Shamima Begum, the Bethnal Green schoolgirl who fled to Syria and joined IS, has told Sky News she was groomed by friends and older men she met online before joining the terror group.
Speaking from a prison camp in Syria, Begum said she wanted to go on trial in the UK and invited British officials to question her in prison.
And she said that when she left the UK in 2015 she “didn’t hate Britain”, but hated her life as she felt “very constricted”.
In a wide-ranging interview, Begum spoke about her experiences with Islamic State and life in Syria.
“Can I keep my mask on?” Shamima Begum asks before the interview starts. “I’m looking ugly today.”
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Begum now speaks with a soft American twang and little trace of her east London upbringing.
She wears yoga leggings, a pink sweatshirt, black baseball cap and a small handbag across her chest.
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In almost any other context, she would be utterly unremarkable, but this is a prison camp in northeast Syria and Begum, now free of her strict black Islamic State dress, remains a captive of her notorious past.
She left home in London aged 15 for the promise of paradise, instead she found “hell, hell on Earth”.
Begum rejects accusations that she carried out atrocities as part of IS as “all completely false”.
“I’m willing to fight them in a court of law but I’m not being given a chance.”
She wants to do that in Britain but expects to go to prison even though the only crime she admits to committing is travelling to Syria itself.
Begum now believes she was groomed for “weeks and weeks and maybe even months and months. It wasn’t just a decision I made very quickly, it was a decision I thought about for a while.”
“I didn’t hate Britain, I hated my life really,” she said. “I felt very constricted, and I felt I couldn’t live the life that I wanted in the UK as a British woman.”
There is a childlike shyness to her, still. She rarely makes eye contact as we talk, often looking downwards and away; she interlinks her hands down by her waist, unconsciously closing her body a little as she answers my questions.
Perhaps she is a good actress, turning it on for the camera, but my instinct is that she is every bit as young and naive as you might expect of her 22 years. Naive, but not necessarily innocent.
Begum and I walk around al Roj camp together – mud and sand streets lined by white tents provided by the UN.
Begum is worried about recent fires, scared that her high profile will make her a target for inmates wanting to make a name for themselves.
“For a long time it [the camp] wasn’t violent but for some reason it’s become more scary to live here.
“Maybe the women have got tired of waiting for something,” she reasons.
We talk about her family – she misses them but doesn’t currently speak to them: “I don’t think they failed me, in a way I failed them. When the time is right, I want to reconcile.”
I ask her about her future: “It’s hard to think about a future when everyone tells you that you’re not going to go back.”
And she brings up her Dutch husband, the father of her three dead children, who fought for Islamic State and recently spoke about their “beautiful life” together.
Are they still officially married? “Yes.”
Does she sympathise with him? “No.”
Does she miss him? “No.”
Begum tells me that she rarely watches television but does have a stack of books in her tent, her favourites are by the Afghan author Khalid Hosseini. “I re-read the Kite Runner but I don’t know why people keep giving me books about war.”
By herself, she eats dried noodles, but is “having friends round to her tent for supper tomorrow night”. She won’t cook herself, instead she will buy it in from another woman on camp.
“I have hopes and dreams, things I want to do, to see,” she says, but won’t expand when I push her.
One of her friends, a Dutch prisoner called Hafedda Haddouch, tells me Begum often hides away in her tent for weeks. But Begum insists she’s not suicidal, when I ask her.
The small group of women are clearly Shamima’s support. They giggle and pose for photos, as vain as you would expect of anyone that age.
For some, Begum is a cause célèbre, unfairly imprisoned without trial and an example of a heartless Conservative government. For others, she is a terrorist, who still poses a threat to national security and should never be allowed back into the country of her birth.
Such is the visceral hatred of many in that quarter, you wonder whether a return to the UK would be wise at all for Begum.
Bangladesh, the country with which the UK claims she held dual-nationality, has rejected any association with her.
