Christians from Qaraqosh displaced in Sulaimani

D. Morrow
Sulaimani
23 September 2014

The fifty-six Christian families living at St Joseph’s Chaldean Church in Sulaymaniyah have come a long way to be here. After fleeing Da’esh militants in Qaraqosh two months ago, they went first to Erbil. 

“There are so many people there,” one of the women, called Rose, explains. Here in Suli it is, “not so crowded.” 

Indeed, the church exudes a feeling of calm and quiet, unlike similar refuges in the overwhelmed Christian areas of Erbil. But the two hundred civilians here are lucky to have been able to make the journey south after spending two days there – though they remain in close contact with friends and family still in Ankawa. They don’t know how many more will try to move here, as that city becomes more and more overcrowded with Iraqis fleeing D’aesh. Many others are stranded throughout the overflowing northern region of Kurdistan. 

Displaced Christians like these ones are, in some sense, better off than other minorities I have met recently. The church, run by Father Ayman, provides for them and ensures they do not go hungry. But none of the 17 children are attending school, and few of the people venture out of the church grounds. 

“They don’t speak Arabic,” Rose says, gesturing out into the city behind us – and none of these people have any knowledge of Kurdish. So they remain, caught in the strange limbo that is internal displacement. Unable to leave, but unable to settle. The church is one of the few places in Sulaymaniyah that displaced people can remain in safely. Elsewhere in the city, 333 families are living in substandard living conditions, 1000 in hotels, 1300 in rented houses, 55 with relatives, but the few that are able to pay for their accommodations won’t be able to for much longer. The situation is considerably worse in the areas immediately surrounding Sulaymaniyah. 

The church, though, is a small place of calm amid the despair. The people here don’t know how long they will have to stay, but they fervently repeat the same thing. “We want one thing: to return to our country. All of us,” Rose gestured to the others listening nearby. “We want to return, but we will need peace to Qaraqosh. We want international support. We want soldiers to save us. We are good people.”

As I turn to leave, another woman comes up and grabs my arm. She is one of the few who goes into the city for errands and other small business. “Peace for Iraq! Peace for Christians – to go home,” she says, then disappears around the corner.