Khadija al-Ali al-Hassan

I lived in the same house with my husband’s other wives. My family was well-known in the area for our work in poultry farming. We were a cohesive and cooperative family. Each wife had a separate room, but we lived and ate together, and we still do to this day.

 

Before ISIS entered Kishkiyya, we helped two of my husband’s sons, Muhammad and Hamdan—may they rest in peace—to get married. After my son Badi grew up, we also supported him in getting married, and then his brother Bashir as well. 

 

ISIS began harassing young men for smoking or riding motorbikes. They then arrested an innocent young man and executed him. He was my son’s friend. Another person from the café area in town was also arrested and tortured for smoking. We, the women, were not spared either – we were harassed while harvesting our vegetables, and they imposed clothing restrictions. My husband, who owns a shop on the public street in the café area, was too scared to continue working as normal.

 

People could not bear these oppressive practices any longer, so they rose up against ISIS and  the group’s harsh rule. The young men of the Shaitat clan took the initiative and resisted them. In response, ISIS arrested 26 individuals, took them to the Omar Oil Field and executed them. Among those killed were Badi, Bashir, and their stepbrother Muhammad. We retrieved their bodies after ISIS left the area. They were innocent civilians who had not fought against ISIS. Their deaths occurred before any clashes. They were simple individuals focused on their work and daily lives. Their only crime was being members of the Shaitat clan.

 

During their detention, my brother attempted to mediate through a relative who had joined ISIS, asking for permission to let them drink water, but they were killed without even getting that. He later took me to see them after they were executed. He told me, “This is your son.” I refused to believe it at first. When I tried to lift him and hug him, I found that I couldn’t. My younger son was among them as well. As for Muhammad…I cannot describe his appearance. His face seemed to radiate light because he had died unjustly. It seemed to shine like a lamp. My son, Bashir, was only 16 or 17 at that time. What could he have done that warranted his killing? They were buried at night by someone from the village of Jamma in the town of Darnaj who later fled his home in fear of persecution and execution.

 

I phoned my husband and told him where I was, and that I could not return to the town. I told him that we would not see our kids again. He beat himself out of grief, and refused to leave Kishkiyya. At that point, the battle between ISIS and the Shaitat clan had already started.

 

I was in the town of Dhiban, near Mayadin, unable to rejoin my husband and family, who had reached Hajin. After 22 days, someone came to me and informed me that my daughters and the wives of my two martyr sons wanted me to return to them. I can’t describe the moment I returned… My husband was screaming, asking why I had not brought Bashir with me, and I had to tell him that Bashir had died.

 

After that, we faced difficult times and lived in constant fear of ISIS patrols and raids. They even targeted women to enforce the dress code, to make us wear the niqab. After 12 days in Hajin, we could no longer bear the situation so we headed to Hasakah. We stayed in the village of Haddadiya, living in mud houses and drinking from salty water wells. We remained in that situation for four months until negotiations with ISIS began. After handing over the rifles that they demanded as a condition for our return, we returned to Kishkiyya to find dead bodies scattered in the streets. Homes were burned and looted, and dead animals lay inside the houses. We couldn’t enter our homes because the smell was so bad. Even our shop in the café area remained closed, and we didn’t dare to open it.

 

Due to this constant fear, my stepson, Hamdan – may he rest in peace – decided to flee with his family to the town of Shaddadi, in Hasakah. He worked there as a farmer, but he did not survive. He was detained for four months and executed in January 2015. Later, ISIS provided us with a document stating that he was killed, but we never received his body.

 

We couldn’t hold condolence ceremonies for any of our sons. Six years after the execution of Badi, Bashir, and Muhammad, in August 2014, we finally buried their remains with the help of the Shaitat Victims’ Families Association. We identified them by their clothing, but we have not yet found the remains of Hamdan.

 

ISIS continued to persecute us. We never knew when ISIS patrols would raid us. They stormed our homes without warning. At one point, they attempted to take our cow. They turned our homes into their bases, prevented us from working or moving freely, and imposed taxes on us. On top of all of that, they prohibited women from moving without a mahram (male guardian). How could we find a mahram when all the remaining males were children? 

 

What I remember most about my sons is how we used to talk and work together in our shops. We lived a simple life then. It has become very difficult without them.