“There is no Plan B,” is her answer when I ask what she will do if the British government doesn’t reverse its position and reinstate her citizenship.
Have any British officials or lawyers visited her in prison? “Never” she claims.
Her opinion towards the media is conflicted – she blames past interviews and reporting “100%” for her current limbo, but also believes a high profile remains her only hope of release. There’s probably some truth in both those positions.
Almost a third of Shamima Begum’s life has now been lived in Syria. She is being held in prison, for an indeterminate amount of time, but hasn’t yet stood trial. That much is fact.
If she had been repatriated the day the caliphate fell, she might already be some considerable way through a guilty sentence, but the British government decided she was a risk to national security, a decision the Supreme Court upheld.
She has been disowned by the country she grew up in, cut off from the family she grew up with, and is now part of a prison population that is becoming an increasingly unsustainable burden on the Kurdish authorities who guard them.
Shamima Begum is the woman that nobody wants, and she knows it. When she closes her eyes at night she says she is haunted by “my children dying, the bombings, the constant running, my friends dying”.
Begum has already been judged, albeit only in court of public opinion, and for now, she is going nowhere.
The Shamima Begum interview was produced by Andrew Drury and Zein Ja’far and filmed by Jake Britton.
The confirmed cases of a waterborne disease caused by a parasite have more than doubled.
There are now 46 confirmed cases of cryptosporidiosis, a diarrhoeal illness, the UK Health Security Agency (UKHSA) has said – with more than 100 further people reporting similar symptoms in the Brixham area.
Other reported cases of diarrhoea and vomiting in residents and visitors to the south Devon town are also under investigation. Hundreds of locals have also reported feeling unwell over the last two weeks on social media.
MPs and South West Water officials have confirmed the parasite most likely entered water supplies through animal faeces, but an investigation is still ongoing.
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‘Cow faeces’ infected Devon water
The UKHSA first confirmed cases of the disease at around midday on Wednesday, while locals were initially told by South West Water that their tap water was uncontaminated and safe to drink.
But after testing supplies in the Hillhead reservoir, the water company found “small traces” of the parasite cryptosporidium – which causes cryptosporidiosis – and told residents in parts of Brixham and Alston to boil their drinking water on Wednesday.
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A total of 16,000 households and businesses in Brixham, Boohay, Kingswear, Roseland and North West Paignton were impacted and offered £15 compensation at first.
Over the next two days, South West Water apologised to those affected and increased the offer to £115. Amid the chaos, one primary school closed its doors on Thursday due to not having safe running drinking water.
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‘Very hard questions for water company’
Speaking to Sky News yesterday, South West Water’s chief customer officer Laura Flowerdew confirmed it was likely a broken air valve contaminated by animal faeces that had caused the outbreak.
However, she refused to give a timeframe on how long the incident would be ongoing – leaving thousands of residents facing an uncertain future.
Speaking on Friday at the University of Exeter, Health Secretary Victoria Atkins said there will be “very, very hard questions” for South West Water over the outbreak.
“At the moment I think we probably need to give them the space to conduct their investigation; we know that they have identified the source,” she said.
“The public will want to know how on earth that source happened, what was the chain of events that led to this, because of course we all understand the expectation that we all have when we turn our taps on is that [we get] clean drinking water and we want to be able to trust it.”
Totnes MP Anthony Mangnall also warned the boil notice could last “at least a further six or seven days” and called for more transparency.
Professor Paul Hunter, a specialist in medical microbiology at the University of East Anglia, told Sky News if the parasite was “a continuous thing” present in water supplies for a prolonged period, then “you’d expect to see more cases” for another two weeks.
It comes as hotel owners in the area told Sky News the outbreak has led to people cancelling their stay, while a head chef said “I can’t wash salad in the sink”.
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Stephen Colemansfield, owner of Redlands Guest House in Brixham, told Sky News the outbreak has “destroyed our business at the moment”.
