John Pontifex
When Christian villagers from the Iraqi town of Caramles fled advancing IS forces, 80-year-old Victoria was among a dozen or so unable to leave. The widow, a Chaldean Catholic, knew nothing about the sudden evacuation that had suddenly emptied this ancient village she had known for so long. Next morning she went to church – St Addai’s – as she did every day. She found the place locked; the streets deserted. She knew IS had come.
We met Victoria on our first evening in Erbil at the start of a fact-finding and project assessment trip for Catholic charity Aid to the Church in Need. She wanted to tell us the story of how she and her friend and neighbour Gazella survived.
When Christian villagers from the Iraqi town of Caramles fled advancing IS forces, 80-year-old Victoria was among a dozen or so unable to leave. The widow, a Chaldean Catholic, knew nothing about the sudden evacuation that had suddenly emptied this ancient village she had known for so long. Next morning she went to church – St Addai’s – as she did every day. She found the place locked; the streets deserted. She knew IS had come.
We met Victoria on our first evening in Erbil at the start of a fact-finding and project assessment trip for Catholic charity Aid to the Church in Need. She wanted to tell us the story of how she and her friend and neighbour Gazella survived.
For four days, they locked themselves in their home, not daring to
venture out. “Prayer sustained us,” said Victoria. But they needed food
for the body as well as food for the soul and when supplies ran
dangerously low they went in search of water and other basics.
Inevitably they ran into IS forces. Explaining their situation, they
asked for help and to their surprise IS gave them water even after they
refused a request to abandon their faith.
A few days later, IS found them in their homes and rounded them up at
St Barbara’s shrine just on the edge of Caramles. There were about a
dozen of them there, the last remaining Christian inhabitants of the
village.
“You must convert,” IS forces told them. “Our faith can promise you paradise,” they added.
Victoria and Gazella responded: “We believe that if we show love and
kindness, forgiveness and mercy we can bring about the kingdom of God on
earth as well as in heaven. Paradise is about love. If you want to kill
us for our faith then we are prepared to die here and now.”
IS forces had no answer. The dozen Christians, who included many
elderly and infirm, were let go. One of them had a battered car. Other
transport was also arranged and they made it to safety.
Victoria and Gazelle are still neighbours. But they no longer live in
two homes side by side but two mattresses in a room they rent courtesy
of the Church in Ainkawa, near Erbil, the capital of Kurdish northern
Iraq.
There on the mattresses they told their story. Completing it,
Victoria had tears in her eyes. “Ebony”, she said, reaching out her arms
to me.
After we embraced, her bishop, Amel Nona of Mosul, himself a refugee
too, told me that “Ebony” is Arabic for “my child”. I went away
thinking that I was indeed a child sitting at the feet of women of great
fortitude, faith and friendship.
