goze hussein, early 30s
w hen the shooting started and the bombs began to fall, I ran with the other villagers from Sinjar into the mountains. There were so many of us, some running, others piled into cars. When the cars couldn’t move anymore because of the traffic, people abandoned them and ran. In the mountains, some of us didn’t have shoes, and their feet swelled and bled. Some didn’t have coats, and they shivered at night. There wasn’t enough food, and many people died. Bodies were everywhere. We didn’t know if ISIS would come into the mountains, so no one felt safe. I couldn’t find my siblings, brothers-in-law, nephews and nieces, or parents, and I was so worried about them.
After seven days, I heard the helicopters of the Kurdish paramilitary. They had come to rescue us, but there weren’t enough helicopters, so I walked with some others. Finally, a truck used for livestock came and picked us up and brought us to the border of Syria and into Kurdistan. I ended up at a refugee camp—a cramped, muddy collection of tents. But at least I was safe.
The Yazidi have been persecuted for generations. Under Saddam Hussein, Yazidi culture wasn’t recognized. As a result, many Yazidi parents didn’t register their children’s births, because the documentation would say they were Arab and Muslim. My parents were like that. Even now, I don’t know my age, though I would guess that I am in my early 30s.
In 2017, I came to Toronto with one of my sisters. Another sister settled in Calgary, and three others remain in Iraq. Many of our family members have not been found.
Twice now, I have given my DNA so that it can be compared with the bodies being exhumed from mass graves. Every time my phone rings, I fear it’s someone calling to tell me that they’ve located the body of someone I love.
On the wall of our home, my sister and I have a collection of photos of all the people we know who were killed by ISIS. Beneath that is a sketch of two ISIS figures wearing face-scarves, one carrying a machete, and a date—August 4, 2014. It’s to remind us of the day that light turned to darkness.