Rebuilding
amid
the
ruins

I am 55 years old. I am from Kocho in south Sinjar. When it was captured by ISIS, we came here to Tel Qasab. My husband – who was so youthful – and 2 of my sons were killed. Now I live in someone else’s house; I don’t like the way it feels, and I dream of having my own house again all the time. I keep saying that the past cannot be undone. I would like to preserve what is left. I have thought thousands of nights about my missing family and have taken sleeping pills to help me sleep. Since I don’t live in my own house, I’m unable to get any proper sleep at night. I see other people rebuilding their lives and it affects me a lot and makes me so upset. I thank God that 2 of my children survived, but my other 2 children and husband are gone.

We lived in Kadia Camp for 5 years where the living conditions were abysmal. Our land is in Kocho, and I didn’t want to lose it, so I decided to go back. We went back to cultivate our land, which we did for 2 successive years; 1 was a productive year, but the other was unfruitful. Eventually, we had to burn our land because we did not have harvesters to harvest the crops on time.

Just yesterday we killed 5 scorpions here, and the heat is unbearable. Many people have wondered why I live in an unfinished building. I do the dishes outside and many people ask me why, and I tell them I don’t have a basin. Three times a day I wash my dishes in the blistering heat of summer. We have been through a lot. Eight people from my family have been killed and are missing, and I know nothing about them. My mother-in-law died in Tel Afar; we had to leave her there and were only able to collect her remains after Tel Afar was liberated from ISIS. We have endured all of this. There are other people like me, but at least they have been able to bury their loved ones.

The villages south of Sinjar were annihilated although others were left intact. We know many other people like us going through untold miseries, but others did not get harmed and being displaced was much easier on them. Our houses were destroyed, men were killed and are still unburied, we got displaced. We cannot afford to rebuild our houses—our men have been building one small room for our artesian well but have not managed to get anyone to help them. Both of them are in the army and work in shifts with 10 days of work and 10 days off. It was very hard for them to find someone to plaster the walls.

All villagers would be happy to return and live in the same houses we used to live in. But now it is a village standing in ruin, surrounded by armed actors. It is full of animals now. No one wants to go back. I would not go back alone unless all villagers decide to go back together. I have some land near Hatimia village, and if I had enough money, I would build a small house there.

I miss everything about my old house. I especially miss Muhsin, my 17-year-old boy who was at school. He has been missing for 7 years now. I wish I had buried him or had seen some of his remains. I miss all of it; we had our own animals and property and our own harvester and tractors, and every year we had 4 full trucks of crops. Now we are deprived of all that, and all I can think of is my family.

There is nothing more difficult than getting gas, water, and electricity. We hardly have enough gas and water for ourselves. We stand on the road waving to the gas-distributing vehicles to get a gas cylinder. We buy 2 gas cylinders for 14 USD, and it is enough for 1 month. We buy water from tank owners who bring us some drinkable water. I buy each tank for 7 USD. We have a well here, but the water is really saline, so we cannot drink it. It is hardly even used for bathing because of its foaminess. It is all salt. The electricity is so bad, we don’t have a generator in our village. My sons bought a small gasoline-powered generator; sometimes we operate it, but no one can afford gasoline, so mostly we go without. We are suffering in this heat. My sons do get fuel for their car, but it is not easy because they must wait 2 days in long queues. Nothing in Iraq is easily obtainable.

I told you we lost all of our possessions: tractors, harvesters, trucks, and many other things. We cannot cultivate now. We don’t have fuel for the vehicles. We are also away from our village of Kocho, as now we are living in Tel Qasab. When one lives away from their own land, it takes a lot of costly fuel to get there. We have to do something and get back on our feet.

I also don’t have a single drop of oil. Last year, my nephew gave me his oil coupon and we managed to get a barrel of oil. The power keeps going off and on, but at night we have power from 10 pm until the morning. Power is what matters the most, but things are difficult because we don’t have it. We cannot afford to buy generators. Sometimes we sleep in the tractor’s tipping trailer. That is what our life is like.

