In pictures: A decade after IS beheadings, Coptic widows reflect on sisterhood and resilience

The 10 widows of the Egyptian Coptic Christians who were kidnapped and beheaded by the Islamic State (IS) group in Sirte, Libya, gather at the Church of the Martyrs of the Faith and Homeland, the Coptic Orthodox cathedral in al-Our, in the Minya Governorate in Egypt that was built and named in their husbands' honour. 

The tragedy became a symbol of both the brutal persecution faced by the broader Coptic community and their resilience in the face of adversity. In its video, IS proclaimed that the beheading was a message to the “people of the Cross, followers of the hostile Egyptian Church”. 

Over the past decade, the widows formed a private sisterhood of support and strength.

They remain profoundly impacted by the massacre of their husbands, finding purpose in keeping their memories alive through imagery, personal shrines and telling the stories of their deaths.

But amid the heaviness, there are also giggles, shared birthdays, and inside jokes, as these 10 women from different walks of life find a healing joy in their unique bond born of shared grief. 

“We had no idea who each of us were before this; it was from the day that they [their husbands] were kidnapped so that we started to get to know each other and come closer, as one, to pray for them,” Takeya Bebawey Raouf, 29, shares with Middle East Eye.

The Church of the Martyrs of the Faith and Homeland towers over the village of al-Our, the hometown of most of the men who were killed.

“This church is our home now,” says Takeya, speaking of its significance to the victims’ wives and children. She was 19 when her husband was killed. “It became everything to us - our community, our first home.”

Copts, an ethnoreligious community of Christians who are indigenous to Northeast Africa, form approximately a third of the entire Christian population in the Middle East and have historically faced intense persecution for their faith. 

“At the time of the martyrdom, our husbands made history,” says Ebtesam Noshy Lamei, the 34-year-old widow whose husband, Samuel Alham Wilson, was killed.

“The world stopped. The world's eyes were on them and us. That's not something that you remember with a room, or a shrine, or something physical - no.

“That's something that's etched into your heart, and for the rest of your days, you remember it, and you remember it because it's etched in every other Christian's heart as well.”

Members of the community, young and old, pay their respects at the Shrine of the 21 Martyrs.

“There's this similar reaction to almost every visit. It's a reaction of peace,” says Father Epiphanius Younan Wadiee.

“Almost all visitors say: ‘As soon as I walk through the doors of the church, I feel an instant peace, an instant serenity.’ This extends not only to locals and travellers but also to Muslims and Christians alike. Anyone who comes to visit shares the same experience.” 

Coffins line the length of the shrine, along with the preserved jumpsuits, zip ties and other personal items found when the bodies were exhumed.

The Libyan authorities transferred the remains of the 20 Egyptian Copts in 2018 after forensic samples were taken from the bodies of the beheaded victims and sent to Egypt to be identified by their families.

In September 2020, authorities in Libya also released the remains of the Ghanaian victim, Matthew Ayariga, to be laid to rest alongside the others in Egypt after no family members claimed his body. 

Father Epiphanius, 35, holds a private weekly support group for the 10 widows.

The weekly meetings started in 2019 when Father Epiphanius began serving in al-Our. Recognising that the families were young and in need of support, he began these weekly meetings for prayer, Bible study and a sense of community.

“Now, it’s as if they are no longer 10 different widows. They're one widow,” he says. “They are one group, one entity. That’s how close they have become.”

Ebtesam helps adjust the headscarf of Mariam Melek Shehata, 49. A close bond has developed among the women across age gaps.

“We didn’t know each other before. When we found out about their [husbands'] martyrdom, that's when we all became one,” she said. “It’s like our bodies all became one as well. Her kids are my kids; my kids are her kids. We're one family now.”

They have forged a close sisterhood of joy and grief in the aftermath of the tragedy that thrust their families onto the world stage. They laugh over a story of when they were buying snacks at the church cafeteria after a particularly heavy time together.

