BAGHDAD, Iraq - "One of them did tell me a story of a woman who went back with her children and the children were killed," Angelina Jolie said during our interview.

We could all imagine the story. We've heard similar tales of such sheer horrific acts over and over again.

And frankly we were relieved that Jolie was back, that she saw what she saw and heard the tales of the plight of so many Iraqis.

It's no secret that there is a sense that the world would like to forget about Iraq, that in many minds the war is over, when in reality its not. We see that everyday.

With Jolie here in Iraq as UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador once again, we're able to throw the refugee and internally displaced crisis back into the headlines.

We asked her why she felt that it was important to keep spotlighting what's happening here.

"It seems like such a crazy question doesn't it?" she responded shaking her head. "To imagine that someone would think that it's not important."

She was out at a complex in northwestern Baghdad, home to some 12,000 internally displaced Iraqis, most from former Sunni insurgent strongholds in the western suburbs of the capital and Abu Ghraib to the west.

We had interviewed Jolie the last time that she was in Iraq, about 18 months ago.

Yes, there has been progress since then, small grains of it, but still as we know so well, so much more needs to be done.

"So it’s a very bleak picture ... you can talk about it, cry about it." She told us: "You meet with so many little babies that are malnourished, so many little kids that have infections from things that with minor medicine would be OK. Parents saying, why, our children didn’t do anything, they are so little, they are innocent, we just want some dignity, aren’t we people?"

We have heard those words countless times. Now hopefully the world will listen once again.

BAGHDAD, Iraq – Iraq's 2005 elections, most of the campaign posters bore religious figures - and for the most part candidates and political blocs rallied the populous based on sect and ethnicity. That's not the case anymore.

An Iraqi casts her ballot Saturday in Baghdad. About 4,000 women are running for office.

In fact more and more Iraqis are moving away from the religious parties.

Women have also exploded into the political forum in Iraq. Many female activists argue that the 2003 U.S.-led invasion catapulted Iraqi women back to the dark ages.

Extremist militias ruled the streets, threatening women for anything from not covering their hair to getting involved in politics.

Now some female candidates are using their image on their campaign posters - in direct defiance of those fundamentalists who want to suppress them. They view this election as an opportunity to regain their voice.

What started as a symbolic gesture - to have a quota in government for women - could be turning into something real.

It seems the country's men have no choice but to accept that a woman's vote, either on election day or once she is in office, counts for the same as theirs.

Still, it's a massive risk. And as so often happens here, I am in awe of the courage of those I meet.

We profiled two candidates, both who say they are without fear.

One wants to prove that women are just as capable as men, admits that at first she felt that it was enough to just participate. But now she wants to win. To defy all those men who want her to fail.

There is so much at stake, so much that these elections could be a turning point for a country that is still spinning from all that it has been through.

There is something different in the air this time. In 2005 it was more just the buzz of going to vote for the first time. I remember being in a polling station in Baquba, north of Baghdad, and dozens of Iraqis erupted into song and dance to celebrate that the vote.

"Now Iraqis realize that they can make the parties they hate fail and those they support succeed. They know the game and they can play it better than last one," an Iraqi colleague said to me.

Iraqis - at least those who will be going to the polls - feel that this time they can generate real change, or at least that they hope that this time around those who end up in power will truly have their interests in mind. I guess we will find out.

LOS ANGELES, California – I am not one who is inclined to cry. I never have been.

CNN's Arwa Damon and Youssif goof off in Los Angeles.

When I first met Youssif it was hard to look at his heavily scarred face and his sad dark eyes peering out from underneath the thick scar tissue.

The scope of the horror of what had happened to him was impossible for my mind to absorb. What kind of a world do we live in where someone can douse a four-year-old in gasoline and set him on fire?

Since that first day he has taught me so much. Now six, he offers a story in the survival of the human spirit.

At first, Youssif wouldn't talk to me. Girls have cooties. To be honest, I was jealous of the male members of our crew.