With no power, our well could just fall apart and we can’t do anything about it. All of our hard work will be in vain. ISIS destroyed our wells too; they damaged the pipes. We need more water, power, and other items. I have lived here for 3 years in an unfinished building. There are many mice and scorpions here, which worries me. I told you we killed 5 scorpions yesterday – this area is rife with them because we are surrounded by destroyed houses. We just want to rebuild our houses and know about our missing son.

I am a 36-year-old female from Sinuni, north of Sinjar. Health services in Sinjar are generally very poor, and I think obstetrical delivery is the most critical healthcare challenge facing us here. The public hospitals are underequipped and don’t have the necessary devices, and although there are other doctors, there is no obstetrician. This means that women suffer a lot and are forced to travel to Mosul or Duhok for delivery. There are no ultrasound tests or operating rooms here and the doctors say that they do not have blood. If delivery services were provided here, we would not feel forced to go to Mosul and Duhok.

If we go to a doctor and they prescribe us medicine, it’s often unavailable here and we must get it from pharmacies elsewhere. There is a general lack of medical equipment and medicines here. If someone has an emergency condition late in the evening, all they can get is some painkillers, such as pills or injections. In the morning they will be referred to Duhok or Mosul, where all the tests are run.

Nine years ago, before the genocide, due to lack of care, I had a miscarriage when I was 4 months pregnant. I went to see a doctor because I was bleeding and he suggested I go to Sinjar for further checks. They gave me an ultrasound and demanded that I go to Mosul or Duhok immediately. I decided not to go to Mosul, given the security situation, so we went to Duhok where I had an operation. Although I was in very critical condition, the doctor at Azadi hospital could not help me, as he wanted the senior doctor to see me.

The situation is still the same: 4 months ago, I had a joint infection, but there was no doctor here to treat my condition, so I went to Mosul for 3 months. Although I had a very good experience with the other children I conceived and did not need caesarean sections, this time I had to have surgery because of the infection in my joints, which was hard on my body, given the delivery. The doctors could not prescribe me medicine for my joint problems during pregnancy, so I had to suffer. They then told me that I would not be able to get pregnant again and that I needed a hysterectomy.

I am supposed to see my doctor in Duhok every month, but because I can’t afford to, I go every 6 weeks instead. I have borrowed money from people I know, including 200,000 IQD ($134) from someone in June. It costs 20,000 IQD ($13) for a consultation, 25,000 IQD ($17) for a basic ultrasound, and more than 33,000 IQD ($22) for a colored ultrasound. An echocardiogram is 40,000 IQD ($27). Duhok is 2.5 hours away by car and Mosul is 2 hours away. I used to commute via taxi, but now we have a car. However, it is still difficult to travel this long distance and fuel is expensive.

If someone in Sinjar can’t afford to go to Mosul or Duhok, there are some doctors here. For example, there is an obstetrician in Sumeil. She once told me that I needed to undergo a surgery under general anesthesia, but I was forced to postpone the operation because I could not afford the cost. Once when I couldn’t walk for 40 days, no doctor could help because of the lack of specialists here. We could not go to Duhok, so were forced to go to Mosul.

I’m 49 years old and I have 6 children. My youngest son was born in 2006 and my eldest son was born in 2004. I have a daughter older than both of them. Only my youngest son goes to school now. One of my children has never gone to school at all. My other son reached sixth grade and dropped out. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him to go back to school. If I somehow had a choice between him going to school or getting a free car, I would choose for him to go to school. It’s so useful for them and I was going to rely on them.

Before the genocide, my daughter was in third grade in secondary school, and she was doing well. When we escaped and lived in Zakho for 3 years, the school was far away, we had to pay for transportation, and our situation was worse, so she dropped out. When we came back here, there were no schools; when they did open a school, she was older than other students and decided not to go back. Previously, the thinking was that if girls go to school, they should stop after they reach sixth grade. But I love my daughter just as much as I love my sons. They are equal. I want my daughter to outachieve my sons.

