They arrived and told






us if we convert we could live,






but nobody converted. In August





people in our area were asked





to go to the school, which had




two floors. They took women,




girls, and children to the first floor,



and the men had to stay on the ground



floor. My nephews—we were trying



to bring them up with us. They made


the boys hold up their arms—if he



had hair they had to stay downstairs,



if they had no hair they could go

upstairs. When I was very young, we

were a very poor, but then my brothers

started to work and so we had a better

life. We had a big yard out the back—

half of the yard was for us, and half

was for our animals. History was

my favorite subject—I was very good

at memorizing what I was reading.

But now my memory is not the same,

I mix things up in my brain. I found

a small window so I climbed out and

jumped from the second story, but

one of Salman's guards found me

and brought be back to him. I could

have died jumping, and after that I wished

I had. Talking alone in a room will not

help me or my family. My other sister

with my three remaining brothers

are still living in the camp. Conditions

are still as bad—rotting dried food,

no water, no electricity. Four of my

brothers' wives remain with ISIS,


along with their children. Talking


to one person in private will not help


this. I feel very old now. I am 21—yes,


I know it is young. But I feel like every



part of me changed in their hands:


Every strand of hair on my head,



every part of my body got old. I got



worn out by what they did to me,




and now I am a totally different





in every way. I never imagined





that these things could happen,





and I can't really describe them






in a way to make you understand.