For three days after Sept. 11, Kadidja Taraore locked herself in her Bronx apartment, paralyzed with fear and shock. Her husband, Abdoul Karim Taraore, a cook at Windows on the World restaurant, never came home.

The 31-year-old west African immigrant, who speaks no English and has lived here illegally since 1997, saw on TV what happened at the World Trade Center but couldn't gather enough courage to call police.

"I didn't understand what was being said on the television news," said the French-speaking mother of three, who earns money braiding hair at home. "I didn't even know which tower he worked in."

For countless undocumented immigrant families like Taraore's, the attack on the World Trade Center has caused despair and confusion.

Most of them — whether relatives of the presumed dead or the off-the-books workers who scrubbed toilets or delivered food — aren't eligible for survivor or unemployment benefits.

Despite assurances from immigration officials, they're afraid to report loved ones missing for fear of being deported.

And they wonder whether any of the millions of dollars of relief for victims will flow to them.

Immigrant advocates say that anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred people missing in the Trade Center rubble were undocumented — those who sneaked into the country or entered with expired visas.

"This is a major catastrophe," said Brother Joel Magallan Reyes, executive director of the Tepeyac Association of New York, which represents Spanish-speaking immigrants. "The undocumented were bad off before Sept. 11, and now they are in a worse situation."

Meeting with immigrant advocacy leaders in New York, Immigration and Naturalization Service Commissioner James Ziglar encouraged the undocumented to come forward without fear of deportation.

"INS will not seek and would not use any information that was given by any person with respect to the tragedies that occurred at the World Trade Center," he said. "We would not use that information against them because of their immigration status."

Yet many immigrants stayed away from heavily guarded Pier 94, where a bevy of local and federal agencies have set up shop to assist World Trade Center victims.

It looked to them like "a police state," said Joe Bautista, a human relations officer with the American Red Cross.

Many families who did visit Pier 94 did not receive help. Government-backed channels such as the Federal Emergency Management Agency are barred from allocating funds to illegals.

"All we could do was refer them to other agencies," said John Shallman, a regional spokesman with the Social Security Administration.

Some nongovernmental workers, wary of scam artists, turned away immigrants if they lacked Social Security numbers and other conventional forms of identification.

The circumstances of the undocumented are complicated. They have no paper trails of pay stubs or W-2 forms to prove employment — only verbal agreements and cash.

Many undocumented immigrants obtained false documents bearing names other than their own, said Omar Saracha of Tepeyac, who is working with more than 100 workers unemployed because of the disaster.

Now, some are unable to prove their place of employment and even ties to missing relatives, Saracha said.

For example, a Honduran widow, who asked not to be identified, has been unable to prove that she is the wife of a missing Trade Center worker because she has no marriage license.

Rosa Castaneda, 42, a cleaning woman, had amassed three years' worth of Gateway Plaza clients in Battery Park City. All are displaced and unreachable.

"What do we do now? Where do we go? We loved this place so much," said Castaneda. "We have been traumatized."

Martin Andrade, 20, originally from Puebla, Mexico, worked for cash three blocks from the twin towers at Little Italy Pizzeria, making deliveries and waiting tables. His base pay was $260, and in a good week he made $480. But on Sept. 11, all that changed.

When the first tower collapsed, he managed to padlock the restaurant — thinking someone might steal something — before running to safety.

Days later, Andrade heard that relief agencies were providing money to those who had lost jobs because of the attack. But his boss, whom he did not want to identify, wouldn't give him a letter proving his employment and salary. He's also owed a week's pay.

"Without the letter, I don't know what to do — everywhere they want proof that what you say is true," said Andrade, who lives in Manhattan. "I have been looking for a job, but there is nothing."

The Red Cross said last week that it will provide services to undocumented immigrants — provided they can come up with at least one person who can verify their employment.

"We're not trying to make this a difficult process," said Tracy Gary, a Red Cross spokeswoman. "We're trying to make this process something that can ease their minds."

Taraore, who asked that her real first name not be used, may end up in better shape than other surviving spouses.

Organizers at her husband's union, Local 100 of the Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees International Union, have been able to shepherd her through the tangled web of relief agencies.

In addition to the union's life insurance policy of about $15,000, her American-born sons will receive Social Security benefits from their father.

Wearing a blue Muslim veil, a symbol of mourning, Taraore still hasn't told her toddler boys about their father. Nor has she broken the news to their 8-year-old daughter, who lives in the Ivory Coast.

"They miss him," she said. "They always ask for their papa. I don't know when I'm going to tell them."