He finally did speak to me a few days after we arrived in Los Angeles. We were at the beach - a first for the family. Youssif ran shrieking toward the water as fast as his little legs would take him. We laughed so much that day!

It was my first glimpse of the boy that he once was. He ordered me to bring him water from the ocean for the sand castle we were trying to build. I'm not one who is inclined to take orders, but I was so happy he was talking to me that I obeyed. I've been obeying him ever since.

This family has been through so much, and they still are. His parents are struggling not only with the horror of what their son went through but also the trauma of watching him struggle through the multiple surgeries. But day by day they say their son is coming back.

I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like. To see your son trying to put out the flames on his face with his little hands. To think that all hope is lost. To land in a foreign country and know that you can't go back home because you've accepted help from an American NGO and you're associated with an American TV network.

I speak with Youssif's parents on a regular basis. It had been a year since I was able to make it back to Los Angeles and spend time with them in person. And I have to admit, I was nervous.

Even a year ago, when I made several trips, it took Youssif a while to warm up to me again. I also have to admit that I don't spend much time with kids. So I had no idea how he would react to me.

When I walked into the apartment he was hiding under the table with his kid sister grinning devilishly. I barely fit but wriggled my way underneath. He laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief: We were golden.

I look at him now talking a mile a minute about anything and everything in a mix of Arabic and English, and I can't believe he's the same boy I met in Baghdad. I would really do anything for this kid. I made paper airplanes for the first time in over two decades.

"Are you working on my story?" Youssif asks me, looking over my shoulder as I type this.

"Yup," I say.

He's looking over my shoulder again, pointing to the numerous times his name comes up. I love that we're "hanging out" now. We're even sharing popcorn. He's shrieking with laughter at something silly I am doing.

"Here, you can take this too," he said in giving me his toothpaste, as I packed my bags.

I am so childishly flattered. I am also the proud owner of a gingerbread snowman he made in class, a little pink flower, two paper airplanes we made together, a stuffed rabbit, and a cold soda because he noticed I was done drinking the one I already had.

And a used eraser.

"I want to grow up so I can be a doctor," he says. "Is being 10 a man?"

I laugh. He's being serious.

"I want to help other burnt Iraqi kids. I want to be like Dr. Peter," he says referring to his surgeon, Dr. Peter Grossman with the Grossman Burn Center.

Youssif's even sitting in my lap now.

"Are you leaving today?" he asks.

I nod.

"Oooooh," he exclaims, his usual expression of surprise, as his eyes widened.

He keeps running over asking me how much time I have left.

It's breaking my damn heart to leave. And I thought I was the "tough Baghdad correspondent."

But watching Youssif standing on stage singing "Jinglebell Rock" with the other first-graders, I felt tears sting my eyes. It's not the first time the little guy has caused such a rare reaction in me.

Click here to watch Arwa Damon's report on her reunion with Youssif.

MECCA, Saudi Arabia – Our live shot is on top of one of the rickety metal scaffoldings normally reserved for security officials. The mass of humanity below us is mesmerizing - it's a constant flow, varying in intensity depending on the time of day.We've somehow managed to go live from inside the Jamarat, much to the bemusement of our government guide, Khaled, even though he made it happen, and to our surprise. CNN has never done it before and Khaled swears that not even Saudi TV managed to pull it off.

For millions making the Hajj throwing stones at the pillars of the Jamarat is an essential part of the pilgrimage.

Five days earlier we had visited the Jamarat while shooting a piece on security measures and were as usual plotting how to get the best "inside feel" of the ritual of stoning the devil.

I was pointing to all the spots I would like to be in and producer Mohammed Tawfeeq was shaking his head and Khaled was giving me the "are you insane?" look and saying, "The security officials will never let you stay there." I had even pointed to the scaffolding. They laughed. And yet here we were, perched a few meters above the flow of pilgrims!

I can't take credit for the idea turning into reality, that goes to Khaled, who I think after working with us for about a week realized that humoring our at times absurd requests to go live from different locations was worth saving himself the headache of our persistent pestering.

