How 2 Stop a Middle Eastern Genocide - 1

A Yazidi family's plight when ISIS reaches their town

This is What “It” Looks Like

Our town was small but mostly self-sufficient
We lacked equipment, but the farming was efficient
The whole family worked on the farm
In the heart of winter and on days warm

I and my sister went to the same school
My mother wouldn’t let us be anybody’s fool
My two brothers went to a separate one
We were mostly excluded from their fun

The younger brother was about the same age as me
He would trail my older brother wherever he be
My sister and I were happy in our own way
We roamed the town after school and stopped to pray

The temple of Tawusi Malek was an age-old fixture of our town
It was majestic and colorful and a holy place of great renown
The peacock god in all his majesty the temple graced
After praying and playing in the environs, we to our home raced

My mother would feed me sweet treats and my hair braid
We helped her in the kitchen as she mouth-watering dishes made
While we kneaded and doughed and chopped and churned,
She told us tales so full of wonder that to live in those our hearts yearned
There was the sun god, and then there was Tawusi Malek, an angel disgraced
He recovered to be our guardian angel, and to him, our existence, my mother traced
The whole family always sat down and had dinner together
The males talked of trade with neighboring towns and the weather

My frequent questions were patiently answered by my father
And he scolded my brothers when they would not have me talk rather
Weather was important; you had to keep in step to ensure the best crop
After dinner, I studied till late at night to keep in my class at the top

I wanted to be a doctor: I know not very original, but it was for the town very ambitious
My younger sister: she was just wanted to marry rich, which I thought was just vicious
We had rows, we made up, we laughed, we complained against each other
We had fun, we fell out, we cried, we had secrets we kept from either brother

In the neighboring towns were Sunni Muslims; Yazidis, we were known as
Though the distances were great between us; we were united by friendship’s badge
The towns in Sinjar were peaceful, but all that was to very soon change
As continuous sounds of gunfire erupted far away, my father thought it mighty strange

Violence had historically been bad news for this community of ours
We were one of the first to be targeted when it broke out among the local powers
My father, in a hurry, went to the nearest town to get more information
He came back with bread and fruits and old us that ISIS had entered the nation

We were immediately worried and thought of fleeing farther away
The neighbors, my father said, had assured us we won’t enter the fray
The ISIS also was composed of Sunni Muslims and would listen to them
They told us that, in fact, a couple of people from their town were at the helm

Life went on as usual, but we seldom laughed anymore
With each passing day, nearer came the gunfire’s roar
And then it happened: trucks flying the black flags of ISIS entered our town
We rushed inside our home and locked the doors, on our faces a frown

We held our breaths, intently listening for sounds on the street
But everybody had rushed home; the street’s desertion was complete
My mother and we silently prepared a meal, while the males talked in tones hushed
We ate and went to our beds, reassured by our father who aside our worries brushed

Early morning, there was a soft knock on the door
To our ears, it sounded like a grenade had gone off on the floor
The town’s head had himself come to meet us
Daesh (ISIS) had called a meeting, he told us in a rush

There’s nothing to be done but to go
Toward my school, take us our steps slow
The townspeople walk with ghost faces and reluctant gait
We enter the school and a man with a machine gun berates us for being so late

It’s shocking to see the people from our neighboring town present
“Help us,” my father pleads to his trade partner and friend in a voice faint
“Just do what they tell you to do. It will be alright”
My father shuffles forward like in him was left no more fight

We are separated into two groups on the unpartitioned ground floor
But we cling to each other’s hand; we jump as we hear the machine gun’s roar
A family that we knew has been mowed down in an instant
We quickly separate into two groups keeping from the stream of blood distant

The men are on one side, the children and women on another
My older brother is with my father, while my younger brother stands near my mother
The ISIS members ignore the group that has us and our mother
"There goes your temple," the leader says as the town is rocked by one blast after another

“Convert to Islam or die. Choose quickly,” they tell them
Pointedly raises his machine gun, the man at the helm
One by one, they profess their desire to convert
To our horror, we hear the temple priest his reluctance blurt

The ISIS leader gives to the others from his unit a subtle nod
As bullets thud into the priest’s face, remains silent our God
And then the ISIS men start shooting the other men
My dad and my older brother are cut down when

