Two Extremes

It’s with little geographical irony that the road between Mosul and Erbil slices across the desert like the worn-down blade of a knife. Scratched and scarred, its wide, uneven surface defragments the sun—metal-flecked tarmac turned to rubble by ISIS explosives, detonated in a desperate bid to slow down the approach of Kurdish and Iraqi armed forces back in October. The tactic failed—but the road remains lined; cut up by a conflict that seems determined to leave its country fractured and cracked.

Technically, the nine-month-long military offensive to reclaim the city from the Islamist caliphate was finally declared successful in July, but these days Mosul is a shelled out shadow of its former self. “It sounds weird, but I don’t even remember life before ISIS,” says 15-year-old Laila, not her real name, speaking quietly but calmly from Hammam Al-Alil IDP [Internally Displaced Persons] camp, an hour’s drive east of Mosul. “Everything is sort of