School is held Sunday to Thursday from 8 am to 11 am. Some children face trouble on the way to school – it depends on how far away they live. Some households are only 500 meters away from a school, whereas in other locations schools are 5 km away. I went to Karsi and near the checkpoint I saw students waiting in the cold and the same happens in the heat of summer. If the roads were good and secure, it would be better, but instead there are many stray dogs on the way, which could attack and endanger children. I fear stray dogs. Boys are a bit more courageous than girls – if there are 5 dogs on the way to school, 2 boys can scare them away, but girls would not do so.

It’s very difficult for my children to know how to spend their time while other children are at school. They are depressed. They lie down and use Facebook and sometimes help do the dishes. They sleep and sit in melancholy. There is a lot that they should have learned; for example, if they need to see a doctor in Mosul, they are like a blind person not knowing where to go. Educated people go to doctors and know what to do and where to go. For those who do go to school, I would say they get an OK education. If a student comes from an educated household, their family can help them, but for a family like mine, we don’t have anyone to teach them.

I would like to tell everyone that has children to encourage them to go to school. Education is so beneficial; for example, if I were to go to a different city to see a doctor or anything else my educated child could help by reading the banners, understanding signage, and guiding me. School is very useful.

Multiple organizations work here among us, including Nadia’s Initiative, which is one of the organizations working the hardest. They have set up agricultural and business projects, providing services like water, which is benefitting us all. Although these projects are for the public interest, we are benefitting at a family level as well; for instance, if they install a water supply network in my village, the whole village benefits, but my family as an individual entity will also benefit from this service.

A newly opened shop might only generate 10,000 IQD (7 USD), but perhaps this 10k means a lot to the shop owner. These projects help us look after our families. Here in our life in the eastern communities, nobody works and keeps the proceeds only for themselves; we all share it with the whole family. This work also helps improve our psychological well-being because the more we stay home without any work, the more our well-being deteriorates. This is especially true for us Yazidis after 2014. It takes our mind off the terrible experiences we had and upskills people while they are practicing a profession.

Money is the biggest challenge facing these projects. Although an organization may provide cash to us to set up a small business, later I have no way to continue developing my business. The selection of projects is another obstacle; if I chose to open a small business in a remote village, who would bother to come to my village to buy from me? They tell us that we only have 2 good options: either agriculture or animal husbandry. Mismanagement of businesses is another issue: if your business is too close to another one or if you don’t know how to manage your business, other competitors might have an advantage over you. This can lead to the failure of a project. The other thing is that organizations help set up small businesses, but these small businesses do not grow into large ones because the large businesses keep growing too. I agree that these projects help people get back on their feet, but they are not adequate on their own.

I am 43 years old and from the southern part of Sinjar. I do not feel safe and secure here. In fact, no one feels secure in Iraq – we can never rest assured in this country, because there are always wars. Shelling is what frightens me the most. I worry so much about the loss of life. Money and other things are recoverable, but once one loses the lives of their family members, they can never be restored. I worry about my family, as well as all Yazidis. They are scattered around the world now.

I am always afraid that ISIS may return. This fear never leaves me. I think about it whenever there is a fight or battle. ISIS destroyed Yazidis, they spared no one. I worry most about my children. We mothers are the most vulnerable; we ask our children not to go out and we ask them to play safely. I ask them not to go out too much. Even if they are not mine, whenever children are outside it is risky. One should always advise them to be careful when they are outside because they could be in a shelling area.

When shelling happens, it petrifies my children and I pray that no one gets hurt. I am not worried about material damage. If souls are unhurt, losing material things is fine. We all worry indeed. We are afraid that we will be displaced again and will have to run away. We feel unstable and always ready to escape for our lives.

We need equipment to clear the area of mines and explosives. We are so worried about mines and explosives that when we returned here, we did not dare enter our homes. It is a very scary thing: you walk not knowing what is going to happen to you. The mines are not visible, anyone may step on them because they are hidden. Even if one is visible, someone might not know what it is and might step on it. There are children looking after their sheep out there, and some of them have already stepped on mines and lost their lives.

I am anxious because I feel like we Yazidis always pay a price. When ISIS attacked here, only we Yazidis fell victim. If there was security here, we would feel safe. I want to say that I am always afraid. People are afraid not only in Sinjar, but in all of Iraq.