UK Edition
'It has truly been worse than hell': Iraqi village finally tastes freedom after years of Isil rule
The villagers cried “You have come, you are here! Alhamdulillah (Thanks to God)”, as they ran out from their homes to greet the Iraqi army humvees.
One elderly woman fell to her knees before ripping off her black face veil and bursting into tears.
The Iraqi troops arriving in the village of Khalidia, south of Mosul, on Thursday were the first outsiders most of the residents had seen for more than two years.
The Telegraph, embedded with the 91st Brigade, witnessed the moment it was liberated from Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (Isil).
Ululating soldiers shot up in the air with their kalashnikovs as they celebrated in the dusty Nineveh plains.
A column of tanks and armoured vehicles flying the Iraqi, as well as Shia Hashd al-Shaabi militia, flags poured into the village at midday.
White cotton rags fluttered on top of houses close to the frontline, to signal to the army not to shoot.
Unlike almost all the other towns and villages which have been liberated since the start of the offensive, Khalidia was found with civilians still inside and largely intact.
Gen. Ghassan Mohammed Wajeeh said that victory had come swiftly due to the help of the residents, who had the previous day sent their commander text messages detailing the Isil fighters’ location and a map of where they had planted IEDs.
The coordinates were sent to the US-led coalition, which has a control centre a few miles southwest in the town of Qayyarah. An airstrike at dawn on Thursday destroyed the jihadists’ final holdout.
“It was a joint effort by the people of Khalidia, the army and the coalition,” Gen. Wajeeh said as he went around shaking each officer’s hand.
The troops came down from their tanks to pose with babies and hand out cigarettes, which had been contraband under Isil.
“We are so happy to see you, it has truly been worse than hell,” said Amina Abdullah, who looked much older than her 65 years. Her black niqab lay abandoned on the floor. “It feels like this is our salvation, that somehow I was dead and now I am alive.”
She said since they took control in 2014 Isil had ruled the village of some 1,500 residents with an iron grip, telling them what to wear, what to eat and even when they were allowed out the house.
“There were 40 of them holding us here,” she said, sitting on a thin mattress with several of her young grandchildren knelt beside her.
“All of them Iraqi and Syrian except for one Chinese Uighur. The oldest was 45 and the youngest was 10. The 10 year-old was put on patrol and told to keep an eye out for people breaking the rules.”
She pointed to the family’s car, which had been hidden under a blanket in the garage. “We haven’t used it for more than two years, only the fighters were allowed to drive.”
As a last act of spite, the jihadists had set fire to as many cars as they could to stop the villagers leaving.
The local sheikh ushered everyone to his home to celebrate their new freedom with a feast. He sacrificed his last two goats to eat with the bread the soldiers had brought.
“Every week Daesh brought their own food in from Mosul, we weren’t allowed any of it,” Mohammed Ibrahim said, using the Arabic name for the group.
“It was just bread and goats’ milk for us,” he said, stroking his smooth chin as he took a drag of a cigarette. Both of which would have been unthinkable just the day before.
He had been whipped by the Islamists many times for minor infractions such as not wearing his beard long enough, smoking, or being caught out after the strict sunset curfew.
He took another packet of the local brand tobacco from one of the soldiers, who was passing them out to the men in the room.
After the meal, the commander stood up abruptly and announced the troops must leave quickly in order to reach the next village before dark.
The Telegraph followed their tanks, and watched from the hill overlooking the battle as it unfolded.
Gunfire crackled and mortar fire sent grey plumes into the sky, already an apocalyptic black from the smoke from oilfields that have been burning uncontrollably in Qayyarah.
Then three powerful explosions.
“Do not worry,” one officer said, “we are just trying to get rid of the last Daesh, we’re just trying to scare them away in case there are any there still hiding in their tunnels.”
Watching from the hill was Sgt. Adnan Aziz Ali. It was a particularly emotional moment for him. The village of Tel Shahir that the troops were fighting for up ahead was his hometown.
He was forced to flee with wife and children in 2014, leaving his three brothers behind to an unknown fate.
He has had little contact with them in that time, save for a few snatched phone calls.
The brothers hadn't any money, as Isil forbade them from working, so Sgt Aziz transfers credit to their phones each month so they can talk.
His brothers would have been killed if Isil had known they were related to a sergeant.
“They know about the battle, that we are coming for them,” he said. “For two years now I have not been able to smile or be happy, knowing we are separated. When Tel Shahir falls I will smile once more.”
He also hopes to see his house, which is now occupied by refugees who fled another Isil village.
He said he will not ask for his home back, after all the family has been through.
He will move in with his brothers to be closer to them, he said. “I will never forgive myself. I was a soldier and I was supposed to protect them,” he said. “I will never forgive myself.”