AMMAN -- Today, as Iraqis vote on a new constitution, was supposed to be the moment a "new Iraq" was born. But Umm Haider didn't wait around to see what the offspring looks like; she had already seen enough.

Two days ago, the 40-year-old fashion designer finally gave up on her country and moved with her family to neighbouring Jordan. She decided to leave Baghdad when she realized she felt trapped in her home, paralyzed by fear. No piece of paper, no matter how painstakingly crafted, can fix something so badly broken, she says.

"My psychological state did not allow me to stay in Iraq. Iraq is clouded with darkness and death. . . . We fear the militias that have appeared. They enter a house, steal everything, assault women and take whatever they want," she said as she shopped yesterday in a sprawling Amman mall that was more Middle America than Mesopotamia.

"What constitution are they talking about? The government cannot provide a bite to eat for Iraqis."

Ms. Haider is among the latest in a flood of Iraqis -- mostly disaffected Sunnis, as well as Christians who say they're increasingly persecuted in the country -- who have fled during the past two years. There are now 400,000 Iraqis living in Jordan, double the prewar number, and some observers believe the real number could be closer to 800,000. Iraqis are so numerous in the Jordanian capital that the Mecca Mall that Ms. Haider and her family were shopping at has been dubbed the "Iraqi Mall" by bemused Jordanians. Similar numbers of people are reported to have fled to Syria.

The draft constitution, which promises both democracy and adherence to the principles of the Koran, and is seen as giving broad powers to the country's Shia Arabs and Kurds at the expense of the old Sunni Muslim ruling class, is expected to pass despite broad opposition from some Sunnis. It will get an easier ride than it otherwise would have because so many would-be opponents of the document have already voted with their feet and left.

As evinced by Ms. Haider's ornately embroidered black abaya and fashionable pink handbag, these are not your stereotypical destitute refugees, but members of the country's old intelligentsia and the moneyed middle class. If and when the smoke finally clears in Iraq, their absence will likely prove a devastating blow to the country's chances of recovering.

"The people who left Iraq were the intellectuals: the doctors, engineers, electricians, artists and scholars. People with degrees from all sects," said Yousef Akoub, the manager of Zad el-Khair, a popular Iraqi restaurant in the centre of Amman. A line of sleek black Mercedes and BMWs was parked outside his establishment last night, but the mood inside in the hours before the referendum was almost funereal.

"Now the country is over. The country is in the hands of an idiotic class, which does not know the language of the pen, computer or Internet. They only know the language of violence. . . . Iraq is history."

Like many Iraqis in Jordan, Mr. Akoub, 40, fled a year ago with some of his family after the violence repeatedly struck too close to home. First, the hotel he ran in Baghdad's Christian district was struck by a rocket-propelled grenade. Then, his son was kidnapped and held until he paid a large ransom.

Many of the Iraqis who have taken up residence in Jordan are those who were once favoured by Saddam Hussein's regime -- Mr. Hussein's daughters, Raghad and Rana, who have rented a villa in Amman's wealthy Abdoun neighbourhood, are now two of Amman's more prominent denizens. Other ex-Baath Party officials are said to inhabit some of the city's poshest villas, and the Iraqi government has alleged that weapons and money flow over the border to feed the insurgency in that country.

But even some of those who longed for Mr. Hussein's overthrow have moved their families away, hoping that distance from Baghdad translates into safety. Iyad Allawi, the former Sunni prime minister in the U.S.-picked interim government, has a home here, as do many with little love for the militants who have targeted Iraqi cities with innumerable suicide bombs.

Amman's Christian neighbourhoods are teeming with those who have fled the carnage. Cars with Iraqi licence plates swerve through traffic and the distinctive Iraqi accent is commonly heard on the streets and in the city's cafés and restaurants.

"It's the closest country to Iraq, and you feel safe here. I feel safer here than in other Arab countries," said Hadir Talia, 40, as he shared a pizza with his fiancée in the food court of the "Iraqi Mall." He left Iraq 15 years ago, desperate to escape the poverty that befell the country after international sanctions were imposed on Mr. Hussein's regime during the 1990s.

Real estate agents tell tales of Iraqis arriving with suitcases of cash and buying three or four properties on the spot. Correspondingly, housing prices in some of Amman's tonier neighbourhoods have doubled in the past 12 months, with some villas now selling for upward of $2-million (U.S.).

Many analysts say the size of the investments being made in Jordan suggests that many of the Iraqis have given up on their country and have come here to stay.

"Iraqis are fleeing oppression, and they're not going back. They're parking their families here," said Joost Hilterman, Middle East director for the International Crisis Group. He said that the new constitution, instead of being the national compact that the United States hoped for, has deepened the feeling of alienation among Sunni Arabs.

While Jordan has unquestionably reaped economic benefit from the influx, integrating so many people so fast poses big challenges for a small country already struggling to deal with about 1.8 million Palestinian refugees. The government, which says that only 27,000 Iraqis have legal residency in the country, briefly tried to block Iraqi children from attending the country's already cash-strapped schools, but backed down under pressure from Baghdad.

Security officials, meanwhile, worry that some of Iraq's problems may also be moving across the border. A rocket attack in August on a U.S. warship docked in the Red Sea port of Aqaba was tied to militants who had crossed into the country from Iraq. It is believed they had links with the Jordanian-born al-Qaeda figure, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi.

To Iraqis living here, however, the threat of violence following them over the border seems a remote risk. They're building new lives, assuming they may never go back.

"I am pessimistic, because I know the situation in Iraq is only going to get worse," said Mr. Akoub, the restaurateur. "I wish I could back to my country, but that is a dream now."