Locations“Remember us?: Survivors’ Stories from Al-Qataniya”
March 4, 2025
It was during the dark, early morning hours that loud gunshots jolted Dunya, who was just 13 years old at that time, from her sleep.
“My father was the only man of the house, he woke all of us up,” she says. Scared to leave but even more afraid to stay, Dunya and her family took what they could and fled to the mountains of Sinjar, leaving behind everything they ever knew.
“It took us four days to reach those mountains. We had no food, no water. I don’t remember much after that,” says Dunya, now a 24-year-old, small business owner.
Dunya’s harrowing story, like those of many other Yazidis, bring back memories of the genocide that they’ve tried so hard to forget.
A day that seemed like the end of the world
When ISIL invaded Yazidi communities in 2014, thousands of families lost precious loved ones to unspeakable brutality at the hands of merciless terrorists.
“Before the genocide,” remembers Najwa, a 26 year-old, female farmer, “we lived in comfort, almost like a dream, where struggle, fear or tragedy simply did not exist. Those days we did not know how to fight.”
She cries when she remembers the memory. “I was 16 years-old and at home with my mother who is blind, when the attacks started. We ran for the mountains as a family, I was holding my mother’s hand through it all, and I never let go fearing she would not make it.”
Najwa and her family spent 8 nights in the mountains of Sinjar before arriving at an IDP camp in the Kurdistan region of Iraq.
“That last night on the mountain, we had to leave my two elderly aunts behind, along with those whom we knew could not make the journey down. As we moved further away from them and many others, for me, I felt as though it was the end of the world,” she cries. She pauses briefly and continues, “That day, after everything that happened, was the day we Yazidis found our strength, especially we women. I now know how to defend myself and my family, and I teach my daughters the same,” said Najwa.
Salam, now a 24 year- old barbershop owner, recalls, “My father, my uncles and I stayed and we fought, until we ran out of food, water and ammunition,” then only a 14 year-old boy Salam does not remember much else from that time. “All I really remember was fleeing in the night, and falling asleep in the truck that we hoped would take us to safety.”
A place called “home” - rebuilding after ISIL
The road leading to the area still lies in a heap of ruins. Al Qataniya’s residents have begun to return, , hoping to rebuild the once vibrant community they were forced to leave behind years ago.
Al Qataniya, a small sub district of Ba’aj district in Ninewa governorate, is home to Yazidis, a distinct Kurdish-speaking ethno-religious minority found in northern Iraq and neighbouring Syria. Located just south of Sinjar, Al Qataniya is home to a close-knit Yazidi community, that most can say has been forgotten.
Photo: Mahdi Al-Saadawi / UNDP Iraq
During the genocide, thousands of Yazidis living in Al Qataniya fled to the mountains for safety, some staying days, others months, before settling in camps in the Kurdistan region of Iraq. Historically, the Yazidis have lived through decades of marginalization, due to deep-rooted tensions and conflicts with the Sunni-Arab tribes in Ba’aj. This particular area is known for its agriculture – but during ISIL’s reign of terror, Al Qataniya was used as a base to launch attacks against the Iraqi Security Forces (ISF) and innocent civilians in Ninewa.
Photo: Mahdi Al-Saadawi / UNDP Iraq
The location of Al Qataniya, in close proximity to the Syrian border, made it the first casualty of the radically violent extremist group. While many Yazidis still live in displacement camps, there has been a recent increase in the number of Yazidis returning to Sinjar, as well as Al Qataniya – as more and more Yazidis want to return home. Just under 2000 families have returned to Al Qataniya – but the wake of devastation left behind by the defunct terror group, has proven a challenge for the returned families – as limited economic opportunities, past trauma and ongoing tensions continue to threaten their homecoming.
Beauty for ashes – small business and livelihoods development
Dunya, Najwa and Salam are Yazidis who call Al Qataniya “home”, but, they are also graduates of a two-week training course on business development with support from the Government of Japan and implemented by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and a local Yazidi organization called Nadia’s Initiative - an NGO founded by Nobel Peace Prize winner, Nadia Murad, who is herself a Yazidi and a world renowned advocate for their cause. Nadia, whose own family was massacred in front of her during genocide- is now based in Berlin with her immediate family and continues to be an advocate for justice.