My mother falls down on the floor in shock
My younger brother picks up a rock
I firmly catch his hand as he is about to throw it
“They will kill us all,” I say as me he starts to hit

Tears stream his face, and he reluctantly lets the stone fall
My younger sister sits on the ground and plays with her doll
She ignores it all as if it’s all too much for her mind to take in
The ISIS leader tells old women to separate from the young in a voice thin

I shake my mother, but she doesn’t respond
I guiltily slap the woman of whom I am so very fond
I tell her to quickly get up and move to the other group
She nods vacantly; as she walks, for the first time I see her stoop

The young boys from the young girls, the ISIS separates then
I pry open my younger brother’s hand from mine with all my strength when
We are herded out, my brother’s group and mine
To board a bus, we are made to stand in a line

We are packed into separate buses, my sister and I and my brother
As our buses cross and our eyes meet, gunfire erupts killing our mother
Before, we are wrested away, the shock and pain in his eyes reflects mine
The leader roams the bus and stops near a pretty girl with, in his eyes, a creepy shine

He starts fondling the girl, laughing out loudly in fun
She protests, and he hits her in the head with his gun
All resistance goes out of her; watching this my stomach curls
Then he starts doing the same with a number of other girls

With a sinking feeling, I open my eyes and see him getting near
My sister is sleeping like a baby; what has happened to her is still not clear
He snakes his hand toward my sister; I grab hold of it and stop it midway
He raises his gun in anger; I place his hand on my chest and let it there stay

He smiles lasciviously; I look at him and close my eyes in resignation
Precise gunfire hits the bus, and his head falls into my lap, his final destination
Blood covers my body, and I throw him aside in disgust
The bus comes to a stop as its tires burst
All of us keep sitting as the world comes to a standstill
We are too traumatized to exercise our own will

I look at my sister, grab her hand, and gingerly step out
No one’s there; I stay still for a space in confusion’s bout
From the thick greenery like ghosts, I see them emerge
Gun-toting women wearing combat fatigues toward me surge

One of them, with a scar running down her left eye, a water bottle hands me
“You know the Sinjar mountain, right?” she says like the totality of me she does see
I nod. “You need to go there quickly,” she says
“Who are you?” I ask in a voice that frays

“I am Merwan,” she says, mussing my hair
“Like the heroine?” I ask her with a fixed stare
“Yes, like the heroine. Only not as pretty,” she says with a slow smile
Gunfire hits the ground near us as ISIS trucks emerge in a file

“Go on now. Run,” she gives me a gentle push and dives to take cover
As Merwan and the women return fire, I know, for my sister’s sake, that I can’t hover
“Let’s race,” I tell her, and she smiles broadly like the world once again makes sense
We are running side by side as gunfire sounds echo all round and getting farther thence

We run and run and get tired; we rest and then run again
As we near, we are tired and thirsty and dizzy and not quite sane
There are many Yazidi families escaping to the mountain
We navigate our way through the gathering children, women, and men

The mountain is hot, crowded, and stark
Hunger starts to eat our bellies as it gets dark
The next day brings for us and the others more of the same
There is no food or water, and the sun is not tame

We are dying of thirst: we are really thirsty
Then, we are dying of thirst: we are actually dying
Six days have passed without food or water
The mountain is killing many a squatter

“They say we will soon get aid. There will be plenty of water and sweet bun”
My sister slowly enunciates through her white lips, “I won”
“Come again,” I say, lying side by side, too weak to move much
“You said to race. I reached the mountain first. You never congratulated me as such”

Tears well up. “Yes, yes. You did. This time you did!” I say with what I think is animation
Slowly, a smile forms on her lips. I am smiling too. “You get half my share of the bun.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just lies there with the smile frozen on her face
I am shaking her gently. Then I am shaking her vigorously. But she has run her race

The next day, someone shouts, “The ISIS fighters are at the foot of the mountain”
I slowly yank myself near the edge of the mountain and peer below. I can see men
They look like ants from up here. I kiss my sister’s brow. I button up her dress, she is cold
Then throw myself over the edge of the mountain old