“We’ll find a way. We have to try.” I sensed that our only opportunity to escape our fate would be the moment the door was opened.
After a while we reached the outer suburbs of Mosul. It was already dark. We crisscrossed our way through the streets, which at first glance didn’t look much different from what I’d seen on my previous visits here. I’d already been to Mosul for a number of reasons, mostly accompanying my father when he had something to do there. This time, however, there were far fewer people in the streets. I saw practically no women, maybe because it was quite late already. But there were lots of checkpoints, all flying the black flag. Soldiers kept watch at these, making sure nobody entered the city—or left it—without permission. My heart sank. We really were in the middle of the new ISIS domain. How would we ever escape from this city secured like a fortress?
The bus drove a little further into town before stopping in a dark street of a residential area. The door opened. The time had come. “Okay, get out!” the men commanded. Most of the girls hesitated. But I grabbed Evin’s hand and rushed outside with her.
A group of armed men was already waiting for us. Frantically I looked around for a chance to flee. But realizing at once what we had in mind, they blocked our way by forming a sort of cordon. “That way,” one of them said, shoving us toward the front door of a house, several floors high and only a few meters away. There was nowhere else to go.
So we entered the building. It seemed to be a perfectly normal, albeit very large house. The rooms had sofas and chairs, there were carpets on the floors, and even beds and bedclothes. But all of them were jam-packed with girls, every one of them a Yazidi of our age. This was evident from their clothes and the way they were talking. But they came from other villages around the Sinjar Mountains. I could tell they’d been abducted too, by how distraught they were; some girls were hitting themselves out of sheer desperation.
“Let us go—now!” I screamed at the men. “We want to go back to Kocho!”
They seemed to find this amusing. “But we’d far rather keep you ourselves!”
“You have no right! Take us back to our families at once!”
“Your families are dead. We’re responsible for you now.”
Hearing this, the girls around me broke into hysterical sobbing. “I don’t believe a word you say!” I cried. And I really didn’t. I thought the men were just trying to intimidate us, to make us compliant. If we lost all hope it would be easier for them to control us.
“Don’t listen to them. It’s all lies,” I tried to console Evin.
“But what if it isn’t? Didn’t you hear the shots when we were in the school?”
Of course I’d heard them. “There’s shooting all the time in wars. We don’t know what really happened.”
Evin didn’t look convinced.
“Look, the Americans are on our side now, aren’t they? Perhaps their army is well on the way to liberating us.”
More and more girls from Kocho were being squeezed into the already bursting rooms. Gradually almost all the girls from our school gathered in the house.
At midnight they then started bringing in the really young girls, ten- to twelve-year-olds, who they’d previously allowed to stay with their mothers. Over the course of the evening there must have been a new order from their boss that even the young ones were to be treated as “women.” After all, the youngest wife of the Prophet Muhammad was only nine when they got married.
The young girls were completely shell-shocked. They were still children and had no idea what was happening. They told us that our mothers and younger siblings had been taken to Tal Afar, a city halfway between Sinjar and Mosul, and in ISIS territory. This was both good and bad news. On the one hand it meant that our families were still alive; on the other they—like us—were prisoners of ISIS.
The house was guarded by about twenty men. Half of them stood by the entrance, the rest kept watch inside. A group sat in the hallway, watching television, which was just showing the evening news from Baghdad.
“According to eyewitnesses there has been a massacre in the village of Kocho,” I heard the newsreader say. “All male villagers are said to have been shot dead.”
The ground gave way beneath me and I sank into a huge black hole. “No!” I screamed, slapping my face with my hands. Then I started to jerk uncontrollably and involuntarily. I was getting one of my attacks. The men turned around and came closer, because they found my behavior funny. But there was nothing I could do about it.
“Stop that nonsense at once!” I heard them shout from what seemed like far away. But their voices no longer got through to me. No one could get through to me. The commotion around me was happening in another world, far away.
I can’t recollect what I did or didn’t do. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the floor. Evin was bent over me, pressing my arms firmly to the ground. Around me I could see my school friends Rania, Ronahi, Mina, and Hanna looking terrified. They’d never seen me like that before. “I need my medicine,” I whispered dizzily. “It’s at home.”
Even our guards appeared to be at a loss. “If you do that again we’ll clobber you with a rifle,” they threatened.
It took me a while to come around fully. But then the memory came back to me at full blast.
“Is it true what they said on television? That you’ve murdered our fathers and brothers? Is it really true?” I screamed at the ISIS soldiers.
“No, it’s rubbish,” replied one of them, who probably just wanted some peace and quiet.
“Don’t lie to her!” another said. “Of course it’s true.” This was the same man who’d told us at the beginning that our families were dead. “You’re all alone in this world. You’ve just got us now. We’re your new masters.”
The girls around me started weeping again. “Why did you do that to them?” they cried. “Let us go, at least!”
“It was our right to kill them because they were infidels. For that is what it says in the Quran: ‘Kill the Infidels!’ ”
“And take their wives,” another added. “That’s why you belong to us now, and we can do what we like with you. You don’t have any rights.”
