poured out his heart without hesitation. I sat back on my stool, and the priest talked. ‘It was the middle of winter,’ he said. ‘One day an army officer in a Land-Rover dug his way through the snowdrifts. We gave him tea and then he simply told us that we had twenty days to leave. At first we did not understand what he meant. He said we had all been helping the PKK, that we had been supporting them with food and giving them guns. It was all nonsense, of course: what business do we have with the Kurds?
‘The next day I went to the sub-governor in Silopi and pleaded for Hassana, but he would not receive me. His assistant said, “He does not want to speak.” So I had to return to my village and tell my people that we had to leave, that there was no choice.
‘We all left on the last day, all two hundred of us: thirty-two families in all. My family was the last. I was the priest: I had to make sure they all left safely.
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