Shamima Begum Quietly At Al-Roj As Northeast Syria Offensive Sparks Detention Chaos

At a litter-strewn market square just inside Al-Roj detention camp, Shamima Begum moves between mostly shuttered stalls in a hoodie and a Covid-style mask. When a reporter speaks with a British accent, she turns abruptly and slips back into the maze of tents that hold thousands of Islamic State affiliates.

The former British schoolgirl, stripped of her citizenship after a string of high-profile media appearances, has learned to avoid attention. Camp managers say she is among detainees quietly preparing for a possible change of fortunes as a rapid military offensive in north-east Syria shifts control away from Kurdish authorities.

The sweep, which Kurdish officials say has seen roughly 80 percent of Kurdish-held territory fall, has altered the region's balance of power. Forces led by former jihadist Ahmed al-Sharaa have overrun detention sites and the vast Hol camp, which houses some 23,000 IS-linked women and children. Al-Roj itself holds more than 2,000 foreign women and children, including an estimated 15 British or dual-national women.

Authorities and witnesses report a chaotic environment: Islamist fighters wearing IS-style patches are reportedly within about 20 miles of Al-Roj, and Kurdish officials say US partners have been difficult to reach. The US is moving an estimated 7,000 male prisoners to Iraq amid the instability.

Hekemiya Ibrahim, the camp's female Kurdish manager, says many inmates are quietly packing to leave. She says: 'Women who used to be very visible in the camp aren’t seen much any more. She never speaks and she never comes out. If you look in their tents, you’ll see their bags are packed.'

Residents report access to smuggled phones and contact with IS sympathisers in Syria and abroad, helping rumours spread fast. Some detainees, fearful of reprisals from rival groups, plead to be repatriated; others refuse, hoping new forces will free them. A woman sharing a tent with her son told a reporter, in a voice she asked not be attributed: 'Get me out of here. What we did was a huge mistake. We’re willing to accept the consequences.'

Umm Hamza, an Egyptian woman formerly married to an IS fighter, warns that extreme inmates remain dangerous: 'There are dangerous women here. If I go into some parts of the camp, I have to completely cover my face, or they will attack me for being an infidel.'

For now, Al-Roj is still guarded by the Kurdish Women’s Protection Units (YPJ), patrolling muddy tracks between tents while children play in the remnants of a recent snowfall. But symbols of resurgence are appearing: an IS flag was painted near the camp bakery and children have scrawled the slogan 'we will return' on a wall.

Sara Derik, who oversees IS detention sites across Kurdish-held areas, describes a chaotic withdrawal when Hol fell: tribal fighters attacked Kurdish security forces, camp cells staged uprisings, and contact with some international partners stopped as the situation deteriorated. 'There was clear coordination,' she says, asking why the US is now evacuating male prisoners to Iraq if a planned transition was foreseen.

Western governments have quietly repatriated a small number of nationals in the past year, but many detainees refuse return. Kurdish officials say this shift in alliances risks further IS breakouts and leaves Kurdish forces politically exposed after years of partnering with Western militaries.

The fate of Al-Roj's residents remains uncertain. With armed groups advancing and a fragile security vacuum widening, the camp stands at the center of a humanitarian and security dilemma with implications beyond Syria's borders.