“That’s a lie!” I snarled furiously. “You’ve made it up.” I simply refused to believe that Islam could justify such crimes. “I know many Muslims who will vouch that it isn’t true.”
“But it is true,” they insisted. “Our emir, the caliph, will decide your fate.” I thought of the man with the beard, whose video I’d watched with Delan. At the time we’d made fun of his arrogance. But this man had shattered our lives. Where was my beloved brother now? Was Delan still alive? And Dad? And Serhad? Where had they taken Mom and the two boys?
Evin and I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Because there wasn’t enough room on the carpets, we sat back-to-back, exhausted, our arms around our knees and densely packed in with the other girls. We were only allowed to leave the room to go to the toilet. Each time a guard came close we’d give a start, because we didn’t know what they had in mind for us next. And of course we were expecting the worst.
Sometime in the morning or around lunchtime they brought us some soup and rice, a portion for each girl. But most didn’t touch it. Evin and I also refused to accept food from our captors. We just drank a little water. We sat in the room, apathetically, waiting for something to happen.
Then a group of men arrived, bearded and dressed in black like all the others. Heavy weapons swung from their shoulders. A delegation sent by the caliph, apparently. They pranced through the room, ogling us shamelessly. We tried as best we could to hide our faces beneath the veils and scarves we’d brought with us. “What are you doing?” they barked at us. “You’re not Muslims. Why are you hiding yourselves?”
“Because you’re defiling us with your gaze,” the young woman sitting next to Evin muttered. I didn’t know her, but she was a particularly beautiful girl. You could see that even just by looking into her eyes. Ripping away her scarf, the men
were completely dazzled by her beauty. They instructed her to come with them. But the girl stayed where she was, as if rooted to the spot. So they beat her. She started screaming and defending herself with her hands. In the end two men grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of the room while she kicked wildly and cried for help.
The rest of us sat there as if hypnotized, watching the scene. “Pigs!” Evin said under her breath, sitting in front to protect me.
They picked out a few more very beautiful girls, and seemed particularly interested in the very young ones. “You’re very lucky,” they said. “The caliph has chosen you to be his brides.”
Then it was our turn. A tall, bearded man stood before us, his legs apart. He behaved like a state official. “Do all of you understand Arabic?” he asked with a strong Baghdad accent. A few girls nodded timidly. But most of them didn’t react, leaving him none the wiser. “Your fathers have offended God,” he said. “They are infidels and they pray to the devil. For this we had to punish them. Death was no better than they deserved.” The girls whimpered softly. “According to the rules of war and religion you are now our property. We have the right to keep you as slaves. But we’ve decided to give you a chance. Those of you who are prepared to convert to Islam can become the lawful wives of our fighters.” The man cleared his throat. “This is a unique chance for you. Renounce your heretical beliefs! Recognize the one true God, Allah! Join our struggle!”
He looked around to gauge the effect of his words. But if he’d been expecting signs of interest or even agreement, he was disappointed. None of us stirred. We just stared at the ground in fear. A few girls who couldn’t contain themselves were sniveling quietly. “Join us, become Muslims!” he exclaimed again. “Accompany our men in jihad. Become the wives of warriors fighting for a noble cause: a state ruled according to the laws of Islam. A truly pious and just state.”
The only person excited by this appeal was the man himself. He really appeared to believe what he was saying so dramatically.
“If your state is so pious and just, then set us free! Let us go back to our families, where we belong!” I demanded.
He flashed his eyes at me. “You may visit your families any time you wish. But first you have to acknowledge Islam. For in our state we accept none but Muslims as citizens. If you fail to do this you will not enjoy any civil rights. And we’ll treat you like slaves. We’ll sell you on the market.”
I looked in horror at Evin. She lowered her eyes and shook her head imperceptibly. “He’s lying,” she said. “Everything he’s saying is one big lie.”
“Is this what you want? Anybody willing to accept this fate should stick with her heretical beliefs. The decision is yours alone.” A few girls whispered nervously. Personally, I didn’t know what to make of his words. It was as if he were handing us a knife and asking us to plunge it into our own chests. Or those of our families.
“Speak after me,” the ISIS man demanded. “Ashhadu alla ilaha illa allah—I declare that there is no other God but Allah. Wa ashhadu anna muhammad rasulu allah—I declare that Muhammad is God’s messenger.”
None of the girls said anything. We looked at the floor to avoid his furious glare. “I’m warning you. This is your very last chance!” He recited the profession of faith again. But again we kept staunchly silent.
“Well, you have sealed your fate,” he concluded.
When the man left we anxiously huddled together. “What on earth do you think they’re going to do to us now?” one girl asked apprehensively. “Maybe we ought to have just pretended to convert to Islam. Just for show, I mean.”
I gave her a look of horror. “What? So they can marry us off to Muslim killers? The murderers of our fathers and brothers?”
“I’d rather die!” Evin agreed.
“It’s true: we’d be defiled forever,” the girl said thoughtfully. “But perhaps that’s how we’ll end up anyway.”
“Be quiet!” I shouted at her. “You must not think like that. Before they lay a finger on us we’ll take our own lives.”
