In a bleak cin­derblock house by the Riv­er Tigris in 2014, Nar­in scrubs pots amid a tense atmos­phere marked by mil­i­tant frus­tra­tion over loss­es in bat­tle. The com­man­der abus­es the two new­ly acquired Yazi­di women. One, a younger woman, cries con­stant­ly, while the elder attempts sui­cide, result­ing in bru­tal pun­ish­ment from the com­man­der. Nar­in, tasked with serv­ing tea, ner­vous­ly enters a room full of mil­i­tants only to be grabbed and spun around before being saved by the com­man­der, who scolds her cap­tor and drops her uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly.

Three days lat­er, con­ver­sa­tions in the kitchen reveal the commander’s wife believes that Nar­in is cursed, respon­si­ble for her hus­band’s impend­ing death. Agi­tat­ed by the hos­til­i­ty, Nar­in attempts to avoid the commander’s wife, but their encoun­ters are fre­quent and uncom­fort­able. The com­man­der even­tu­al­ly informs Nar­in that she will be sold to a new own­er in Antep due to her “bad luck.” Dev­as­tat­ed, Nar­in pleads for her friend Salma but is denied. Hor­ri­fied by the impli­ca­tions of her new mas­ter’s appetite for young girls, she fears there is no chance of escape giv­en the bru­tal real­i­ties faced by those who resist.

In despair, Nar­in stum­bles upon a clay tablet while seek­ing sup­port, rem­i­nis­cent of the ones she learned about from her grand­moth­er. Her brief moment of joy turns to ter­ror when the com­man­der dis­cov­ers her. He vio­lent­ly rep­ri­mands her by strik­ing her and sub­se­quent­ly kicks her while she is inca­pac­i­tat­ed. After regain­ing con­scious­ness, Nar­in encoun­ters a doc­tor and the com­man­der, who reveals he wants her to read the tablet as part of his loot­ing and sell­ing scheme involv­ing antiq­ui­ties.

Nar­in learns that the mil­i­tants not only com­mit vio­lence but prof­it from stolen arti­facts, per­pet­u­at­ing a cycle of destruc­tion and greed. The com­man­der presents her with a lapis lazuli tablet, demand­ing she reads it for poten­tial prof­it. In a moment of defi­ance, she extracts a promise that Salma must not be harmed. Faced with the real­i­ty of her friend’s suf­fer­ing as a result of the com­man­der’s vicious­ness, Nar­in suc­cumbs to despair, feel­ing only numb­ness as she awaits an inevitable demise.

In the year 2014, Nar­in is forcibly tak­en from her home, packed into a truck among women and chil­dren, as they trav­el towards Mosul. Over­whelmed with anguish and fear, she expe­ri­ences an intense sense of help­less­ness and lone­li­ness. As the con­voy moves, mem­o­ries of her grand­moth­er’s teach­ings about dis­tin­guish­ing wild herbs sur­face; they keep her teth­ered to the famil­iar­i­ty of home amid uncer­tain­ty.

Nar­in reflects on the dual streams of good and evil with­in humans, a con­cept told in her grand­moth­er’s sto­ries. She recalls tales of malev­o­lent fig­ures who, despite their cru­el­ty, under­stood the nature of their actions. How­ev­er, the true hor­ror lies in the fanat­i­cal beliefs of those who com­mit atroc­i­ties while con­sid­er­ing them­selves holy. Nar­in strug­gles with the ques­tion of how any­one could please the Cre­ator by inflict­ing pain on His cre­ation. Her grand­moth­er’s teach­ings linger in her mind, urg­ing her to seek the light amidst despair, yet she feels trapped in dark­ness.

As the con­voy halts at a sig­nif­i­cant build­ing in Mosul, Nar­in begins to real­ize the extent of the chaos unfold­ing around her. Women and chil­dren from var­i­ous Yazi­di set­tle­ments are gath­ered, reveal­ing a coor­di­nat­ed cam­paign against their cul­ture and com­mu­ni­ty. With dread, she wit­ness­es bru­tal vio­lence inflict­ed by mil­i­tants who are often famil­iar faces from her own life.

Inside the build­ing, fear races through the room, filled with the cries and des­per­a­tion of cap­tives as mil­i­tants assert their pow­er. Nar­in is select­ed for trans­la­tion duties and is con­front­ed with accu­sa­tions of her peo­ple’s infi­deli­ty and her poten­tial fate as a ‘law­ful wife’ to mil­i­tants, invit­ing her to renounce her faith. In a moment of defi­ance, she cries out for her grand­moth­er, show­cas­ing her des­per­a­tion.

After being phys­i­cal­ly abused and dragged across the floor, Nar­in los­es con­scious­ness. Upon wak­ing, she learns of her cap­tiv­i­ty and must con­tend with her sur­round­ings, the threat, and the lack of time. Despite her fears, she reveals her young age of nine, mark­ing her as a tar­get for exploita­tion. The cap­tives endure fur­ther indig­ni­ties, refus­ing to con­form to the mil­i­tants’ expec­ta­tions.

