THE GIRL WHO BEAT ISIS
Transcript of THE GIRL WHO BEAT ISIS
The Girl who Beat ISISFarida’s Story
Farida Khalaf
with Andrea C. Hoffmann
Translated from the German by Jamie Bulloch
LONDON
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Square Peg, an imprint of Vintage,20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
Square Peg is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
This book has been selected to receive financial assistance from English PEN’s “PEN Translates!” programme, supported by Arts Council England. English PEN
exists to promote literature and our understanding of it, to uphold writers’ freedoms around the world, to campaign against the persecution and imprisonment of writers
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Copyright © Farida Khalaf 2016Translation copyright © Jamie Bulloch 2016
Farida Khalaf has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published by Square Peg, 2016
penguin.co.uk/vintage
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781910931011
Typeset in India by Thomson Digital Pvt Ltd, Noida, Delhi
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives PLC
Penguin Random House is committed to a sustainable future for our business, our readers and our planet. This book is made from Forest
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Farida Khalaf is not my real name, and I am not the girl pictured
on the cover. I don’t want to show my face. The names of all the
other people who appear in this book have been changed. The names
of people in public life, however, are real.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE 1
1. OUR WORLD AS IT ONCE WAS 5
2. ONE FINAL WONDERFUL SUMMER 13
3. THE CATASTROPHE 30
4. THE SLAVE MARKET IN RAQQA 59
5. IN THE DARK ROOM 82
6. WITH THE ‘BEASTS’ 107
7. IN THE MILITARY CAMP 123
8. THE ROAD OUT OF HELL 150
9. NO HOME, NOT ANYWHERE 177
EPILOGUE 197
CO-WRITER’S NOTE 201
PROLOGUE
My father showed me how to stand. ‘Put your left foot a touch further
forward and bend your legs slightly.’
He corrected my posture by taking hold of my shoulders from
behind and adjusting my torso so I was front on. As a border guard
in the Iraqi army he knew how to handle rifles. He placed the gun,
an AK-47, in my hands. The Kalashnikov wasn’t as heavy as I’d
anticipated.
‘Put your right hand at the back by the trigger,’ he said. ‘Like that.
Now with your left hand you can align the barrel at the front. Aim
at the tree trunk over there.’ I got one of the mulberry trees in our
garden in my sights. ‘And fire!’
I tentatively fingered the trigger. Nothing happened.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Don’t be afraid, Farida.’
I pulled the metal lever gently until finally it clicked quietly. From
behind me Dad laughed.
‘Just like that,’ he said. ‘Well done!’
I looked at him quizzically.
‘I haven’t taken off the safety catch. But we’ll change that
right away. This is how you do it.’ He showed me how to release
the safety catch on the right-hand side of the receiver. ‘Are you
ready?’
‘Of course,’ I said, focused.
‘Careful, now.’
T H E G I R L W H O B E A T I S I S2
‘OK.’
‘Are you aiming right?’
I nodded.
‘Go on then.’
A loud report echoed through our garden and the force of the
Kalashnikov had me staggering.
‘Bravo!’ Dad said, grinning beneath his dark moustache.
The two of us walked over to the tree, to examine the results of
my first shooting attempt. And, in the event, a small piece of metal
was lodged at the very right-hand edge of the trunk. The empty
cartridge lay in the dust about a metre away.
‘You’ve got talent,’ my father said. ‘With a little practice you’ll be
better than your mother.’
‘Do you think so?’ I asked excitedly. He stroked my head with
affection.
‘Yes, you’ve just got to do it a few times, then it’ll be a piece of
cake. I’ll put up a target for you in the garden. You’ll see, over time
you’ll lose that fear of the bang and you’ll be better at offsetting the
kick.’
I nodded eagerly. I was terribly proud that my father was teaching
me, at the age of fifteen, how to handle a Kalashnikov. He’d already
shown my mother and my brother Delan, who was a couple of years
older than me, how to do it years ago. Although not my brother
Serhad, who was two years younger. It was a sure sign that he thought
I was grown up enough to defend our house and property should it
ever come to that.
There were three rifles in a box in my parents’ bedroom. One
was Dad’s army service rifle; the others he’d picked up at the
bazaar.
‘Women need to know how to use a weapon too,’ he said. ‘When
I’ve got enough money I’ll buy another AK-47 so that there’s one
for each of us in an emergency.’
Dad didn’t specify what this emergency might be. And I didn’t
have the imagination to picture it. Back then it didn’t cross my mind