The stoning ritual is associated with Prophet Abraham. God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son. Satan tried to convince Abraham to ignore God's command. Abraham refused. At the last moment God spared Abraham's son and he sacrificed a ram instead. It was the biggest test of Abraham's devotion. As part of the Hajj rituals, pilgrims throw stones at three pillars known as the Jamarat. It signifies the rejection of the temptations of Satan, and also symbolizes the rejection of evil and vice.

It is also here that the devastating stampedes happened in the past. Most recently, in 2006 at least 345 pilgrims were killed. The deadliest was in 1990 when over 1,400 pilgrims lost their lives. The Saudi government has in the last five years expanded the Jamarat, adding additional floors and putting in a number of other measures to control the crowds - which given some of the scenes unfolding in front of us is understandable.

Beneath us a group from Lebanon is reciting verses from the Quran and counting their stones - seven are thrown at each Jamarat. Their group leader gives them the order to go. They barrel through the fast flow of pilgrims at a 90 degree angle.

We watch fascinated and horrified, expecting a mass collision of bodies. Somehow they make it through, throw their stones, and navigate the masses back, stopping below us to catch their breath.

We ventured into the crowd, Khaled trying to clear a route, cameraman Chevan Rayson trying to keep a steady shot as we got jostled and elbowed, the intensity of the crowd growing closer to the pillar. Arms flying, stones pelting the pillars, passionate voices chanting "God is great" and cursing the devil.

A shriveled old man wiggles his way through to the front, heaves his arm back, and throws his pebble with all his strength.

The Hajj is in its last days. I watch the millions below and realize that they will all go home to their respective countries around the globe with an inner peace and sense of spirituality having completed this journey.

Click here to watch my report from inside the Jamarat.

In 48 hours I went from being the reporter whose usual 'beat' is Baghdad to covering the Hajj, trading a flak jacket for an abaya, and stories of violence for ones of spirituality.

Hajj pilgrims at Mercy Mountain.

Having no real clue what to expect, I bounced a plethora of ideas of 'new' things we could do off of producer Mohammed Tawfeeq, who has covered the Hajj before, and who kept giving me that look of "you have no idea what you're getting into." He was right.

I had no idea how magical the al-Haram mosque looked at night with the swirling white river of humanity around the Kaaba, millions from all over the globe united, praying in unison.

We went inside one night with a flip cam.

Up close the river turns into hot sweaty bodies shoving up against each other caught up in the religious fervor of it all, arms outstretched desperately trying to touch the Kaaba and the black stone.

And yet there was a certain serenity to it all once you stepped back into the cool desert breeze.

Translating this religious journey into TV would be our job for the next week.

One of my so called strokes of brilliance was to try to go live from the base of Mount Mercy in Arafat, which was am amazing backdrop, but something of a nightmare when it comes to the practicalities of live TV, the amount of gear we have to carry and the reality of having to navigate the millions at the Hajj.

I remember sitting at our live position – precariously perched on top of one of the lower boulders – looking out at the sea of pilgrims that just seemed to pour off Mount Mercy into an endless stream that extended as far as the eye could see.

It was here in this moment that the pilgrims all said that they felt closest to God, that they walked away from Arafat feeling like their slate had been wiped clean, that they were given a second chance at life.

There was a soft mist pouring down from the sprinklers that gave everything a mystical feel.

I completely forget that we would somehow have to work our way through them – my 'brilliant' plan suddenly seeming not so much that after we ended up stuck in the sea of pilgrims with our cases of gear and backpacks for about two hours walking to our car.

It's crowded, hectic, hot, and cramped most places we go.

Mohammed keeps giving me that look of "you have no idea what you're getting us into" and most of the time he's right.

Still, it's an experience like no other. There's a passion in everyone's voice that's gripping – and it's a passion that's echoed by those who have saved for this journey all their lives and those who have been on the Hajj multiple times.

We've met people from all walks of life, all corners of the globe, all who will return home with peace of spirit.