Nadia’s Initiative has been working with UNDP since early last year to implement on component of a three-part project, directly addressing challenges brought about by lack of income generating opportunities, unresolved trauma and broken community ties and trust in each other. These seem like very simple things when taken one-by-one - but taken together, healing from trauma, strengthening social cohesion and the introduction of socio-economic opportunities back into the community is the bedrock on which a community and a people can finally rebuild.
Dunya’s Salon of Hope
Dunya, 24, was only 13 when ISIS attacked her village “The events in my life have caused me to grow up fast.,” she says.
“I tried so many times to finish my schooling but one thing after another kept happening and I finally gave up,” she says. After years in displacement, she returned to Al-Qataniya with a determination to reclaim her life. She apprenticed with her cousin who owned a salon and inspired by this, Dunya applied for a UNDP/Nadia’s Initiative training program that taught her business skills, customer relations, and marketing through social media. She received a grant to open her own salon, and now the revenue from that supports her entire family. “The first day I opened my salon, I felt hope again,” she says. With nearly 1,500 Instagram followers on her @salon_gako account, Dunya dreams of inspiring others to bring life back to Al-Qataniya. “We can’t change the past, but we can build our future,” she says.
Salam’s Fresh Start
Salam, 26, was just a teenager when he took up arms to defend his village against ISIS. After fleeing to the mountains with his family and eventually finding refuge in a displacement camp in Kurdistan, he struggled to rebuild his life. “When we were in the mountains, I was worried and did not know where we would go from there,” he recounts. Married at 18 and now a father of three daughters, Salam found hope through this training program and was awarded $2,000 grant that allowed him to open his own barbershop. “The training taught me how to deal with customers,” he shares. His shop, just five minutes from his home, now serves 4-5 clients daily, earning him enough to support his family. Despite challenges like rising rent, Salam feels the positive impact of the project on his community. "This shop isn't just mine—it's a symbol of our resilience.”
Najwa’s Harvest of Strength
At 16, Najwa fled ISIS with her blind mother, surviving eight harrowing nights in the mountains of Sinjar. The trauma of losing her two aunts, who stayed on the mountain, unable to make the trip to the camps, is forever etched in her memory. But Najwa is strong, and has managed to channel her pain into resilience. Now 26, married with three children, Najwa works on her father-in-law’s farm in Al-Qataniya. With training from UNDP, she introduced new agricultural techniques and built a drip irrigation system. “Farming taught me patience and strength,” she says. “When I see healthy crops, I know we are growing not just food, but hope.” Her farm now sustains three families, and she takes pride in producing organic vegetables for her community.
In the heart of Al-Qataniya, resilience takes many forms. For some, it is found in the steady hands of a barber crafting fresh starts. For others, it is seen in the determined gaze of a farmer watching her crops grow. And for many, it emerges in the quiet, compassionate work of social workers who listen, guide, and help rebuild spirits shattered by trauma.
The Healing Touch: Social Workers in Al-Qataniya
Madloul Nasser Khalid, a 25-year-old psychology graduate, has been part of the community mental health initiative since October 2024. Every day, he registers participants, organizes group sessions, and offers psychological guidance to help survivors find light after years of darkness. "When someone comes in with their pain, I can see it in their eyes," Madloul explains. "But when they walk out, feeling even a little lighter, that change makes me the happiest person in the world."
Madloul's passion for helping others was sparked years ago when he would spend hours reading books on survival and healing. "I prefer to talk about how to leave the trauma behind," he says softly. "I remember how, during the hardest times, people sacrificed what little they had so others could survive. If they found the strength to do that, we can find the strength to move forward."
Alan Khalaf Haji, 23, never expected his talent for listening would lead him here. A mathematics graduate, Alan is a natural confidant. "Even when I was studying, people would come to me just to talk," he says. "Maybe they sensed I understood." Alan does understand—deeply. In 2007, when he was just five years old, he lost his father in a terrorist attack. "Nothing after that could be worse," he says. "I feel the strength of God with me, and I know my father sees me and is proud. I can't give up on my dreams." Today, Alan balances his work as a counselor with his ambition to pursue a PhD, all while helping survivors of the genocide process their pain.
