A Strange Wickedness
We don’t know much about her.
She was a nun around thirty years old who taught English and lived in a convent in Qaraqosh near the ruins of ancient Nineveh.
When ISIS attacked the town, soldiers from nearby Kurdistan beat back the first assault then ISIS cut Qaraqosh’s water supply and, the night the Kurdish soldiers retreated, along with a handful of nuns she joined a hegira of refugees fleeing across the Nineveh Plain; in the darkness four children and three women died and two more people were killed by gunfire.
Homeless, after she arrived in Erbil she set to work helping build a clinic to care for refugees.
A year later she was asked to travel to Washington as the only Christian in a delegation of dispossessed Yazidis and Turkmen Shia Muslims to testify to Congressional Committees.
It’s a strange wickedness: Every member of the delegation was granted a visa by our State Department but one: The Catholic nun who was to tell the story of the lost Christians of the Nineveh Plain.
A Strange Wickedness
We don’t know much about her.
She was a nun around thirty years old who taught English and lived in a convent in Qaraqosh near the ruins of ancient Nineveh.
When ISIS attacked the town, soldiers from nearby Kurdistan beat back the first assault then ISIS cut Qaraqosh’s water supply and, the night the Kurdish soldiers retreated, along with a handful of nuns she joined a hegira of refugees fleeing across the Nineveh Plain; in the darkness four children and three women died and two more people were killed by gunfire.
Homeless, after she arrived in Erbil she set to work helping build a clinic to care for refugees.
A year later she was asked to travel to Washington as the only Christian in a delegation of dispossessed Yazidis and Turkmen Shia Muslims to testify to Congressional Committees.
It’s a strange wickedness: Every member of the delegation was granted a visa by our State Department but one: The Catholic nun who was to tell the story of the lost Christians of the Nineveh Plain.