Testimony

Houriyya al-Ibrahim al-Lahej

In the past, we led a simple life, free from disturbances that could disrupt our peace. We were happy and comfortable. My husband, Abdul Razzaq al-Hassan al-Muhammad al-Hammoud, completed his military service early and went to work in Saudi Arabia. This significantly improved our financial situation, allowing us to live independently in a house that, despite its wooden ceiling, felt like a palace to me. I often wish that I could return to those days and sit in that house as I used to.

 

Years later, as our family expanded to include two daughters and five sons, we began building a new home. My husband arranged residency for two of our sons in Saudi Arabia before he returned to live with us, as his declining health no longer allowed him to travel and work as he once did.

 

We began hearing about ISIS and their gradual advance towards our town of Abu Hamam, from Mayadin and the area of the Bourahma clan. They began coming to the mosques to deliver lessons on theology and creed. Initially, they made a positive impression on the religiously observant community. However, this changed when they started arresting people out of revenge. I would often hear about ISIS’s advances from my husband when he returned home. Eventually, he joined the fight against them, sacrificing sleep at night to assist anyone who sought his help. My husband and others took up arms against ISIS because they believed that, based on their actions, they were not true Muslims.

 

ISIS gathered forces to confront us, and the sound of gunfire and shelling echoed around us. The battle lasted for 12 days. They demanded that we evacuate our homes for three days until the fighting ceased, especially as the siege cut off our electricity, and food and water supplies. Our family crowded into one vehicle. When anyone would attempt to bring along belongings, someone else would intervene, saying that it was unnecessary since we would return in a few days.

 

Before we left Abu Hamam, I received a call informing me that my husband had been killed by a tank shell at the Zahra Bridge. I refused to believe it, and insisted on staying in Abu Hamam, hoping for his return. As the situation grew more perilous, however, I had no choice but to leave for the safety of my family. We headed to the Layiz neighborhood in Kishkiyya, only to find the situation there even more dangerous than in Abu Hamam, with the battle intensifying.

We moved from Layiz to Gharanij and, eventually, into the desert. Our vehicle, packed with my family and others, changed direction repeatedly in search of a safe destination. Eventually, we found shelter in a school in the desert, but ISIS patrols soon stormed the place and arrested several young men. We did not stay in the school long and soon left, with 75 others, for the town of Hajin. We all stayed in a house with a diwan (couch-like sitting furniture) and a yard, before moving to another school.

 

During this period, as ISIS patrols continued to arrest the men of our clan, we were consumed by fear. Eventually, I urged my family to move to Homs, but I was still reluctant to leave because I couldn’t accept that my husband was dead. People told me that he was gone, and that I should stop dwelling on the past and instead focus on my family. I responded, “How can I forget my husband?” In Homs, I stayed in the village of Wadi Ghazala but, eventually, I had to travel to Damascus to treat the severe psychological distress I was experiencing. 

 

As time went on, people began to gradually return to Kishkiyya, and I returned as well. Since my home was in Abu Hamam, I had to wait six months before I could go back. I tried to visit my house but was prevented from doing so. Sometimes, I would sneak in at night to check on it, and each time, discovered more things missing. My daughters repeatedly asked me to take them to our home, but I refused, out of concern for their safety. Occasionally, we would go together to the roof of a house in Kishkiyya, so that they could catch a glimpse of our home from a distance.

 

It’s an incredibly painful experience to have to sneak into your own home. When I tried to visit, I was barred from entering or retrieving any of my belongings. ISIS members told me that I was a thief, and that my house was the property of ISIS. After I’d spent six months in Kishkiyya, my house had been completely looted. Even then, I held onto the faint hope that the news of my husband’s death was untrue. But when I returned to Abu Hamam, close friends confirmed that he had indeed died on August 1, 2014.

 

He never hurt my feelings with his words. He was both my husband and my friend. I often told him that no other woman could love him as much as I did. His words and jokes remain vivid in my memory, as if he were still living with us.