The Last Front: Baghuz ~ My narration of the events leading up to the fall.

Chapter Fourteen: The Journey to al-Hol

Chapter Fourteen: The Journey to al-Hol

19th of March
The first car was about to arrive, and I was in a group of severely injured people, so we climbed in the first car. The truck was open from above, and there was space between the wood bars so we could see outside. We had to climb this ladder to enter.

We drove in the truck for around four to five hours. They took us to this open field known as the “Sahara.” This was our first stop, and we were searched again. 

They had us exit the trucks and wait for different trucks to transport us the rest of the way to al-Hol. During this time, they separated the men from the women, the injured from the uninjured. They also checked for weapons, bullets, or any military equipment. They even confiscated items such as nail clippers, scissors, and chargers, thinking we would strangle them.

We see the Kurdish soldiers. Among them were men and women and some Arabs who had joined the Kurdish SDF forces. Seeing the Arabs being amongst them hurt; it felt like a betrayal. If the Kurds were fighting for land. What were these local Arabs fighting for? I did not understand why they would ally with fire worshipers to fight against the Sharia of Allah.

Before separating us, the women checked our faces to confirm we were women. By the mercy of Allah, we were not told to uncover and remove our abayat. The men, however, had to take off their jackets and thick garments and were only allowed to stay in civilian clothing. It was cold, as it was still winter.

This was the last time I saw our men, the brothers from the State. The ones who had cared for the Ummah when billions had forgotten the Believers. They were being shouted at in humiliation and were being treated like animals.

Night had entered upon us. After being checked, they made us wait for 10-15 minutes, and then the new cars arrived. I climbed on the first car again, the injured were put in specific vehicles, and some were taken to an ambulance. The humiliation was constant; while they searched us, they would say, "so you came to this State to fight us. Where is your State now, and where is your leader?" Some were even hitting us.

One of the manly-looking Kurdish fire worshippers pushed me; I told her immediately not to touch me and to get lost. And she mocks me. I was exhausted and wanted to slap her, but I went quiet and sat down in sadness. Another Kurdish woman climbed into the car. She only opened my bag, so it is not a "search" for everyone. She took 500 Syrian lira, which equaled $2 back then, and my charger. I let her take them without a fight. I did not even own a phone anymore; I had to break it before coming out so that it would not benefit any disbeliever. Many narrated far worse incidences in this “Sahara” area, but this was my experience.

20th of March
We drove for another four to five hours again; then we stopped to rest. The following day, on the 20th of March, we drove all morning and stopped at Dhuhr time. This is where the American soldiers met us, and my tears could not stop flowing when I saw them standing there. Then one of the American soldiers with a translator came forth and asked for muhajireen. They took them all and they were escorted to another vehicle.

I preferred being next to the edge so I could be the first to come out if anything happened. Also, because of my claustrophobic experience in Baghuz. The drive was awful, and I was crying every single moment. I was lucky to have pulled a blanket with me, I was feeling cold, and that blanket turned out to be my only cover throughout the journey. The trucks were open from the top, so the wind was constantly entering, and there was space between some of the wood pieces, which made it possible to peek outside. We drove that night from Isha until midnight. Then they parked the car and threw thick plastic bags with juice, cake, and other stuff. They gave us around six bags to share with 20 people. I had gotten a whole bag, Alhamdulillah, and shared it with whoever was around me. This bag was the only thing I owned now.

I remember growing up reading about the Second World War; now, I was in a similar situation. I was folding my knees to my stomach trying to find a comfortable position, thinking we would drive. Then they stopped the truck's engine and told us to rest. The Arabic speakers told them to open the car so that we could breathe. Then a soldier climbed on top of the  vehicle and spoke to us from above telling us to be quiet and sleep. We had no choice but to sleep in the stuffed car.

21st of March 
The next morning we drove all day. I would peek through the wood and see that we were driving in a row like a caravan. A military car was leading us. It had the yellow YPG flag and some other ones that I do not remember. Behind it was a black car that looked like the CIA, and behind that was a Humvee with the American flag. Then there were a few military cars and then our truck. Behind us were many other trucks similar to ours.

Most of the roads are motorway style that go from city to city, so there weren't many turns, but each time the road would curve, I would try to count the cars behind us. They were around 20. We stopped at Dhuhr and were allowed to go out. People had to use the toilet in the plastic bags we received at random spots in the open field.

After that, we drove for the whole day with no stops. I was in a very uncomfortable position the entire time and could not stop crying. I would sob uncontrollably like a mad woman every two hours, not believing I was in a caravan led by the Americans. So many thoughts were rushing through me. I was now alone—the only one who survived from my group of friends. I had a watch on and kept tracking the time and date, feeling like a prisoner already.

When we finally reached al-Hol, the trucks stopped, and I saw the sign that said *Camp Hol*.