Omeed

Rising from the ashes

My name is Omeed, I am a 32 years old. I am an English teacher from Ba'ashiqa, Mosul, Iraq. My journey has been one of resilience, hope, and unwavering determination.

I graduated from the College of Education, Department of English at the University of Mosul, and I currently teach at Al-Drawesh Secondary School for Girls. My career has been diverse, having worked in various places, including hotels and organizations. However, my most significant experience has been as a heritage gatherer, conducting many interviews and continuously striving for personal growth. I aspire to continue my studies abroad, to further my knowledge and bring it back to my community.

On a personal note, I am passionate about reading and drawing, with a large collection of books that fuel my love for learning. I am married and live with my parents, though my family is spread across different regions.

Upside down

Ba'ashiqa is like a mini version of Iraq. It is a mixture of cultures and religions. There are Yazidis, Christians, Muslims and many other religions and cultures, all living in harmony and peace and sharing the culture, language and celebrating each other. Before ISIS attacked us, my neighbourhood was living in peace. I cannot remember a day where a problem occurred between anyone in my neighbourhood.

When ISIS invaded Iraq, my life, like many others, was turned upside down. They first attacked Mosul, quickly taking control of the city, and we were left in a state of fear and uncertainty. Our village, Ba'ashiqa, was soon threatened, and the looming danger forced us to make difficult decisions.

The situation worsened when ISIS attacked Sinjar, capturing and killing many Yazidis. This event made everyone in Ba'ashiqa realise that our village could be next, as it was only a short distance from Mosul. We feared being trapped if ISIS approached from the main road.

In response, many families, including mine, sent women and children to Kurdistan for safety. The men, including my father, my brothers, and me, stayed behind to monitor the situation.

For two days, Ba'ashiqa was almost deserted, except for the men who remained.

One fateful morning, we woke up to the sounds of fighting as ISIS advanced towards Ba'ashiqa.

My family and a few neighbours, who didn’t have their own transportation, crowded into our car and we fled towards the mountains.

After a long and difficult journey, we reached Sharya, where the rest of our family had taken refuge.

In Sharya, we faced immense challenges. We found shelter in my sister's overcrowded house, and rumours of ISIS reaching Duhok spread panic.

Many people from Sharya and Duhok were fleeing towards the Turkish border. With no specific destination, we drove towards Duhok and spent the night on the street, along with other displaced families.

We realized that Duhok was the furthest place in Iraq we could go. We decided that if anything else happened, we would head to the Turkish border, as it was our final option.

A kind man in Duhok offered us temporary shelter. Despite the hardship, we stayed there for months, enduring great difficulties but never losing hope.

After some time, we returned to Sharya, where our family split between living in a camp and renting a small house. The financial strain was immense, but we had no other options.

During this period, I also had to complete my final exams at the University of Duhok, under extremely challenging circumstances, without proper study materials.

I think I am the only one in this group of Yazidis on the Ruptured Atlas project who is from Ba'ashiqa and the way I left my home is different from others because we did not escape on foot but by our own transport. We did not lose family, or leave people behind and we did not die because of hunger or thirst, but yet I think my experience of displacement and hope is similar in many ways.

When we escaped from my village, we were told it would just be leaving our homes for two days, as a precaution. When we were staying in Sharya and in Duhok everyone was thinking it will just last for two days or for one week and after that we can return to our homes. So this sense of hope gave us some kind of energy. We somehow knew it would be for a limited period of time. Even when the week became one month, two months, one year, and eventually three years, the belief that it was only temporary gave us hope that one day we will return.

We came back to Ba'ashiqa in 2016, when it was liberated, but I stayed in Sharya because I was teaching in Sharya’s camp until the Coronavirus pandemic in 2019-2020, when I returned to my home.

Home sweet home

We left our home in Ba'ashiqa, where we had worked tirelessly for ages to build a small, simple house. All of us were working and studying while running a small shop to help complete the house. However, just one month after finishing it, ISIS came, and we had to leave everything behind, never getting to enjoy living in it.

Returning to Ba'ashiqa in 2016, we faced a mix of emotions. The city was in ruins, but the spirit of resilience was strong. We saw destruction everywhere, but we also saw the potential for rebuilding. Our determination to rebuild our home and community never wavered. I continued to teach and work to support my family, and navigate the challenges of a post-conflict environment.

Most of the houses were destroyed and empty. The darkness was spreading from everywhere and I was seeing what happened to my city.

The first time returning to my home was something strange. It was a mixture of memories and sadness because in every corner I was seeing a memory. This is where I was raised. This was my childhood.

I thought, how many years will it take for my city to recover and return to how we knew it.

I made videos on the first day of returning to my home. All you can see everywhere is destruction. We filmed everything and we also took a lot of photos around the neighbourhood.

Some members of ISIS had been stationed in my home. We saw some stuff they had left there, food boxes and a grenade.

The second floor of the house had been hit by a rocket and was badly damaged. You can also see traces of gun fighting in the rooftop.

We returned home on a day that coincided with one of our sacred Eid celebrations. This particular Eid requires us to build a fire from a special kind of plant and jump over it. Despite our house being unclean, destroyed, and long unoccupied, we decided to carry out this ritual on the first day. It was our way of symbolically cleansing our home, making it sacred once again, and purifying it from any lingering evil spirits. This act, amidst the ruins, was a poignant blend of sadness and hope, marking a new beginning in the heart of our cherished home.

This is my home.

It is the place that brings me the most comfort and peace, and being with my family — my parents, my wife, and my brothers and sisters — is where I belong.

In this photo, my parents are joyously celebrating our New Year by cracking beautifully coloured, boiled eggs. Each egg, dyed in vibrant hues, symbolizes the colour of nature and renewal that the New Year brings. This cherished tradition is an integral part of our heritage, marking the beginning of a new chapter with joy and togetherness

The Future?

Throughout this journey, my love for teaching and my community kept me going. Despite the adversities, I completed my final exams at the University of Duhok under extremely challenging circumstances. Those days were filled with uncertainty and fear, but they also taught me the value of perseverance and the strength of the human spirit.

Today, I look towards the future with hope and determination. My goal is to continue my studies and bring back valuable knowledge to help rebuild my community. I believe in the power of education and the resilience of the human spirit. My journey is a testament to the strength of hope and the unwavering determination to overcome adversity.

New Public Library in central Ba'ashiqa

New Public Library in central Ba'ashiqa

My ultimate dream is for all Yazidis to return to their homes in Iraq, under the protection of the United Nations, the governments of Iraq and Kurdistan and all the Nations to recognize us (The Yazidis) as a minority in need of protection. We need support to rebuild our communities and ensure that future generations can live in peace and security.

I like taking photos and videos. It’s like a hobby to me. I like to document what is happening around me, and its a way of keeping a record of what happend to us too.

I especially love nature, and looking at as well as taking photos of details in nature.

Being in nature allows me to have a break from people and feel nature's calmness.

These are the sounds of nature I recorded at a Yazidi temple in Ba'ashiqa. A stream flows past the temple, the wind rustles through the trees and birds chirp.

When I look to the sky, I search for the planes and wonder who is there in that plane? Where are they heading.

The tree with no leaves on it is symbolic of the Yazidi people. After ISIS we became like the dying tree, and the plane symbolises our only hope of surviving, which is traveling to another place in order to protect ourselves from extinction.

To anyone facing adversity, I say this:

Never lose hope. Keep striving, keep dreaming, and believing in the power of
your resilience; the power of hope. Together, we can overcome any challenge and build a brighter future.