“What flavour of chips would you like?” The lady behind the counter asked.  

“Do you have a flavour of grief?” Mariam quipped. And the women all burst out laughing. “Our grief connects us, but so does our joy,” she said.
 

Ebtesam watches neighbourhood children playing outside her doorway.

She was in her early twenties with three young children when the tragedy occurred.

“The boys have a strong personality like their dad,” she says. Her daughter Irini, “is a very kind soul like her dad.”

Bola, 11, opens up the personal shrine for his father, Samuel, that the family has created in their home, collecting photographs, items of his clothing, and other elements to create a display.
 

Artwork collaging photos from the IS beheading with depictions of the sainthood of Samuel decorates the upper room in the home of the Wilson family.

“Of course, we feel sad, we’re human - we’re not angels or aliens,” says his wife, Ebtesam. “We feel sad when we see his picture, but on the opposite end, we also feel at home. I wanted to have their father’s legacy surrounding them in the home.”

Eriny, 13, does her daily geography homework beneath a wall-to-wall depiction of the brutal death of her father, Samuel.
 

The sun sets over Old Cairo, also known as Coptic Cairo, which has played a crucial role in the history of the Coptic Orthodox Church, both as a spiritual centre and as a refuge during times of persecution.

While the political landscape of the region has shifted in the past decade, Egypt’s Coptic Christians continue to face pressure and persecution at home and abroad.

A pillar bears scars from bullets during an attack at St. Peter and St. Paul's Church, a chapel adjacent to Saint Mark's Coptic Orthodox Cathedral, the historic seat of the Coptic Orthodox Pope in Cairo.

The attack, claimed by IS, killed 29 people and wounded 47 others on 11 December 2016. Between 2016 and 2022, over 200 Coptic Christians have been killed in sectarian violence targeting churches and gatherings, according to the United States Commission on International Religious Freedom.

Parents lead their children in singing venerations (tamgeed) or praises (madeeha) and lighting candles in honour of the relics of ancient martyrs at Saint Virgin Mary's Coptic Orthodox Church, also known as the Hanging Church, which is one of the oldest churches in Egypt dating to the third century.

Martyrdom holds a central place in Coptic Christianity, deeply shaping both its theology and cultural identity, rooted in persecution dating back to the early centuries of Christianity in Egypt.

Scholars like Hany Takla (2015) and Rania A. Kamal (2020) argue martyrdom is not only spiritual but also a powerful tool for fostering solidarity, resilience and a collective memory of faith under oppression. 

Candles are lit at a shrine in the Monastery of the Holy Virgin at Gabal al-Teir in the Minya Governorate.

Many Coptic families in Minya make pilgrimage visits to this monastery during the months of May and June when the Coptic Church believes that the Holy Family entered the land of Egypt.

The 10 widows gather to pray at the shrine built to honour their husbands.

“Yes, we were hurt, and our Lord healed us,” says Ebtesam.

“Through all this experience, one thing that has remained constant is the love of Christ. Of course, no one can replace my husband. Of course, no one can replace their father. Of course, no one can replace this brother. But at the same time, the love of Christ brings you that peace to go on.”

Ebtesam and her son Bola stand on their rooftop in the village of al-Our.

Ebtesam says she has found a deep sense of purpose over the past decade, amid the pain and loss, in sharing this message: “Jesus is with us,” she says. “He walks with us. He is with us. He is with us. He is with us. He is with us.”

Sun rays stream through the stained glass windows of the church, painting the walls in a tapestry of colour.
 

The sun sets over the Nile in Gabal al-Teir district in Minya.

Minya remains one of the most affected governorates in Egypt by sectarian violence against Coptic Christians. The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights (EIPR) reported that, in 2023 alone, Minya saw at least 15 incidents of sectarian violence.

As of 2023, an estimated 100,000 Coptic Christians have been displaced due to violence and intimidation, particularly from rural Upper Egypt.