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Islamic State tore our families apart. Now we're fighting back'. Meet the Kurdish women's resistance army
Deep in the Syrian mountains, a Kurdish resistance army is being trained to
fight against IS in Iraq.
fight against IS in Iraq.
The difference? Its 11 members are all women. Sofia
Barbarani visits reports on their determination to take on the jihadists
who destroyed their homes
A shot rings out across an oval of dusty land, next to a man-made lake.
There, crouched in front of a light support weapon, is a young Iraqi woman,
her hair in a long plait tied with a silver butterfly clip, hanging over her
shoulder. Two Syrian Kurdish soldiers instruct her on how to aim and shoot,
while a row of women dressed in camouflage sit beind her on a mound of sand,
looking on. And awaiting their turn.
Welcome to this remote corner of Syria’s Kurdish region, between the city of
Derik and the Tigris River, where a group of 11 Yazidi women are being
trained to form a resistance army.
They are among more than 1,000 men and women who have joined the Sinjar
Resistance Units here and are being prepared to fight by the People’s
Protection Units (YPG) and Women’s Protection Units (YPJ); the female
armed-wing of Syria’s Kurdish Supreme Committee.
In early August approximately 200,000 of Iraq’s estimated 600,000 Yazidis
– a minority religious community - fled their hometowns in
Sinjar province when the Islamic State gave them an ultimatum: convert to
Islam or die.
While most found refuge in the Kurdistan Region, more than 15,000 fled to the
Sinjar mountain range, where they were escorted by the protection units
through a man-made ‘safety corridor’ into Syria. They have been sheltering
here ever since.
Video
footage from the area has shown refugees, including many children,
living in unbearably hot conditions, with little food and water and reliant
on aid.
But there is another side to the Yazidi experience. For, in driving these
people from their homes, the extremist organisation IS - known for its
barbaric treatment of women and girls - has unknowingly created an army of
women, prepared to fight.
“For myself and for my people I will go to Sinjar to either die or live there
freely,” 26-year-old Hend Hasen Ahmed tells me.
“We are being trained to use snipers, Kalashnikovs, rocket propelled grenades
and hand grenades,” she explains.
The Shahid Shadab military training camp is basic; there is a single run-down
building, decorated with an image of Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) leader
Abullah Ocalan (the symbol of Kurdish resistance).
The women stay in accommodation nearby. They sleep together, eat together and
learn to use machine guns together, while calling to God during military
chants.
Theirs is a shared goal: to eradicate IS from Sinjar. It is something which
focuses the mind and makes the training programme - which lasts just two
weeks - more bearable for all of them.
Something approaching camaraderie has developed between these women. The head
of the base, a petite Kurdish woman named Dunia, tells me that the female
soldiers had been quick to learn because of their strong will and morals.
It is this determination which binds this group of tough, single-minded women
together.
As Badrea Sado Sliman tells me, "joining the units has changed my life.
Daily life with girl fighters is so different [to the fear of fleeing from
IS]."
Only one of Hend Hasen Ahmed's brothers - out of 16 family members - has
survived what she describes as "IS genocide" in her hometown. Like
most women here, she wears a scarf wrapped around her head and looks older
than her years - the harrowing
events of the past weeks having taken their toll. When she speaks to
the other women, her eyes glisten with tears.
“My husband joined the YPG," she tells me. "He came back [from
Syria to Sinjar] to get me and told me I should join too and take our
family’s rights back”.
She speaks of her husband with pride. He is currently back in Iraq fighting
IS, so they no longer see each other, or have any contact. But their
dedication to this new resistance movement, she says, means they remain
close.
“I am not worried about him because he is with the YPG and the YPJ,” she adds,
as more practice gunfire echoes in the background.
Nofa Xero Resho is the oldest woman here: aged 30. She sits slightly apart
from the other women, cross-legged, a look of defeat in her sunken eyes. She
appears fragile, something that makes her an unlikely volunteer to battle
IS. But, having reached the relative safety of Syrian Kurdistan alone, she
feels she has little to lose.
When IS took over, Resho had recently separated from her husband, leaving him
with their two children.
She has had no news from any of them since she fled Iraq.
But, she tells me, her voice breaking, she has not joined the Sinjar
Resistance Units only for them: “I joined to protect my land […] to protect
my religion, all Yazidis are my children.”
At 18, Gemed Serham Morad is one of the youngest women here. She is keen to
tell me her story. She recalls her family’s last night in their hometown of
Tel Azer and how they ran to the mountains after the Iraqi Kurdish military
forces – the Peshmerga – retreated from Sinjar, creating a power vacuum that
was swiftly filled by IS.
They stayed on the mountains for eight days and half of her family remains
there to this day. She has no way of communicating with them.
“I joined the Sinjar Resistance Units to protect my land, to protect my
religion and to take back my family’s rights," she says. "Especially
the women, who are now in the hands of IS”. Despite her small frame and
childlike mannerisms, she shows no fear: “I am not afraid to go to the
mountains. I need to clear our land [of IS]. We will go back to my land and
we will live there again under my religion,” she explains forcefully.
That sense
of duty towards a religion that is key to their identity - and
towards a homeland that has been battled over by the Iraqi Kurds, Baghdad
and now IS - is what holds this female fighting unit together.
“If I haven’t a land, I haven’t a religion,” says 24-year-old Nerges Omer
Saleh.
For 22-year-old Nora Qasem Naser, whose gun-shot had earlier echoed through
the training ground, the will to fight also carries the weight of revenge.
Four years ago, her brother was murdered, in Mosul, at the hands of those
who would eventually become members of IS.
“IS killed my brother," she explains, with fire behind her eyes. "From
that time I’ve wanted to take up arms and fight them - and now after what
has happened in Sinjar…” she trails off, before steeling herself and looking
me straight in the eyes.