“Our guests have cancelled because of the mixed messages that are being sent out by South West Water.”
Rob, head chef at the Steam Packet Inn in Kingswear near Dartmouth, also said his brother-in-law is one of the 46 confirmed cases of cryptosporidiosis and has been sick for two weeks.
The UKHSA is working with Torbay Council, South West Water, NHS Devon and the Environment Agency on the incident.
Colin Smith carries a small suitcase into the dining room of their Newport home and lays it flat on the table in the centre of the room. He pops open both latches.
His wife Jan reaches inside and pulls out a sky blue child’s blanket. She holds it close to her face, closes her eyes and inhales deeply.
“It still smells of him,” she says, softly.
“This is the blanket he was wrapped in when he died.”
Their son, also called Colin, was just seven years old when he died in January 1990. His tiny body was ravaged by Hepatitis C and AIDS.
The suitcase, much like the one most families used to own in the 1980s, is just big enough to hold all the memories of their son’s short life.
Next to the blanket, are his favourite toys including a snow globe and lots of his artwork.
Jan explains that Collin, loved to paint and draw and that he was very talented.
“He was 13 pounds when he died. That’s nothing is it for a seven-year-old?” Jan asks.
The question goes unanswered as a momentary silence fills the room.
Colin was born with haemophilia. The treatment for his blood clotting disorder included a product called Factor VIII.
What his parents didn’t know was that the Factor VIIIwas made in America using blood farmed from prisoners, drug addicts and sex workers.
Jan can recall all the fine details of that day clearly. Especially the cold, matter-of-fact way the bombshell news was delivered by doctors treating Collin.
“We went to the hospital,” Jan says, and they called us out into a corridor, kids running around, parents, and just told us that Colin had become [infected with] HIV.”
By this time their beautiful little boy had become very sick.
‘You just couldn’t pick him up’
Colin senior is still haunted by the effect the virus had on his son’s body. ‘You could see every sinew and tendon in his body,” he said.
Jan said: “I think it was about ’89 that we realised because the weight loss was incredible. And we had him home for a little while, and you couldn’t just pick him up.
“We had to use a sheepskin because it hurt him. He would say: ‘Mum you’re hurting, it’s hurting’.”
Colin was treated by Professor Arthur Bloom, who died in 1992. But in the 1980s, he was one of the country’s leading haemophiliac specialists.
However, documents shown at the Infected Blood Inquiry prove Bloom’s research carried great risks and these were never explained to Colin’s parents.
There is a record of the first time Colin went into hospital that shows that he had never been treated for his haemophilia at this point.
Previously untreated patients were known to be useful for research as their responses to new treatments could be tracked. Patients exactly like Colin.
Also shown to the Infected Blood Inquiry was a letter from Prof Bloom to a colleague after another visit by Colin to hospital saying he’s been given Factor VIII and acknowledging that even though this was the British version there was still a risk of Hepatitis but that “this is just something haemophiliacs have to accept”.
And a letter, dated 24 June 1983, from Prof Bloom to colleagues discusses the risk of AIDS. They accept that one possible case of AIDS has been reported.
Colin’s parents are convinced their son was being used in secret trials.
“I think Colin was just unlucky enough to be born at the right time. Newly diagnosed haemophiliac, never been treated,” his father explained.
“Which is what we were after, because as documentation states that they are cheaper than chimpanzees, you know. You treat a chimp once, you can follow these children throughout their lives. And that’s what was going on.
“And this was going on from the ’70s. Colin was born in 1982. Yet they still infected him. How do you justify that?”
His mother said that they trusted the doctors at the time and never questioned their son’s treatment. “Just when we think back – at the time no, we didn’t. But when we think back, it was just blood tests. Blood tests, blood tests, blood tests.”
Hate campaign
The threat of HIV and AIDs was only just emerging. And this ignorance drove a hate-fuelled campaign against all those impacted.
