INSIDE a dimly-lit school in the Syrian town of Amuda, a Kurdish family tells of their flight from the self-styled caliphate of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi. They came from Raqqa, the city in north-eastern Syria that Islamic State (IS) has designated as its capital.

The family is seeking refuge in an enclave that Kurdish fighters have carved from a disintegrating corner of Syria. They decided to flee Raqqa in June, when IS began forcing hundreds of Kurds from their homes. The expulsion was prompted by the gains that have recently been made by Kurdish fighters, including their retaking of the strategic border town of Tel Abyad, 200 km (120 miles) to the west. Their military successes led IS to accuse the Kurdish civilians living in their capital of collecting information for a Kurdish militia, the People’s Defence Units (YPG) that has mounted the most successful opposition to IS in Syria.

“IS said that within 72 hours every Kurd had to leave,” explained the head of the family, Sayed. He agreed to speak with a reporter but insisted on using a pseudonym, for fear that his home in Raqqa could be marked for destruction. Most of the other families who fled went to Kobane and Homs, according to Abu Ibrahim al-Raqqawi, an activist who has remained in Raqqa and was contacted via social media. He says all the local Kurds handed their house-keys over to IS and then left town. They had little choice: “We were told that those who refused to leave would be put in an explosives-laden car and blown up in Palmyra,” an archaeological marvel that IS seized in May. Palmyra’s Roman amphitheatre was recently used as the site for a mass execution of 25 Syrian soldiers—who were killed at the hands of children recruited by IS.

Leaflets were distributed in the Kurdish neighbourhoods of Raqqa, threatening anyone who stayed with trial for crimes committed under Islamic law. It has been reported that some Kurds were granted permission to stay, but only on the condition that they pledged loyalty to IS.

Sayed and his family chose to avoid the possibility of execution by leaving the city unnoticed. North-bound roads have reportedly been blocked, forcing Kurdish civilians to take less-travelled roads in order to reach safety.

Sayed, who grew up in Raqqa, paints a surprising picture of life under IS. Over the past two yeares, for the most part, things were normal enough for all the city’s Sunni inhabitants, notwithstanding the fact that men were forced to attend mosque and women to wear the face-covering niqab. But the intensified skirmishing with Kurds elsewhere in the region seems to have turned IS against the Kurdish civilians living in its domain. Never mind their religious practices; the Kurds' ethnicity has made them suspect.

“This Islamic State is not an Islamic State. They kicked us out of our homes during Ramadan while we were fasting and reading the Koran. We are Sunni Muslims like them,” says Sayed’s wife, who wears a dark veil draped over her hair.

Like most displaced families their future is uncertain. Sayed hopes to start a new life in the autonomous Kurdish region of Iraq, but the family lacks a sponsor who could assist their way over the border. “We just want our children to go back to school,” his wife said. “We love Syria, it’s our blood and soul. We don’t want to give it up but the circumstances are forcing us to go.”