We fell silent. Each of us sank into our own, gloomy thoughts. But one thing was clear to us all: if an ISIS fighter decided to make us his wife, our life was over. We would bring disgrace to our families and be cast out of the community. No Yazidi man would want to marry us afterward. It must not come to that. For that we bore a responsibility to ourselves and the honor of our families.
Shortly afterward two buses stopped outside the house where they were keeping us prisoner. The men shooed us downstairs and then outside, where they formed another cordon to prevent any of us from fleeing.
“Listen up! We’re going on another trip,” they said.
“Where are you taking us?”
“You’ll see.”
When I saw the buses I couldn’t help thinking of how I’d watched our men being loaded onto the trucks. I stayed rooted to the spot and made no move to follow the instructions. “If you refuse to tell me, I’m not going anywhere,” I announced.
“Oh yes you are,” one of the armed men said, hitting me with his rifle. I screamed in pain.
“We’re taking you back to your parents,” one of his colleagues said.
“Is that true?” Evin asked.
“Yes, to your mothers in Tal Afar.” He laughed.
“He’s talking nonsense. We’re taking you to Syria,” another one said. “We’re going to sell you at the market.” The second man laughed too, making it impossible to know who was telling the truth. Neither of them, probably. The other girls started to panic. Some tried to run back inside the house. The one thing they didn’t want was to go even further away from home.
“That’s enough talking!” one of the men yelled. “Get in!”
They violently shoved us into the vehicles. I held on tight to Evin’s hand so at least we’d get on the same bus. For me that was some consolation. Whatever they had in store for us, at least my friend would be with me.
We set off westward in a convoy, toward the setting sun and our homeland. One car drove in front, another behind. Three ISIS soldiers, young men around twenty years of age, had been detailed as guards; they traveled in the rear of the bus and kept their eyes on us. I didn’t let go of Evin’s hand for a second.
First we came to Tal Afar, the place they had allegedly carted our mothers off to. We were all gripped by an anxious hope. Perhaps the man hadn’t been lying after all. Perhaps we would see our families again. But rather than stop, the bus kept going toward Sinjar.
Soon we were at the foot of the mountain range where so many of our relatives had fled. Had our families now been banished there too? Maybe the men were going to drop us off up there. There was nothing we wanted more keenly! Even the wilderness of these mountains seemed preferable to remaining under the control of these barbarians.
When we realized that the bus wasn’t going to stop there either, there was renewed agitation among us girls. “Stop!” some cried. “Let us out!” But I knew that they wouldn’t let us go voluntarily. So I tried smashing the window with my hand. I slammed it with all my strength, causing a loud noise that our guards heard too. But the window remained intact, and my hand hurt terribly.
Our guards became angry, of course, when they found out what I’d been trying to do. One came up and slapped me hard in the face. Then he sat between Evin and me so that we couldn’t attempt any more escapes. He tried his very best not to touch either of us. But now other girls were also trying to smash the windows. “Let us out!” they screamed. “Let us die here, in our homeland!”
The ISIS men were totally on edge. The young man who’d been sitting between me and Evin stood up and walked to the front of the bus. He turned and aimed his rifle at us. “If you don’t stop at once and shut up I’ll shoot the lot of you,” he threatened.
We fell silent.
The bus kept going west toward the border that my father had been guarding until recently: the border between Iraq and Syria. But it no longer existed; all the border posts had been
bulldozed. Our bus continued on its way without any controls. The “Islamic State,” as our abductors called the entity they had created, now extended across large parts of northern Iraq and northern Syria. Just as the caliph had predicted in his address in Mosul, the territory was now the size of a state, larger than several others in the region. How, I asked myself, had this come about in such a short period of time? Only two months ago most of the people in our village hadn’t even been aware that there was a terrorist group called ISIS.
We kept driving through the night. And although we were dead tired, we couldn’t get any rest. I spent the whole time staring out the window, looking for signs with place-names. We were desperate to know where we were. At one point I saw that we were approaching the city of Raqqa. This metropolis in northern Syria was the de facto capital of the “Islamic State.” Was it also our final destination?
After almost ten hours in the bus we stopped outside a low, elongated building. It stood behind a wall of earth topped with barbed wire. The building was guarded by a group of ISIS soldiers. They sat with pistols and machine guns in front of the entrance, a sliding metal door secured with several chains. “Fresh supplies! Lovely young Yazidis!” one of them joked. Together with our guards they took us one by one from the bus and into the building. When we were all in, they slammed the door shut behind us and secured it again with the chains.
We were inside a large, brightly lit hall. Here were about eighty girls, all seemingly Yazidis. Some had been lying asleep on the ground. When we entered with the men they covered their faces with veils. But we could still see their puffy, tear-stained eyes. Their clothes smelled as if they hadn’t changed in a while.
I recognized a young woman I’d once met on one of our pilgrimages to Lalish. With her moonlike face and oval eyes she was a real beauty. Her family had camped near mine. But all that seemed to belong to another era. She recognized me too. “You’re from Kocho, aren’t you?” she said, looking at the girls who’d arrived with me.
“That’s right. What about you?”
The Girl Who Escaped ISIS Page 7