‘I live for a chance to leave Iraq’: How I survived torture and slavery at the hands of Islamic State
14 Aug 2025
A decade after being freed, a Yazidi woman tells how she endured being abducted by militants at the age of nine
As told to Turkiya Shammo
My childhood in a village in northern Iraq, near the city of Mosul was rich in happiness despite the lack of resources. I was fond of my school and friends and enjoyed a warm family life filled with laughter. All of that vanished when Islamic State forces invaded our area.
When we heard of their approach [IS took control of large areas of northern Iraq, including Mosul, its second biggest city, in 2014], we tried to escape, but were quickly surrounded by five IS vehicles. The men were separated from us. They took my father and one of my cousins and shot them in front of us.
I was nine years old, far too young to witness such horror. I vividly remember crying bitterly out of fear, feeling as though this wasn’t reality but a nightmare. Even now, I cannot rid myself of the shock and the sound of bullets as my father and cousin were killed. We never found their bodies.
We were taken away and held captive until IS fighters came to our prison looking for young girls. One of them pulled my hair, beat me and pointed a gun at my head in front of everyone, threatening to kill me. My grandmother intervened, pleading with him to let me go, until I fainted from fear.
When I regained consciousness, she told me that many girls had been taken to Syria, but not me. We were moved repeatedly, along with large numbers of abducted girls. Whenever IS fighters stormed in searching for us, the older women would hide us inside wooden boxes or even refrigerators.
We were soon moved to a nursery school, where we were forced to learn the Qur’an, pray, and wear the niqab, despite our young age. The men holding us started running a lottery for the girls, determining their fate between enslavement, rape or domestic service.
I was chosen to serve in the house of Abu Aisha, a senior IS leader, where I was subjected to torture and beatings. I was forced to clean his four houses and care for his children. His wife would complain about me and sometimes they would deprive me of food for days. He would beat me with chains and leave me shackled outside in the rain.
Every night, Abu Aisha would choose a Yazidi girl to rape, and I could hear their screams
Abu Aisha used to kill captives with knives and cleavers, and he trained his children to do the same. Every night, Abu Aisha would choose a Yazidi girl to rape, and I could hear their screams as it happened. To this day, their voices still ring in my ears. Because I was so young, I was not raped.
We were forbidden from speaking Kurdish, our mother tongue, or even Arabic. Communication was strictly in Turkmen, a dialect of Turkish, because that was the language of Abu Aisha and his family. “You must speak like us”, they told us.
When the situation for IS in Mosul began to deteriorate [Iraqi forces retook the city in 2017], our captors claimed they would allow us to return to our families. In reality, however, the plan was to kill us all. They gave us explosive belts and ordered us to wear them to blow ourselves up when we met our families. Luckily, my friend and I managed to cut the wires of the belts.
It was a daring move, because we had heard a lot about explosive belts and car bombs. To this day, I don’t know why it didn’t explode. Everything felt like a miracle. I can’t believe how we escaped, or how we endured all that torment. We had no emotions left.
Liberation was not the end of my suffering. It marked the beginning of a new journey of psychological pain. I had partly lost my memory from the brainwashing and could not even recognise my siblings.
I tried to return to school, but I couldn’t continue because of the psychological trauma. To this day, I suffer from nightmares, and still hear the screams of the girls who were raped and tortured alongside me.
I live waiting for a chance to leave Iraq, to start a new life far from the nightmares of the past. I can no longer live here [in northern Iraq], or anywhere that reminds me of the past. Every corner of this town [Sinjar] reminds me of the hell I lived through. IS destroyed my childhood, my dreams and my future.
The nightmares of torture still haunt me. They are engraved in my memory, and yet most of the IS members who committed these crimes remain free. We, the survivors, are still trying to piece together what is left of our lives. They destroyed our lives, but where is justice?
- Produced in collaboration with The Guardian.
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As told to Turkiya Shammo
My childhood in a village in northern Iraq, near the city of Mosul was rich in happiness despite the lack of resources. I was fond of my school and friends and enjoyed a warm family life filled with laughter. All of that vanished when Islamic State forces invaded our area.
When we heard of their approach [IS took control of large areas of northern Iraq, including Mosul, its second biggest city, in 2014], we tried to escape, but were quickly surrounded by five IS vehicles. The men were separated from us. They took my father and one of my cousins and shot them in front of us.
I was nine years old, far too young to witness such horror. I vividly remember crying bitterly out of fear, feeling as though this wasn’t reality but a nightmare. Even now, I cannot rid myself of the shock and the sound of bullets as my father and cousin were killed. We never found their bodies.
We were taken away and held captive until IS fighters came to our prison looking for young girls. One of them pulled my hair, beat me and pointed a gun at my head in front of everyone, threatening to kill me. My grandmother intervened, pleading with him to let me go, until I fainted from fear.
When I regained consciousness, she told me that many girls had been taken to Syria, but not me. We were moved repeatedly, along with large numbers of abducted girls. Whenever IS fighters stormed in searching for us, the older women would hide us inside wooden boxes or even refrigerators.
We were soon moved to a nursery school, where we were forced to learn the Qur’an, pray, and wear the niqab, despite our young age. The men holding us started running a lottery for the girls, determining their fate between enslavement, rape or domestic service.
I was chosen to serve in the house of Abu Aisha, a senior IS leader, where I was subjected to torture and beatings. I was forced to clean his four houses and care for his children. His wife would complain about me and sometimes they would deprive me of food for days. He would beat me with chains and leave me shackled outside in the rain.
Every night, Abu Aisha would choose a Yazidi girl to rape, and I could hear their screams
Abu Aisha used to kill captives with knives and cleavers, and he trained his children to do the same. Every night, Abu Aisha would choose a Yazidi girl to rape, and I could hear their screams as it happened. To this day, their voices still ring in my ears. Because I was so young, I was not raped.
We were forbidden from speaking Kurdish, our mother tongue, or even Arabic. Communication was strictly in Turkmen, a dialect of Turkish, because that was the language of Abu Aisha and his family. “You must speak like us”, they told us.
When the situation for IS in Mosul began to deteriorate [Iraqi forces retook the city in 2017], our captors claimed they would allow us to return to our families. In reality, however, the plan was to kill us all. They gave us explosive belts and ordered us to wear them to blow ourselves up when we met our families. Luckily, my friend and I managed to cut the wires of the belts.
It was a daring move, because we had heard a lot about explosive belts and car bombs. To this day, I don’t know why it didn’t explode. Everything felt like a miracle. I can’t believe how we escaped, or how we endured all that torment. We had no emotions left.
Liberation was not the end of my suffering. It marked the beginning of a new journey of psychological pain. I had partly lost my memory from the brainwashing and could not even recognise my siblings.
I tried to return to school, but I couldn’t continue because of the psychological trauma. To this day, I suffer from nightmares, and still hear the screams of the girls who were raped and tortured alongside me.
I live waiting for a chance to leave Iraq, to start a new life far from the nightmares of the past. I can no longer live here [in northern Iraq], or anywhere that reminds me of the past. Every corner of this town [Sinjar] reminds me of the hell I lived through. IS destroyed my childhood, my dreams and my future.
The nightmares of torture still haunt me. They are engraved in my memory, and yet most of the IS members who committed these crimes remain free. We, the survivors, are still trying to piece together what is left of our lives. They destroyed our lives, but where is justice?
- Produced in collaboration with The Guardian.
