'Really Tired': French ISIS Women Languish in Syria Camp

Amal, from France, needs crutches to get around Al-Hol camp after she was wounded in what was the ISIS group's last bastion in eastern Syria. (AFP)
Amal, from France, needs crutches to get around Al-Hol camp after she was wounded in what was the ISIS group's last bastion in eastern Syria. (AFP)
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'Really Tired': French ISIS Women Languish in Syria Camp

Amal, from France, needs crutches to get around Al-Hol camp after she was wounded in what was the ISIS group's last bastion in eastern Syria. (AFP)
Amal, from France, needs crutches to get around Al-Hol camp after she was wounded in what was the ISIS group's last bastion in eastern Syria. (AFP)

In an overcrowded desert camp for families linked to the ISIS group in northeastern Syria, a French woman begged for another chance so she and her children could go home.

In the same settlement, two other French women were more tepid about the prospect of repatriation, with one saying she feared being separated from her child.

In the squalid camp of Al-Hol, the question of return has sparked a divide among the French wives of ISIS fighters.

"We'd like the French government to give us the chance to make it up to them," 30-year-old Umm Mohammad told AFP in French.

"I think it's better they repatriate us... We'll be judged in France," said the mother of four from Paris, dressed in a black robe and face veil.

After years of fighting IS ISIS Syria's Kurds hold 4,000 women and 8,000 children from families linked to the extremist organization, mostly in Al-Hol.

Inside the camp, a veiled woman pushed a child in a pram, the bottom of her black robe caked in dry mud.

Two boys in jackets and rubber boots dragged a cart over a dirt field beyond rows of white tents, a little girl in a pink coat running alongside.

Umm Mohammad said that among her compatriots in Al-Hol's section for foreigners, "a huge amount want to go home".

"There's another half who don't want to go back, but that's their problem," said the widow, who says her French husband was killed in Hajin, once one of the last bastions of ISIS.

France has so far been reluctant to repatriate its nationals, allowing just a handful of children back on a case-by-case basis.

But in an apparent U-turn last week, Justice Minister Nicole Belloubet said she saw "no other solution" but to bring back extremists.

'Never killed'

Kurdish-led forces expelled ISIS from its last patch of territory in eastern Syria in March last year.

The extremists stand accused of a wide range of crimes during their failed five-year experiment in statehood in parts of Syria and neighboring Iraq.

But Umm Mohammad claimed she "did nothing at all" while living under ISIS.

"I never killed anyone," she said.

"We're really tired. Our children, we'd like them to go back to school."

In the camp's makeshift market, women dressed in black examined piles of colorful clothes laid out on blankets.

A woman carried a tray of white eggs, followed by another balancing a plastic crate of oranges on her head.

Away from the bustle, another French woman lamented the living conditions.

"I don't want to stay in this camp," said 23-year-old Nour, her brown eyes barely visible through the slit of her face veil.

"It's very difficult. We live in tents. It's cold. People are sick."

At least 371 children died in Al-Hol last year, the Kurdish Red Crescent has said, mainly from malnutrition, poor healthcare for newborns and hypothermia.

The Kurdish authorities have warned that conditions could deteriorate further after the UN Security Council on January 10 voted to restrict cross-border aid.

The Yaroubiya crossing on the Iraqi border was a key entry point for UN-funded medical aid reaching the area, including Al-Hol.

'France doesn't want us'

Nour, who said she was from the city of Montpellier in southern France, said she wanted to resume a normal life.

But she insisted she did not want to be separated from her children.

"If they're going to separate us, frankly I don't see the point of repatriating us," she said.

She too claimed she had not carried out any crimes.

"I stayed at home and educated my children," she said.

A third French woman -- who gave her name as Amal -- was more reluctant to speak.

"I having nothing to say," said the 25-year-old, after slowly gliding around the used clothes market on clutches.

She said she was wounded in the leg in Baghouz, a riverside hamlet where die-hard extremists made their last stand in 2019.

She would not reveal the nationality of her late husband and, under her face veil, her brown eyes avoided the camera.

"France doesn't want us... doesn't want ISIS," she said. "I don't want anyone to judge me."



Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
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Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)

After the fall of Bashar al-Assad, Afaf Mohammed did what she could not for more than a decade: she climbed Mount Qasyun to admire a sleeping Damascus "from the sky" and watch the sun rise.

Through the long years of Syria's civil war, which began in 2011 with a government crackdown on pro-democracy protesters, people were not allowed access to the mountain.

But now they can return to look down again on their capital, with its high-rise hotels and poor suburbs exhausted by war.

When night falls, long queues of vehicles slowly make their way up a twisting road to a brightly lit corniche at the summit.

Once there, they can relax, listen to music, eat and, inevitably, take selfies.

On some evenings there have even been firework displays.

Afaf Mohammed told AFP that "during the war we weren't allowed up to Mount Qasyun. There were few public places that were truly accessible."

At her feet, the panorama of Syria's capital stretched far and wide. It was the second time in weeks that the dentist in her thirties had come to the mountaintop.

A man sells tea on Mount Qasyun, from which government artillery used to pound opposition-held areas under Assad's rule. (AFP)

- Ideal for snipers -

Her first was just after a coalition of opposition fighters entered the city, ousting Assad on December 8.

On that occasion she came at dawn.

"I can't describe how I felt after we had gone through 13 years of hardship," she said, wrapped close in an abaya to ward off the chilly breeze.

Qasyun was off limits to the people of Damascus because it was an ideal location for snipers -- the great view includes elegant presidential palaces and other government buildings.

It was also from this mountain that artillery units for years pounded opposition-held areas at the gates of the capital.

Mohammed believes the revolution brought "a phenomenal freedom" that includes the right to visit previously forbidden places.

"No one can stop us now or block our way. No one will harm us," she said.

Patrols from the security forces of Syria's new rulers are in evidence, however.

They look on as a boy plays a tabla drum and young people on folding chairs puff from water pipes as others dance and sing, clapping their hands.

Everything is good-natured, reflecting the atmosphere of freedom that now bathes Syria since the end of Assad rule.

Gone are the stifling restrictions that once ruled the people's lives, and soldiers no longer throng the city streets.

Visitors to Mount Qasyun can now relax, listen to music, eat and snap selfies. (AFP)

- Hot drinks and snacks -

Mohammad Yehia, in his forties, said he once brought his son Rabih up to Mount Qasyun when he was small.

"But he doesn't remember having been here," he said.

After Assad fell, his son "asked if we would be allowed to go up there, and I said, 'Of course'," Yehia added.

So they came the next day.

Yehia knows the place well -- he used to work here, serving hot drinks and snacks from the back of a van to onlookers who came to admire the view.

He prides himself on being one of the first to come back again, more than a decade later.

The closure of Mount Qasyun to the people of Damascus robbed him of his livelihood at a time when the country was in economic freefall under Western sanctions. The war placed a yoke of poverty on 90 percent of the population.

"We were at the suffocation point," Yehia told AFP.

"Even if you worked all day, you still couldn't make ends meet.

"This is the only place where the people of Damascus can come and breathe a little. It's a spectacular view... it can make us forget the worries of the past."

Malak Mohammed, who came up the mountain with her sister Afaf, said that on returning "for the first time since childhood" she felt "immense joy".

"It's as if we were getting our whole country back," Malak said. Before, "we were deprived of everything".