Roudah Khudr al-Saleh

My name is Roudah Khudr al-Saleh, and I am 31 years old. My husband’s name is Yaser Ali Rafish, and he was born in 1983. I met him in 2005 while he was still a student at school. After receiving his high school diploma, he moved to Damascus to study Islamic Law.

 

During this time, he worked various odd jobs and relied on his family to meet our needs, especially after we had four daughters. When the Syrian Revolution began in 2011, he left his studies with just a year remaining until graduation and dedicated himself to carpentry, later opening a shop.

 

Like many residents of Deir ez-Zor, we experienced the control of various factions, including the Free Syrian Army and Jabhat al-Nusra, until ISIS took over. Initially, public opinion about ISIS was divided; some believed that they represented true Islam, while others rejected them. As time went on, residents began to feel that our lives were increasingly scrutinized and we grew frustrated with ISIS’s interference in their affairs. This shift in sentiment led many to attempt to expel ISIS from the area.

 

ISIS returned to our areas, gathering troops from Mosul (Iraq), Shaddadi (northeastern Syria), and other regions, besieging Kishkiyya from all sides.  The sounds of shelling and gunfire echoed around us, and people stopped sleeping on the roofs as they used to. Electricity and water were cut off, and food supplies became scarce due to the siege. At that time, ISIS gave us three days to evacuate the area. My husband insisted on staying but urged me to take the girls and leave. 

 

I left Kishkiyya for the village of Bahra with five other families, carrying clothes for my daughters and taking our cows with us. In Bahra, we settled in a small house, but more families continued to arrive. Twenty people in total shared the house, and set up tents around it. One of my daughters insisted on seeing her father, and he did come to visit. However, the day after his arrival, on August 11, 2014, at the time of asr prayer (afternoon), an ISIS patrol raided the house and arrested him along with two of his brothers, his nephew, and his uncle. They were taken barefoot – they were not even allowed to put on shoes.  

 

Shortly after, we heard gunfire nearby, but we did not expect them to be killed so quickly. Nobody dared to investigate, and we stayed still. Eventually, a woman ventured outside and discovered that they were all dead. Many people screamed and some fainted, but we had to act quickly and leave the area, fearing that ISIS might return to take the remaining men.

 

By sunset, we began moving our belongings in preparation to depart. At 1:00 AM, the bodies of our men were retrieved in a vehicle driving without its lights on. We took a final look at our dead in silence. We couldn’t even cry. We hurriedly covered them with blankets, and some of us went to bury them silently in the dark. There were not enough individual graves in the cemetery, so my husband’s brother and his son were buried together.

 

We moved to an open area and set up our tents near the fence of a house under construction. We stayed there for over a month living in miserable conditions. People were afraid to interact with us or help us because we belonged to the Shaitat clan. As winter approached, we relocated to the town of Jarzi. We cleared out the hay inside a dilapidated house so that we could live in it. 

 

My daughters suffered significant psychological distress. The oldest was in third grade when her father was killed, and they were all very attached to him. Him being taken away from them barefoot shattered their spirits. The younger one kept asking for months, “When will dad return from Heaven?” 

 

Later, negotiations began to organize our return to the village. Those who wanted to go back had to register their names and hand over a rifle to ISIS. Some borrowed money, while others sold what remained of their livestock or belongings to secure the rifles. We moved from Jarzi, crossing the desert toward Kishkiyya. The landscape was indescribable, with bodies strewn everywhere. Upon our return, we found that our home had been looted. We cleaned it of dead animals and tried to resettle there again.

 

My husband had aspirations of completing his university studies to become a lecturer in Islamic Jurisprudence. He also dreamed of expanding his shop to become a distributor of toys and children’s items in the neighboring village, but he never realized that dream. 

 

ISIS continued to harass us after we returned to Kishkiyya. The Hisba Diwan imposed restrictions on our clothing and daily lives, and we avoided leaving our homes unless it was absolutely  necessary. When we attempted to work in the fields, they prevented us, stating that women were not allowed to work.

 

Now my life with my daughters is incredibly difficult due to the rising cost of living and a lack of job opportunities. Our conditions are dire.