This stigma forced Colin and Jan to move home and be shunned by some of their own community. All while still caring for their dying son.
“It became public when he needed to start school, for nursery, and all the parents protested and said: ‘We’re not having an AIDS kid in this school’, because we’ve been known as the AIDS family. We had AIDS that were [written] on the house and you’re not talking little.
“Well, it was like six-foot letters ‘AIDS DEAD’, we had crosses scraped into the door. The phone calls in the middle of the night were not very nice. They were the worst.”
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As Colin’s condition deteriorated his parents decided to bring him home for what would be his last Christmas with the family. It was against the wishes of Prof Bloom.
Jan and Colin were told haemophiliacs with AIDS should die in hospital and be cremated quickly. But the family ignored the hospital.
“And you know what,” Jan says. “He asked for a bike. And we actually got him a bike. He never rode it, obviously because he was too ill. But he wanted a bike. And I’m not going to not get him a bike. Because they all have bikes. But Colin never, never even sat on one.”
That difficult decision to remove Colin from hospital to spend his last days with his family at home proved to be the right one.
“He was on my lap and he just got up to you, didn’t he?” Jan says looking at her husband. “He said: ‘I can’t see, daddy. I can’t see’. And then he just lay back. My hand was on his chest.
“And, you know, for a mother to actually feel the rise and fall of his chest. Waiting for it to stop. Because that’s what I was doing.
“I was waiting for it to stop. And then it stopped. And I just said: ‘I think he’s gone’. And I remember shaking him a little bit, but he’d gone.”
‘I want my son to have his name back’
On Monday, Sir Brian Langstaff will deliver the long-awaited report into the infected blood scandal.
It has taken campaigners like Jan and Colin decades to achieve this. They are clear on what this report must say and how the government must respond.
Colin senior lives with the guilt of not protecting his son. He wants accountability.
“I want justice to be served properly not hypothetically. Let’s see the people who did this, hopefully criminal charges. It is manslaughter at least. I gave my son over to his killers, you know, and I can’t get to grips with that,” he says.
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Blood scandal ‘the worst thing’
For Jan, it will be recognition for a lifetime of heartbreak and grieving.
“I want people to recognise my son. And I want to be able to go to the cemetery and say, we’ve done it. And you’ve done it. That’s what I want. And I want an apology.
“People say it’s the money, it’s not the money. And I can’t get that through to people. It’s not the money. I want recognition.
“I want my son to have his name back. His name is Colin John Smith. And that’s what I want people to remember.”
Sky News will have full coverage of the infected blood report on TV, online and on the Sky News app on Monday.
And both Tyson Fury and Oleksandr Usyk have good reason to believe they’ll walk out of the Ring of Fire as the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world.
Last night, Fury weighed in at 262lbs (18st 10lbs) – making him two stone heavier than Usyk, who clocked in at a substantial career heaviest of 233½lbs (16st 9lbs), about 12lbs more than he’s ever scaled before.
While Fury refused to look at his opponent during Thursday’s news conference, he did not back down at the weigh-in, where the pair almost came to blows before being separated by their entourages.
The tense occasion also gave the pair a chance to exchange their final verbal jabs before stepping into the ring.
Fury declared he would knock Usyk’s “spark out”.
“I’m ready to rock and roll,” he added. “I’m coming for his heart. F**k his belts, I’m coming for his heart.”
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More composed, Usyk’s last message to his competitor was: “Don’t be afraid, I will not leave you alone tomorrow.”
But Fury has said this isn’t important. With his typical bluntness, the British boxer said: “AJ isn’t worthy to tie my shoelaces.”
His opponent, though, is not fighting for just himself.
Usyk fought on the frontline at the start of Russia’s war on Ukraine, until President Volodymyr Zelenskyy told him to serve his country fighting in the ring.
A man of few words, he said: “It’s a big event for Ukraine. For me, it’s a big fight.”
Here in Riyadh, nobody can agree on who is most likely to win.