BARDARASH, Kurdistan Region – On a warm summer afternoon in 2006, Abdul Qahar Muhammad Suliman closed his market in Mosul and began the usual walk home with his two young sons.
As they approached their home, a speeding grey Mazda cut off their path. Three men with ski masks jumped from the car and aimed pistols at the family.
“Don’t move,” they ordered. Suliman obeyed.
“I was afraid they would kill my children, so I did what they told me,” the 61-year-old recalled.
The men, who Suliman claimed to be members of al-Qaeda, shot him seven times – in the neck, left leg, chest and stomach - as his children ran home for help.
Suliman’s oldest son hopped in his car, dragged his wounded father from the pavement and sped to the hospital. As Suliman underwent an emergency operation that would save his life, his family packed all the belongings they could and abandoned their home and market, never to return.
Eight years later in 2014, Suliman and 16 of his relatives were driven away from their homes in Bashiqa after the Islamic State besieged Mosul and surrounding villages. In a hauntingly familiar routine, they packed all the belongings they could and again left home. This time they headed for the Kurdistan region.
The reason for all the violence and hate toward them is simple: They are Shabaks, a religious minority living in northern Iraq that has been persecuted for years. Most recent estimates put their population at around 250,000.
The majority of Shabaks consider themselves Shiite, although some identify as Sunni. The religion’s ideology, however, falls somewhere between Islam and Christianity. Their failure to adhere strictly to Islam has ostracized them from the Muslim community and made them targets of Sunni extremists like ISIS.
Suliman and his family escaped Bashiqa just a few hours before terrorists swept the city and kidnapped several Shabak families who were too late.
In Bardarash, 30km from Mosul, the weary Shabaks found refuge in an unlikely place: the farm of Ismail Shariff Hassan, a 52-year-old Sunni Kurd.
“They are poor and have nothing, so when they asked me to help them I did it for God’s sake,” Hassan said.
Hassan housed the family in an unfinished cinderblock building hidden in his lush, overgrown garden. They have electricity and running water, and they stay for free.
“I don’t care if the ones I help are Kurds, Arabs, Yezidis, Shabaks, Sunni or Shiite,” Hassan said. “I help kind people.”
Suliman and his family said they feel more comfortable in the Kurdistan region than any other place they have lived. But that does not mean they feel completely comfortable.
“I will not mention my religion to a stranger,” Suliman said. “Overall, minorities, especially Shabaks, don’t feel secure. But, thank God, we feel somewhat secure in Kurdistan.”
The same cannot be said for those who are trapped in Mosul, including Azhar Hamdoon’s family. The 32-year-old Shabak said her mother decided to stay in the city, rather than flee with her daughter and relatives.
“They wish they could escape now,” Hamdoon said. “But they can’t.”
Hamdoon, a mother of two who escaped to Bardarash with her husband, said she talks to her family in Mosul about once a month.
“They say it’s impossible to live there,” she said. “They can’t go out. They can’t speak. They have no electricity, not enough food or water.
“We are the lucky ones.”
The bit of luck these Shabaks might have is being tested by another problem, one that could perpetuate a life of uncertainty. The property they live on is being reclaimed by the Kurdistan Regional Government, Hassan said, after it was granted to him seven years ago for farmland.
“The government wants to reclaim it, so now I am in the middle of a lawsuit,” Hassan said.
Ahmed Ali Gar, 64, spoke for the rest of his family in his pleas to the government to let them stay.
“How should I feel at my age,” Gar said. “I’ve left my home and everything behind too many times.”
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