We soon reached Golozan. I was desperately hungry, and the Assyrians gave us bread and yoghurt; to me it was worth the whole world. Golozan was a beautiful village. A clear stream crossed its centre beneath a bridge. Christians lived on one bank, while Sunni Muslims — themselves confined in their homes — lived on the other.
The villagers knew my father, and many had bought from him on credit. Those who had visited the coffee house in Sabra had asked after him. The next morning they prepared a place for our family and set out with two carts to bring our relatives. We were reunited in Golozan. We remained captives, but were now held in one settled place.
We heard that the refugees in Khosrova were entered and robbed every day. Captives were pressed to reveal where money and gold had been hidden in houses in Kuhna Shahr. Some were taken back to the town to point out the hiding places; once they had done so — or if nothing was found — they were killed.