My name is Amal, Arabic for hope. I was born here in Iraq and I’m seventeen, grew up  in Mosul. You know how it is, my parents are very devout Moslem, do they have a choice? No, they don’t. I do not know what I really want, every time I wake up, I look around and see what’s happening around me and I ask myself, “What is the meaning of religion?” You know, “Why are all these people fighting each other, killing each other in the name of their God?” I really wonder sometimes but you know there is nothing much I can do about it, about the world around me, I’m just seventeen and I am a girl that is forced to wear a niqab, I tell you with the weather here, even though I’m used I still know that it is hot. I wish they would allow us to remove  them probably for just thirty minutes, but who cares about us? Who has the mind to try and think of what women feel? Out here, women are not allowed to drive cars and they cannot even lift up their voice to question the men. Besides, if the soldiers see that you do not have a niqab, they kill you or torture you until you wish you were dead.

Well you might be wondering how I learnt to write in English, let me tell you now. Before the violence escalated my father was a school teacher ,he loved the English language and he taught me all I know about English. English is a wonderful language but at first it was hard to write from left to right, in Arabic it is the opposite but I just had to write until I got used. Whenever  I  find time I write about my experiences, whatever I go through. I wish you could really understand what happens to me here everyday, the only way to let you know is to write it down and maybe someday someone will read about me.

The only sound that I know as I grew to where I am today is the sound of war, the smell of blood and dust, the sound of gunshots and relentless hate chanting from those that believe in the ideas of ISIS. When I was born, Saddam Hussein was still the president, things were tough then but now things are worse.The only life I know is a life of going to the mosque everyday even if it is against your will, going outside to witness public be headings and to tell the truth, I don’t I really have a choice because not giving in to their demands would mean my own death so yeah, I just have to do as I am told. Mother is also terrified of those men, I really wonder who sponsors them. They have huge beautiful cars, they have guns, I wonder where all that money comes from and some people say that they sell oil to many people around the world. Why do those people buy oil from people who they know are killing innocent people everyday? Some people say they also go to all those places we used to visit with the history class and take all those nice sculptures we used to see to sell them to some people around the world.

We do not have many television channels here like everyone else does, they always want to prevent us from seeing what is happening around the world because they think we may try to to fight them if we know of the lives other people are enjoying elsewhere. I hate them. I hate DAESH, I do, with such a great passion. I do not like what they do, they tell us everyday of what they do, sometimes they show us very horrible things.

I will tell you one story that happened last year. My friend Aisha from down the road, they were Yazidis. I  still remember the day. We were walking with her mother from the market like any other evening. Everything was alright, it seemed. I do not know who told the soldiers that Aisha had come here to hide from the soldiers that had taken their village by force. She had become like one of us, you could barely tell her from us, you could pick up a little Kurmanji from her accent if you listened close but she had learnt our ways, she was pretty fluent in Assyrian. Back to our story, as we were walking like that two men just came from nowhere, up to this day I do not know where they came from, they just suddenly grabbed them by their throats.

 “I know who you are and I know where you came from,” The man spoke in Kurmanji.

“You are Yazidi, don’t pretend, I know all about you, you came from Nineveh and I am here to take you.”

1

 (For the record, it was Aisha that taught me Kurmanji). I did not know what to do. I screamed but that didn’t help, the men were determined. They wanted them.

Aisha’s mother tried to fight back but she couldn’t overpower him, the second man let go of Aisha and took out a knife. I could see the look of horror in her eyes, the tears slowly flowing down her small pretty face. Here she was, a girl just thirteen, having her mother taken away from her by a violent man. Maybe people knew who this man was but nobody would dare intervene, everybody knew the consequences.

He took out a knife, “Tell your mother to stop trying to fight me or else I will kill the both of you.”

I admit, Aisha’s mother was a very strong woman, she had more than the black niqab covering her face but well this guy was trained, a servant of  Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the man that has caused us this mess that we are in, I hate him with a passion.

My eyes saw him as he dipped a pocket knife into her side,

“You are our servants,”the other man said, with such a huge frown on his face.

You could smell hate from the way he breathed, you could feel hate in his aura, you could hear hate from how stony his voice was, this man truly believed in his ideas and he had such a strong conviction about what they are always told wherever they meet or through the videos that they watch.

I heard the shrill from Aisha’s mum, her voice as she let out a piercing scream. We all held our mouths with Aisha, it was not for long. The man in the brown trousers pulled Aisha from me, they shoved her into a silver van, banged the door and drove away.

“Don’t take her, don’t take her!,” I screamed but the men didn’t care or hear, I tried chasing the car but it went so fast and in a few minutes it had vanished into the dust. I walked back and there she was, Aisha’s mum, wriggling in pain on the ground. More pain was emanating from the heart rending loss of a beautiful child than from the pain inflicted by these two monster men. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t. It wasn’t long before people had come to help her, a neighbour took her in and from that day on I never heard of her again.

 I hated ISIS even more, I had seen their monstrosity for enough times now. I wish I could do anything about it but there was nothing I could do, it was their world and they were the ones that set the rules, our job was just to follow.

When I got home, I was still crying.

“What happened?” Mother asked

“Mum, mum, mum…..” I cried even more, I didn’t know where to start.

“They took Aisha, they injured her mum.”

Mum came close and hugged me, she put her cheek into contact with mine and I could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shaken.

“Such an intelligent girl, such a promising child, why did they take her...why? May God punish them,” Mother continued sobbing.

This was it, we knew what they would do with her, they would make her their sex slave, they would abuse her. I sobbed even more

“Aisha, Aisha.” It didn’t help, all that went never returned.

