I met Madina in June, 2021 just after a large fire had broken out in Sharia camp a couple of weeks previously. I walked into her one room house on the edge of the newly built section of the camp. The smell of burning rubbish in the air reminding us both of the disaster that took place a couple of weeks ago. The fire destroyed a quarter of the camp, including Madina’s home. She is now in her new home, happy that it is finally a solid structure building and not a tent, but that did come at a price. I sat down with Madina in the middle of summer in the Kurdish territory of Iraq, sweat beading off our heads and quickly evaporating as soon as it hit the hot concrete floor. The camps generators were down at the time so the luxury of a fan was out of the question.

I remember distinctively her eyes, they reminded me of my own mother, showing empathy, love and resilience. She wanted to cover her face to protect her identity but sharing her story was all that she wanted to do. Madina with her humble warm voice asked where she should begin, I said “from when things changed for you”…

I am originally from a small village called Gerzarek (Al Adnaniyah) in Shingal (Sinjar). In 2014, ISIS attacked our region, displacing me and my six children. We had to take refuge in a camp in Sharia, Kurdistan. My dad and uncle have been missing since the ISIS occupation leaving me with no support. My husband left me and the kids when I was pregnant with my youngest child. I see him around the camp sometimes with his new family, but he doesn’t care about us at all. I am a mother and a father to my kids; I love them deeply but I constantly stress about their safety. Life was a lot easier when my husband was still with us.

I woke up in a panic, to the sounds of gunshots and screaming, ISIS attacked our village early in the morning on August 3rd, 2014. I remember it so clearly, it was 2 o'clock in the morning, still dark. Anyone that had a gun was fighting to protect their family and community from the Islamic State. The fighting lasted until 6 o’clock AM. That’s when everyone ran out of bullets, but not ISIS,

they were getting closer to us, the sound of gunfire growing more and more intense by the second. You could feel the shockwaves hitting your chest like a punch. The community leaders made the decision that everyone should flee, we couldn’t hold them back and we lost so many members of our community during the battle. My husband and I grabbed our children within a second and left the house, we didn’t have time to take anything else, we had to run! The sun was already beating down on us at this point, we had no shoes so the ground was burning the soles of our feet with every step. We had to make our way to Sinjar City, it was our only hope to find a vehicle.

We reached Sinjar City just south of the mountain. A man with a pickup truck offered to drive my family and others up the mountain to seek refuge. ISIS couldn’t reach us from there, it was the safest option at the time. After an hour of driving up the torturous winding road, we came across a shelter on the Northern side of the mountain. It was quiet, we were the only ones there but we took time to rest and drink water so that we could think rationally. We had to protect our children at all costs. It didn’t take long until we heard fighting on the North side. It was ISIS, they had surrounded us and they were only getting closer. My husband and I realised that we were now stuck on the mountain waiting for our fate. We made the decision that we had to move on and find a way down the mountain before it was too late. Whilst we were walking, we came across a vehicle carrying another family. We asked them if they were trying to get down the mountain, they said yes and told us to jump in. We warned them that ISIS was on the North and South side of the mountain, there are few roads going down so our choices were limited. Halfway into our decsent we were confronted with a road block. My heart was in my throat unable to catch my breath, it was the moment that we all hoped would never happen. Three ISIS vehicles full of soldiers stopped us, panic arose and we all started to scream and beg for our lives. We all knew what was going to happen to us as we are all Yazidis, the women and girls would become sex slaves, the boys would be made to become fighters and the men would be killed. The ISIS soldiers told us to follow them in the vehicle as they were taking us to Sinun (Alshamal) Citywhere our nightmares would begin. The driver, taking off the hand brake slowly, began to creep forward with the convoy with extreme hesitation. He made the decision that he was not going to take us to our inevitable deaths. The driver quickly made a U-turn and drove as quickly as the vehicle was capable, back up the mountain. We ended up in a small village called Karsi. There was no food for us to eat but there was a stream close by for us to stay hydrated. That night we slept on the rocks, looking up at the stars and wondering what tomorrow would bring.

We spent 9 sleepless nights up on Sinjar Mountain, waiting to be hunted down. We had no food up there. The men would take turns climbing down the mountain and sneaking into the villages and farms to find food for us to eat. Sometime the men came back but many were less fortunate. It became too much for us on the 10th day. We were starving and suffering from sleep deprivation, there was no way we could spend another day up in the mountain, the sun constantly beating down on us whilst we hid amongst the rocks. It was a decision everyone agreed on, we had to climb down, we were desperate. It took us the whole day to walk across the mountain under the blistering sun. We were very weak at this point, but fortunately we came across an old Yazidi temple known as Mzar Shybi Qasm. We took refuge there for the night. Sunrise hit and that was our time to move, we started descending down the mountain, constantly hiding behind anything that would protect us from being spotted or shot. We knew ISIS was watching the mountain but we had no idea if they were watching us. To our own surprise we reached the bottom of Sinjar mountain safely. It was 10 miles straight to the Syrian border from where we were. My whole family was still bare footed at the time, my husband and I taking turns carrying our children through the hot dusty desert. I saw so much horror throughout those 10 miles, innocent people dead on the side of the road, people burnt within their homes, the screaming of desperate women and children begging for water as they slowly died of thirst. I felt so helpless, there was nothing I could do apart from moving forward one step at a time until my children were safe. I can still to this day hear their screams when I sleep. ISIS invaded us, captured us, killed us and massacred us. Still the corpses of the innocent are buried under the dust waiting to be found.

The Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) were waiting for all the survivors that managed to escape the massacre. We crossed the border into Syria where we were given food and water. Spending the night there was the first time I managed to sleep since ISIS had attacked us. My body ached from head to toe but we were finally safe. In the morning we were told to jump onto a truck, the vehicle drove us to Duhok in the Kurdish territory of Iraq and we arrived at a disused school. We stayed there for a while until the construction of Sharya camp was completed. The Yazidi people have been suffering for a long time. It has been 8 years since the genocide yet we are still living in tents, living in fear, wondering if we will ever be able to return home. There is a big difference between living here in the camp and Sinjar. In Sinjar, we were close to our families, parents and community, we would have fun all the time. It was eventful, we supported one another. It’s not like that anymore. I have lost my home once again, not because of war but because of carelessness and selfishness. No one in the camp has supported me, if this was back in Sinjar the community would come together to support me and my children. After seeing everything throughout the war and going through the trauma of the fire, I wonder how we didn’t go crazy, how did we not lose our minds…

Madina finished her story with a single tear running down her cheek. She asked if we wanted some tea. Just like that, Madina carried on with her life, carrying the horrors on her back like an overloaded Sherpa. She was a true inspiration to be around and made me realise that the problems I have suffered is nothing compared to what Madina and many others have been through. When she came back, she explained that talking about her experiences has helped her a lot. This was all possible because she was attending a trauma care clinic that Partners has been supporting for many years. Madina and many other women and children have been involved with this support and because of these classes they can start rebuilding their lives in a community that has shared tears, love and hope along their treacherous journey. Partners believes in communities and when someone feels alone and lost, we are there to help them for a better future.