“Because of that I am not afraid to go and fight.”
Barbarani visits reports on their determination to take on the jihadists
who destroyed their homes
A shot rings out across an oval of dusty land, next to a man-made lake.
There, crouched in front of a light support weapon, is a young Iraqi woman,
her hair in a long plait tied with a silver butterfly clip, hanging over her
shoulder. Two Syrian Kurdish soldiers instruct her on how to aim and shoot,
while a row of women dressed in camouflage sit beind her on a mound of sand,
looking on. And awaiting their turn.
Welcome to this remote corner of Syria’s Kurdish region, between the city of
Derik and the Tigris River, where a group of 11 Yazidi women are being
trained to form a resistance army.
They are among more than 1,000 men and women who have joined the Sinjar
Resistance Units here and are being prepared to fight by the People’s
Protection Units (YPG) and Women’s Protection Units (YPJ); the female
armed-wing of Syria’s Kurdish Supreme Committee.
In early August approximately 200,000 of Iraq’s estimated 600,000 Yazidis
– a minority religious community - fled their hometowns in
Sinjar province when the Islamic State gave them an ultimatum: convert to
Islam or die.
While most found refuge in the Kurdistan Region, more than 15,000 fled to the
Sinjar mountain range, where they were escorted by the protection units
through a man-made ‘safety corridor’ into Syria. They have been sheltering
here ever since.
Video
footage from the area has shown refugees, including many children,
living in unbearably hot conditions, with little food and water and reliant
on aid.
But there is another side to the Yazidi experience. For, in driving these
people from their homes, the extremist organisation IS - known for its
barbaric treatment of women and girls - has unknowingly created an army of
women, prepared to fight.
“For myself and for my people I will go to Sinjar to either die or live there
freely,” 26-year-old Hend Hasen Ahmed tells me.
“We are being trained to use snipers, Kalashnikovs, rocket propelled grenades
and hand grenades,” she explains.
The Shahid Shadab military training camp is basic; there is a single run-down
building, decorated with an image of Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) leader
Abullah Ocalan (the symbol of Kurdish resistance).
The women stay in accommodation nearby. They sleep together, eat together and
learn to use machine guns together, while calling to God during military
chants.
Theirs is a shared goal: to eradicate IS from Sinjar. It is something which
focuses the mind and makes the training programme - which lasts just two
weeks - more bearable for all of them.
Something approaching camaraderie has developed between these women. The head
of the base, a petite Kurdish woman named Dunia, tells me that the female
soldiers had been quick to learn because of their strong will and morals.
It is this determination which binds this group of tough, single-minded women
together.
As Badrea Sado Sliman tells me, "joining the units has changed my life.
Daily life with girl fighters is so different [to the fear of fleeing from
IS]."
Only one of Hend Hasen Ahmed's brothers - out of 16 family members - has
survived what she describes as "IS genocide" in her hometown. Like
most women here, she wears a scarf wrapped around her head and looks older
than her years - the harrowing
events of the past weeks having taken their toll. When she speaks to
the other women, her eyes glisten with tears.
“My husband joined the YPG," she tells me. "He came back [from
Syria to Sinjar] to get me and told me I should join too and take our
family’s rights back”.
She speaks of her husband with pride. He is currently back in Iraq fighting
IS, so they no longer see each other, or have any contact. But their
dedication to this new resistance movement, she says, means they remain
close.
“I am not worried about him because he is with the YPG and the YPJ,” she adds,
as more practice gunfire echoes in the background.
Nofa Xero Resho is the oldest woman here: aged 30. She sits slightly apart
from the other women, cross-legged, a look of defeat in her sunken eyes. She
appears fragile, something that makes her an unlikely volunteer to battle
IS. But, having reached the relative safety of Syrian Kurdistan alone, she
feels she has little to lose.
When IS took over, Resho had recently separated from her husband, leaving him
with their two children.
She has had no news from any of them since she fled Iraq.
But, she tells me, her voice breaking, she has not joined the Sinjar
Resistance Units only for them: “I joined to protect my land […] to protect
my religion, all Yazidis are my children.”
At 18, Gemed Serham Morad is one of the youngest women here. She is keen to
tell me her story. She recalls her family’s last night in their hometown of
Tel Azer and how they ran to the mountains after the Iraqi Kurdish military
forces – the Peshmerga – retreated from Sinjar, creating a power vacuum that
was swiftly filled by IS.
They stayed on the mountains for eight days and half of her family remains
there to this day. She has no way of communicating with them.
“I joined the Sinjar Resistance Units to protect my land, to protect my
religion and to take back my family’s rights," she says. "Especially
the women, who are now in the hands of IS”. Despite her small frame and
childlike mannerisms, she shows no fear: “I am not afraid to go to the
mountains. I need to clear our land [of IS]. We will go back to my land and
we will live there again under my religion,” she explains forcefully.
That sense
of duty towards a religion that is key to their identity - and
towards a homeland that has been battled over by the Iraqi Kurds, Baghdad
and now IS - is what holds this female fighting unit together.
“If I haven’t a land, I haven’t a religion,” says 24-year-old Nerges Omer
Saleh.
For 22-year-old Nora Qasem Naser, whose gun-shot had earlier echoed through
the training ground, the will to fight also carries the weight of revenge.
Four years ago, her brother was murdered, in Mosul, at the hands of those
who would eventually become members of IS.
“IS killed my brother," she explains, with fire behind her eyes. "From
that time I’ve wanted to take up arms and fight them - and now after what
has happened in Sinjar…” she trails off, before steeling herself and looking
me straight in the eyes.
“Because of that I am not afraid to go and fight.”
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