“There is food my daughter, come and help yourself.” I didn’t want to eat but with mum it’s a force matter. Reluctantly, I dragged my feet to the dinning room and helped myself to the Maqluba. Dad was already sitting there and I still had tears in my eyes.

“What is this I hear about Aisha?” He asked with his eyes looking straight into mine

“They took her,” I replied

“Shame, why can’t our soldiers rescue us from those bastards? I pray God intervenes.”

2

There was silence as everyone shoved into their plates to partake of the rice and lamb. I didn’t enjoy the meal, mother didn’t either, I don’t know about dad.That night I went to bed with a heavy heart. Deep down I knew that I would rise up and avange the blood of my dear friend.

I woke up very early in the morning. After the incident with Aisha yesterday it was very peaceful, we slept in peace. I was optimistic about today but alas things have not really gone the way that I thought they would go. I went to school as usual and there was an American television presenter that had come around here, very charismatic. They needed someone fluent in English so they called me to interpret his questions to Arabic. As usual the boys always feel threatened when the teacher calls me up to do something important.

I don’t know why everybody here thinks that women are  inferior to men which is not right.I could see with the way that Nawar looked at me that he was not happy because the teacher had picked me, but well it is not my fault that I speak better English than them.I went and helped this man out.

“How is it back there in America?” I asked.

“It’s alright,” He replied, with a smile on his face,

 “but I find it more enjoyable here where I can make a real difference in people’s lives,”he continued.

You could see how much he believed in what he was doing from his face. I nodded to what he was saying. I had gotten a chance to hear more about what they were doing back in their own country.

“How is your president?”I asked

“He is alright,very noble man, he is making a very big difference in the lives of the people.”

“You people are blessed,” I envied him.

Here things were terrible.

“Let’s go to our car, would you want to go to Raqqa with me?”

“Sure,” I said with enthusiasm.

“Let me go get my bag from class,” I said

“It’s okay, you can do that, I will be waiting.”

As I approached the corridor that leads to our class I saw Nawar there with two other boys and I knew what they were up to. Nothing good was in their heads.  I could not run, there was nowhere to go.

“You smart Aleck,” he guffawed.”

“She thinks she owns the whole world because she speaks good English,”Nawar retorted.

The other boys laughed. One of the boys pulled my hijab from behind me and bolted away as fast as he could.  The other boys followed, laughing all the way.

I stood there, dumb-folded. What kind of losers were these boys? I wondered. Boys that prey on a very gentle girl.

I knew I would be in trouble if anyone saw me without my hijab.A girl’s exposed head is a major offence around here, in front of adult men your head has to be covered always, don’t ask me why because I do not know. I hurried into the toilet nearby, I couldn’t come out of there until it was dark because if anyone saw me like that they would think I had done it deliberately to show how much I didn’t care about religion and culture.

Every girl that came into the toilet would give me the eye and wonder why I did not have my hijab. Older girls would ask me where it was. I would not bother explaining to them because no one would accept my explanation. I’m happy other women can see you without your hijab and you wouldn’t have broken the law. I bet everyone wondered whether I had a running stomach because whenever they would come back they would find me in the exact same position.

3

Everyone went back home when lessons finished at four in the after noon but I would not dare walk outside like that.These boys had planned it all out and they had executed their plan very well. It was the perfect fix for a girl you didn’t like. Either way they were losers, whether I am happy or not, they still were losers.

When I was sure everyone had left I went back to class to collect my bag. I went to the chair where I had been sitting and there I was, looking at nothing. All my books, all my things were gone!

“Phew,” I sighed.

It was the last thing I ever wanted to happen to me. How was I going to explain this to my parents? With how hard it was to get money in this economy, how was I going to stand there and tell them that all my books had been taken by some boys that felt threatened by me? I waited, in deep  thought.Waited for it to get a little darker so that I would trudge home.

When I arrived home, mother was now worried about me.She had asked everyone she could about where I was. They had told her that I had gone to Raqqa with the American journalist. Her and dad were waiting for me right at the entrance of the door. As soon as I walked in .they started.

“Where have you been?”

“At school,” I looked down.

“Where is your hijab?”

Silence.

“Where is your hijab?”Dad asked

I didn’t know what to say.

“You went with a man to Raqqa and you come back without your hijab? What did you do with that American?” Daddy was now infuriated

I honestly didn’t have words to say.

“I was at school my father, some boys pulled my hijab away because they felt threatened, the teacher had chosen me to help the journalist, the….” Before I had finished, a slap had descended on my face.

I couldn’t cry out loud, it was late.

“You want to bring shame on our family?”Mom asked me with a very emotional tone

“You want to go against culture and have an American child?” Daddy asked before I could even answer mom.

“Answer me!” Mom exclaimed.

“I’m sorry my parents, I also can’t find my bag, maybe someone took it whilst I was hiding in the toilet so people woudn’t see me without my hijab,” They both looked at me. “Slap!” This time it was mother.

“You want to make us fools?”

“You want us to believe your silly stories?”

I could not answer, I could not say a single word. I walked to my room silently and here I am, tears flowing on the papers I am writing on. It’s not my parents’ fault, it is because we are forced to do things that are not convenient. It is our  lack of democracy, it is our lack of freedom of religion.

I walked to my bedroom with my head looking at the floor below me. I didn’t have nothing much to do than write in my book about what had happened with tears flowing down my cheeks

“There is a public beheading tomorrow, so no school for you, we all go watch it together.” I could hear the voice of mother from the kitchen.

I felt sickened, the very thought of me sitting there to watch someone being murdered with a machete was just too much for me to bear. I closed my eyes and slept with those haunting thoughts in my head, thoughts of all the injustices that I saw every single day. I tried to be positive but under these circumstances it was really hard to do.