I was a sex slave to Isis, that's my confession.

The maids ' Bazaar would bloom at night. We could hear the noise below the stairs where the soldiers were recording and organizing, and when the first man entered the room, all the chips there began screaming. It was like an explosion or explosion scene. We groaned as if we were hurt, vomiting on the floor, but none of this stopped them. They walked across the room, staring at us as we roared and prayed. They first looked at the most beautiful tits, asking them, “How old are you? “are virgins, right?” asked the guard, who nodded his head and said, "x4> Of course!" Next, soldiers touched us wherever they wanted, moved their hands to their breasts and feet like animals.

It was chaos every time soldiers entered the room, examining and questioning them in Arabic and Turkish.

Relax! ” cried out loudly to us. “ ” But these orders only made us shout more. If it were inevitable that a soldier would take me, I would not make it easy. I roared and roared, striking my hands that reached and touched my body. Other girls did the same by corroding their bodies for the floor and throwing themselves into their roommates, desperately seeking protection.

While I was standing there, another soldier stopped in front of us. His name was Salwan. Another woman named Yazid from Hardan, who planned to shop for her, had come along with another set of steps. Wake up,” told me. When I didn't hear it, he fucked me. “You! Pink jacket pussy! On your feet, I say! ”

His eyes were dipped deep in the flesh of the wide face, which seemed to be covered with wool. He didn't look like a human, he looked like a monster.

The attack by Sinjar [in northern Iraq] and the taking of chips to use as sex slaves was not a spontaneous and presentable decision taken by greedy soldiers. The Islamic State had planned it all: how they would come to our homes, what made a small amount more valuable, which soldiers deserved. Sabaya- in [the sex slave] as a ransom who had to pay. And they had already disputed about it. Sabaya case in the popular propaganda magazine Dabiq, trying to attract new recruits. Amma Isis is not as original as its members think. Rape has been used throughout history as a weapon of war in many countries. I never thought I had anything in common with Rwanda's women before this thing started, I didn't even know there was a place called Rwanda, even though I'm already connected to those women in the worst way possible, as a victim of war crimes that is hard to even talk about because until 16 years before Isis entered Sinnyar, those people were not even persecuted for such crimes.

One floor below, a soldier was recording the transaxes in a notebook, writing our names and the names of the soldiers who took us. I thought what it would be like when Salwan took me, how powerful he was and how easily he would crush me with his hands. It's about what he would do, and it's about how much I'd resist, I'd never go out and fight him. He carried the smell of rotten eggs and colossus.

I was looking at the floor, the legs, and the heels of soldiers and girls walking through me. In the crowd, with a pair of men's sandals, I saw two heels as dry as a woman's heel, and before I thought about what I was doing, you flew toward them. I started praying. Please take me with you,” I said. “Do whatever you want, unless you let me go with that giant.” I don't know why the dryer agreed, but after the méi looked around, turned to Salwan and told him, this is mine.” Salwan did not object. The man was a judge in Mosul, and no one dared disobey him. I followed him to the table. Your name is “town? He spoke in a soft but annoying voice. “Nadia, ” returned it, and then it turned to the recorder. The man seemed to recognize the military immediately and began recording our data. He said these names and wrote them back to his “Nadia, Hajji Salman” and when he said my captain's name, it seemed as if I heard his voice shivering, as if he were scared, making me wonder if I had made a terrible mistake.

Nadia Murat then escaped from her Isis interceptors. She left Iraq and went as a refugee to Germany in early 2015. Later that year it launched the campaign to raise awareness of human trafficking.

In November 2015, one year and three months after I The SIS had come to my home in Kojo, left Germany and went to Switzerland to talk to the UN forum on minority issues. It was the first time I was going to tell you my confession to a great audience. I wanted to talk about everything children who died of dehydration leaving Isis, families who were stuck in the mountains, thousands of women and children who were trapped, and what my brothers saw in a massacre. I was just one of hundreds of thousands of victims. My community was scattered, living as refugees inside and outside Iraq, while Kojo was still a land occupied by Isis. There were so many things the world had to learn about.

I just wanted to tell you that it was worth that much. We wanted to establish a safe area for religious minorities in Iraq; to prosecute Isis from leaders to citizens who had supported the atrocities they committed for genocide and crimes against humanity; and to release all those people in Sinyar. I'd have to tell the audience about Hayji Salman and all that early when he introduced me, and all the abuse I saw. The determination to be honest in my confession was the most difficult thing ever, but also the most important.

I was afraid to read my talk. As quiet as I could be. I told you how Kocho was taken and the chips like me were taken as Sabaya. I told them how I had been raped and beaten and managed to escape. I told them about my brothers who were killed. It's never easy to tell your confession. Every time you speak, you relive it. When I tell someone about the checkpoints where men raped me, or the feeling of Hajji Salman beating me with whips, or about the eclipse of Mosul's sky while I'm looking in the neighborhood for any signs of help, we're transported back at that moment and through all that terror. The other Yahzid also returns to those terrible memories.

My honest confession is the strongest weapon I have against terrorism, and I plan to use it until these terrorists face justice. There are still so many things to do. World leaders, and especially religious Muslim leaders, tend to rise and protect the oppressed.

I gave him my short address. When I finished the confession, I kept talking. I told them that I was not raised to give talks. I told them that every jaazid wants Isis to be persecuted for genocide, and that it is in their power to help protect weak people worldwide. I told them that I wanted to look at the man who violated me in the eye and see him come to justice. More than anything, I told them, I wanted to be the last girl in the world with such a confession. /Periscopi