The stories are endless, and for social worker Farhan Hodeida, 28, they are etched into his memory. "I've heard so many stories," he says, "but what stays with me most is a woman who told me she prays it doesn't rain—because if it does, she can't get food." Farhan often speaks with women who shoulder unimaginable burdens: caring for children, supporting disabled husbands, and battling the weight of depression. "During sessions, they open up about thoughts of suicide," he says. "I remind them of their children, of their own strength, of the blessings still around them. I tell them that when God closes one door, He always opens another. And sometimes, I see it—the moment when they realize they can keep going."
Since the project's start, 18 group sessions have been held, with many participants requesting individual counseling afterward. The sessions, funded by the Government of Japan and implemented by UNDP, provide a safe space to talk, cry, and begin to heal.
The Foundation of Home: Shelter and Social Cohesion Through Sports
Rebuilding lives goes beyond mental health; it requires physical spaces where healing can take root. Ibrahim, a 56-year-old father of five, returned from the Zakho displacement camp last summer. He has survived three heart attacks and now relies on his only son’s daily wages. "Without the support to build our house," he says, "we couldn't have come back."
For others, the journey back has been even more arduous. Shireen, who lost her son in the genocide, now lives with her surviving son and his family. They spent years in displacement camps after fleeing their home when armed militants demanded they convert or face death.
"A Muslim family helped us escape," she recalls, still surprised by the kindness they encountered amid the terror. Today, she sits by a small fire, watching her grandchildren play on the foundation of their new home. "We never thought we'd return," she says. "But now, we have hope again."
Community leaders like Khalaf Manduhamo see the housing support as a catalyst for broader recovery. "When I came back in 2020, there were only seven houses here," Khalaf explains. "Now, thanks to international support, more families are returning." But the work isn't finished. "We need hospitals, gas stations, water access, and more schools," he says. "If we could start building infrastructure now, everyone who left would return within a month."
The houses built through the project aren't just walls and roofs; they are anchors for families long adrift. Each home represents a step toward restoring trust and rebuilding community bonds.
Ibrahim Tamri, a local author and human rights activist, has documented the Yazidi genocide since 2014. "What happened to our community is indescribable," he says. "But the support we've received has helped us begin to recover. Social cohesion isn't just a concept here—it's survival."
But perhaps nothing demonstrates the fragile hope of restored cohesion more than the football league that now thrives in the heart of Al-Qataniya. On a muddy field one rainy afternoon, Yazidi and Arab youth, once divided by violence and fear, played side-by-side. The rain soaked their jerseys and turned the field into a slippery mess, but no one seemed to care.
"That match was more than just a game," says Khalaf. "It was a reminder that we share more than we remember. The laughter, the teamwork—that's what community looks like."
The simplicity of a football match—passing the ball, calling out names, celebrating a goal—bridged the silent gap left by years of mistrust. "On that field, there were no labels, no past," Khalaf adds. "Just neighbors, playing a game and rebuilding something that was broken for so long."
As the sun sets over Al-Qataniya, children chase each other around newly constructed homes. Inside, parents prepare simple meals, grateful for the warmth of sturdy walls. Nearby, social workers like Madloul, Alan, and Farhan sit with survivors, listening and gently guiding them toward hope.
"We can't change the past," Dunya says, glancing at her salon's mirror. "But together, we are building a future where we can finally feel at home."
END
Editor's Note
The story of Al-Qataniya is one of resilience, recovery, and the enduring human spirit in the face of unimaginable hardship. Through this project, supported by the generous contribution of the Government of Japan, communities that once stood divided by trauma and displacement are now taking steps toward healing. This initiative, implemented by UNDP Iraq with Japan's steadfast support, has provided not just homes, but spaces for dialogue, understanding, and growth. From mental health and psychosocial support sessions to the football league where Yazidis and Arabs come together on muddy fields to play side-by-side, we see how simple acts—like passing a ball on a rainy afternoon—can mend fractured relationships. We extend our heartfelt gratitude to the people of Japan for their unwavering belief in the power of human connection, and for standing alongside the people of Iraq in their journey toward peace and recovery.