BAGHDAD, Iraq -- Instead of grumbling about homework or giggling with friends, 16-year-old Assil Hazem broods over violence and death.

"In class, I can't concentrate at all," said the high school student, draped in the black veil of mourning for a cousin killed by a roadside bomb directed at American soldiers two weeks ago.

"At night I can't sleep very well because of the explosions nearby," she says. "I'm scared all the time. Even though I'm around people, I feel always alone."

For Iraq's young, the post-Saddam Hussein era has meant refurnished schools, the freedom to speak openly and the promise of a brighter future. But it's also meant a daily obstacle course of potential catastrophes, ranging from the violence in the streets to the domestic anxieties caused by energy shortages or suddenly unemployed parents.

The post-Saddam world for young Iraqis is limited to school and home and the often-worrisome journey between the two.

Educators, confronting a dilapidated public school system corrupted by 30 years of Saddam's ultra-nationalist ideology, say they are overwhelmed with revising tainted curriculum, ripping pictures of Saddam out of textbooks, upgrading neglected buildings and equipment, reforming the bureaucracy and training teachers. They have little time for the problems of their troubled students.

"There are many difficulties that face the education system," said A'la Alwan, the new minister of education, when asked about the miseries that have befallen Iraqi youth. "This is one of them."

Naseer Kamel Chaderji, a member of Iraq's 24-member U.S.-backed Governing Council, likened the spiritual malaise among Iraqi young people to a post-dictatorship hangover that will lift with time.

"We can define the young as a lost generation because they've grown up in an unbalanced environment in which they were taught that everything was about Saddam," he said. "Now they feel emptiness inside. We must bring new things to fill this emptiness, like democracy, love of country, love of others, peace and pacifism."

For Hazem and her classmates at the Fatmeh Zahra Secondary School for Girls in the al-Dora section of Baghdad, the troubles began three months ago with the abduction for ransom of a neighborhood boy. The kidnappers -- likely one of numerous new criminal gangs arising in the post-Saddam era -- demanded $40,000 from the boy's family and threatened to grab his sister, as well.

The terrified family paid the ransom and forbade their daughter from going to school. At Fatmeh Zahra, the story spread like wildfire, setting off a wave of panic among parents, teachers and students. Now, a guard with a Kalashnikov assault rifle is posted at the school entrance.

Winter's chill -- with temperatures dipping to as low as 40 degrees -- has brought a whole new set of problems for Iraqi students and children. Smuggling and sabotage have depleted supplies of kerosene and heating oil, causing their prices to skyrocket.

The U.S.-backed coalition provided electric heaters for many of the schools it is rebuilding and repainting. But Iraq's overtaxed electrical grid has deteriorated since school began in the fall -- there is usually power for only a few hours a day -- so students and teachers often sit in class bundled in hats and overcoats.

"All the girls suffer because there is no electricity," said Hoda Wahid Abdul-Kareem al-Ani, principal at Fatmeh Zahra. "There is no fuel or oil, and the weather is very cold in Iraq these days. Many girls become sick."

School psychologist Samira Wahar has noted marked increases in absences, tardiness and a lack of concentration among her students, especially after Operation Iron Grip, the renewed U.S. bombing operation against insurgents, was launched just before Christmas.

On some nights the skies over al-Dora erupt with the screeches of supersonic jets and the explosions of artillery shells or anti-tank fire. "Because of the bombardment they either don't come to class or they show up and start crying that they can't go to class," Wahar said.

The death of Hussein Fa'ez, Hazem's cousin, further traumatized the students. A cab driver, he was waiting in one of the city's long gas station lines when a roadside bomb apparently aimed at a U.S. Army convoy exploded. A piece of shrapnel punctured Fa'ez's neck, and he bled to death. He was 22.

"Everyone knows everyone in this neighborhood, and everyone knew and liked him," said Hazem.

Students say school doesn't offer much sanctuary.

"The teachers have bigger problems than we do," said Sara Abed, a 14-year-old at the Fatmeh Zahra. "Among our friends, all we talk about in school is bad news from this friend or that friend."

Home has also become an often desolate place. Each night, Sara and her two sisters huddle around a lone kerosene lamp and crack open their books. "Its so dim we can't even recognize the letters while we are reading," she said.

Satellite television, banned under Saddam but now ubiquitous in Iraq, has lost its initial charm, as well.

"At first, we used to watch videos," said Hazem. "Now all we watch is Al-Arabia and Al-Jazeera," the two most popular Arab-language news channels.

Students and teachers say Saddam's Dec. 13 capture brought joy, wonder and laughter to the school. They also say that for kids, if not their parents, life was better under the former dictator.

"We used to go on school field trips, out for food, out on the streets," said Abed. "Now, we can't go to cinemas, we can't go to restaurants. We never go out at all. I feel like all my days are disappearing."