Kocho's Living Ghosts - Part Six
This is Part Six of a serialized long-form essay. If you missed them, read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, and Part Five. Make sure to subscribe to receive the remaining parts.
Surviving the massacre wasn't the end of the men's ordeal. The mass graves were 35 kilometres away from the safety of Sinjar—getting there involved traversing territory ISIS now controlled. As the sun set over Kocho on the day of the massacre, Saed and Ali's journey began
Light from a tower in the town of Al-Qapussiya cut through the darkness like a beacon that drew them toward it and the person Saed knew there that he hoped might help them. They crept into the garden of Saed's friend, Abdullah, who was sleeping in the yard with his family due to the heat and woke with a fright when he heard them. Abdullah saw their injuries and roused a local medic under the auspices of tending to his sick grandmother, so as not to arouse suspicion. ISIS had told the villagers they'd be punished for helping Yazidi's, so as soon as the doctor treated Saed and Ali's wounds Abdullah guided them to a path that led out of town.
The sun began to rise, giving a man on his way to the mosque sight of them. He took them to an empty house on the outskirts of town, went to pray, then returned with breakfast and a man called Sheikh Omar who dressed the men's wounds and took care of them for two days while they gathered their strength. The Sheikh was appalled by ISIS's brutal actions which he said went against Islam—he vowed to help the men reach safety and moved them to an abandoned farm nearby, where they were to meet a friend. As they arrived, ISIS vehicles came into view in the distance, and Sheikh Omar fled, terrified. Saed and Ali hid and waited quietly. Their friend never came.
The men returned to Al-Qapussiya once again, despondent. On the path back into town, they met a man who wept when he heard their story, took them home, washed their injured hands and feet, and fed them. He only had space to hide one of the men, so Saed stayed with him while Ali returned to Abdullah's house. Over the next three days, Abdullah tried to arrange safe passage for Ali and Saed who needed to get out of the area ISIS controlled before they were discovered.
At first, a friend said he could take them for $2,000, but the price soon rose to $8,000. Abdullah sold his barley to raise the money, but it wasn't enough. Out of options, he took Ali to meet Saed at a farm to the north-east of the town, where gave the men a mobile phone, water, and some food and pointed out the best route to Sinjar.
That night, Ali and Saed set off along the valley, painfully alert to the danger all around them. As they reach the main highway, the lights of an ISIS checkpoint shimmered in the distance near Sinjar town. Seconds later, a laser light swept over them, identifying their figures in the darkness—then a car from the checkpoint sped down the highway toward them. The men scrambled into an olive grove and hid until the vehicle sent to find them gave up and retreated back toward Sinjar empty-handed. Later, they stumbled on a spring and gulped down the water, desperate for fluids. In Solak village, they were chased by dogs and ran for what seemed like forever trying to lose them.
When they finally reached the foot of Sinjar mountain, they felt a sense of safety that had alluded them since the bullets had flown toward them, days before. Ali felt so peaceful he lay down, bringing on the fatigue he'd been keeping at bay since the massacre. He felt too weak to go on and sent Saed on without him.
Sleeping through the night restored Ali's strength. As morning broke, he continued his journey, stopping on the way to siphon water from a tractor radiator to stave off dehydration. Finally, as he approached the Chel Meran shrine, he saw a shepherd and shouted for help. The shepherd's friends brought food and water, and a donkey to carry him the rest of the way. At two o'clock, on August 23rd, 2014, eight days after the massacre, Ali made it to the top of Sinjar mountain, and safety.
This is Part Six of a serialized long-form essay published in newsletter form. Subsequent installments will arrive in your inbox over the next six days, during the fifth anniversary of the genocide in Kocho.
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Revolutionary Ghosts is a newsletter of personal writing by Emma Beals. It’s about how Syria changed the world and how reporting on it changed me, the idea of moral injury and the practice of moral repair, and the mess we're in and what we do about it. There will also be recipes.