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‘My sibling nearly beat me the tar out of on my dad’s requests when I would not wed a man I’d not met’: In a dreary omen of her sister’s homicide in Britain’s most famous ‘honor killing’, BEKHAL MAHMOD tells how she escaped a terrible and tortured youth

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Bekhal, return home now or you’re dead. I have individuals on you. I have paid for them. They will carry you to me, alive or in a body pack!’ The danger reverberated in my mind as I got off a transport in South London. ‘Gahba [bitch]! Qehpik [whore]! They will carry you to me – regardless of whether it’s just your head.’

This voice had tormented me through youth, puberty and then some. It had a place with my dad, Mahmod Babakir Mahmod.

At the point when I was 15, my folks attempted to send me from London back to Iraq, to wed my most memorable cousin, Akam, a major, thinning up top man practically twofold my age.

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Not a chance did I need to wed Akam, and I told my folks so much. I got through beatings and dangers from Dad before I at last escaped home, having ‘disrespected’ and ‘disgraced’ our Sunni Muslim family.

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