased.

In the 2006 fiscal year, the number of asylum applications filed by Iraqis stood at 511, up from 268 in 2004, government statistics show.

One 59-year-old Iraqi man, on the run from militants who threatened him for working as a translator for the U.S. military, said he had no choice but to seek refuge in the United States. Militants had fired bullets into his house, set his car on fire and left threatening notes in his yard, warning, "Your time will come soon."

Then in May 2005, a group of unknown men knocked on his door, he said. His brother answered and was shot and killed.

The man, a Shiite who lives in New York now and spoke on condition of anonymity because he fears for his relatives living in Iraq, seized a rare opportunity to come to the United States for a training program on a visitor's visa.

Once he arrived, he applied for asylum in December 2005 with assistance from Human Rights First, an advocacy group. He was granted refuge here in February of 2006.

Now he is struggling to get his wife and children, who have fled to Syria, into this country. He is also trying to resettle one of his sons, who is in hiding in Iraq.

He sends money for food and housing, he said, but it is never enough.

"I gave them shelter before, but nobody gives them shelter now," he said wearily. "I worked with the United States Army. Now my family has to pay the price."

Assad and his cousin, Nader, who also wanted to be identified by his first name, said they were targets because they are a Christian family of shopkeepers who sell liquor. Nader said armed Muslim militants burst into the shop he ran with his father in August 2003 and accused them of being infidels.

The men reappeared a few days later at Nader's home and beat him, his father and brothers. That night, Nader said, the family abandoned their home and moved to a village in the north.

A few days later, Nader gathered as much cash as he could and started the long journey to the United States, where he has relatives.

"I felt my life was in such danger that I had to leave," he said. He promised his parents he would send for them when he could.

Assad, who also worked with his relatives in a liquor store, was similarly threatened. After his cousin was killed in 2004, the family shut down their shops and retreated to their small village.

Assad's father urged him to leave the country. "I was very frightened, but what other choice did I have?" he said.

Nader took the trek to America first, paying smugglers more than $10,000 to get him from Iraq to Turkey to Greece to the Netherlands to Mexico and finally across the border into this city. He was detained by immigration officials for nearly three months and hopes to be granted asylum in April after immigration officials complete their security checks.

Assad, who arrived here last March, was granted asylum in August after spending five months in an immigration detention center.

With the help of relatives and the support of the Chaldean-Middle Eastern Social Services agency, which assists Iraqi Christians, Assad and Nader have settled into American life. They live in a two-bedroom apartment in the El Cajon, which they share with Nader's brother who is also seeking refuge here.

Assad works at a car wash during the day to help cover the rent. At night, he and his cousins often practice English and dance to hip-hop at local clubs. And on Sundays, they kneel in the pews of St. Peter Chaldean Catholic Cathedral, savoring the freedom to pray in peace.

But the young men still fear that their relatives, who have little access to food, medicine and gasoline back home, might be kidnapped or killed. They can petition for their families once they become permanent residents here. But the reunification process often takes years.

In the meantime, they cling to the hope that the United States might expand the number of refugee slots available to Iraqis overseas.

"We know what it is to go through the hardships living there and to go through the hell of trying to get here," Nader said. "We're comfortable now, but our families are really suffering."

New York Times