As time pass­es in cap­tiv­i­ty, Nar­in meets Salma, a woman who once knew her grand­moth­er, and they find solace in shared mem­o­ries. How­ev­er, the grim real­i­ty of their sit­u­a­tion looms, with Salma hav­ing to nav­i­gate their har­row­ing exis­tence while pro­tect­ing Nar­in. Salma’s attempts to shield Nar­in from fur­ther harm demon­strate the bonds formed in their suf­fer­ing, but the omnipresent dan­ger of the commander’s demands con­tin­ues to threat­en their safe­ty and san­i­ty.

The Ancient Mesopotami­ans viewed moun­tains as liv­ing enti­ties, serv­ing as a bridge between the earth and sky, with one of the old­est words relat­ed to them being “hur­sag,” mean­ing moun­tain. Sin­jar, the tallest peak in the region, is essen­tial to the Yazi­di faith, rep­re­sent­ing sanc­tu­ary for the per­se­cut­ed. It is adorned by the Shar­fadin Tem­ple, an ancient struc­ture of pale yel­low stone, empha­siz­ing the holi­ness of its land­scape.

As chaos unfolds across the bar­ren ter­rain, des­per­ate fam­i­lies ascend the moun­tain, each mem­ber bur­dened with fatigue and grief. Among them, a grand­moth­er sup­ports her grand­daugh­ter Nar­in, admin­is­ter­ing the last drops of water. The sky, devoid of mer­cy, casts down unre­lent­ing heat, with the sun vio­lent­ly scorch­ing those seek­ing refuge. When water runs out, the elder­ly, weak­ened by thirst, suc­cumb first, leav­ing a land­scape of pain and suf­fer­ing.

Night­fall brings a stark tem­per­a­ture drop. The fam­i­ly gath­ers for warmth, and the grand­moth­er’s deter­mi­na­tion shines as she com­forts Nar­in, instruct­ing her to con­nect her feel­ings to water as a form of emo­tion­al release. Mean­while, rumors of Amer­i­can aid begin to cir­cu­late, but the des­per­ate fam­i­lies see lit­tle to no help.

Des­per­ate for sur­vival, the grand­moth­er sends boys to fetch water from a near­by foun­tain, only for them to become vic­tims of ISIS gun­fire upon their return. Amidst the grow­ing sense of doom, the grand­moth­er decides to seek water her­self, dri­ven by love and des­per­a­tion. Using a forked branch, she believes she can dis­cov­er an under­ground spring, but her search is per­ilous.

As she wades fur­ther into dan­ger, fatigued and alone, she feels a cold­ness sig­nal the pres­ence of water beneath the parched earth. How­ev­er, her hope is shut­tered upon the real­iza­tion that she is being watched by ISIS mil­i­tants, who mock her efforts. In her moment of dread, a chill­ing voice calls out—Narin has brave­ly fol­lowed her grand­moth­er, putting them both at risk amidst the loom­ing threat of vio­lence. This moment encap­su­lates the fragili­ty of their sit­u­a­tion, as sur­vival becomes a shared hope against insur­mount­able odds.

In the vil­lage of Zêrav, the inhab­i­tants awak­en one morn­ing to a dev­as­tat­ing sight; their sacred water sources have been poi­soned overnight. Hun­dreds of sacks of pes­ti­cides and debris have been dumped, leav­ing them des­per­ate. Sev­er­al men jour­ney to a near­by Yazi­di vil­lage for help but find that their neigh­bors have also been affect­ed. With no potable water avail­able, they ven­ture to check on near­by Mus­lim vil­lagers, only to dis­cov­er their foun­tains remain untouched. A few are will­ing to help, but many refuse, an indi­ca­tion of ris­ing ten­sions. With the heat inten­si­fy­ing, they col­lect bot­tles of water, painful­ly aware that their fam­i­ly mem­bers are rely­ing on them.

As the day wears on, the vil­lagers strug­gle to clear debris from their foun­tains, yet the Tigris Riv­er remains pol­lut­ed, too. Days lat­er, at night, their ene­my returns, this time tar­get­ing the trees, burn­ing olive groves and reduc­ing fer­tile fields to waste­lands. Nar­in, a young girl, observes the destruc­tion from her win­dow and feels a deep sad­ness. She reflects on the hatred sur­round­ing them and the fragili­ty of life amidst such vio­lence.

Nar­in’s father, Khaled, calls her the next day from Bagh­dad, inform­ing her that he has been detained at a check­point. Upon hear­ing about the water con­t­a­m­i­na­tion and destruc­tion, he resolves to return home swift­ly. Yet, his jour­ney is com­pli­cat­ed by road­blocks and dan­ger, as Yazidis and oth­er minor­i­ty groups face threats from extrem­ists.

Mean­while, Grand­ma grows increas­ing­ly rest­less, unable to sleep since the poi­son­ing of the wells. Ear­ly one morn­ing, she notices that the Kur­dish forces pro­tect­ing Zêrav have van­ished, prompt­ing fear and pan­ic among the vil­lagers. News spreads that thou­sands of troops have with­drawn, leav­ing the Yazidis vul­ner­a­ble. The vil­lagers debate whether to stay or flee but ulti­mate­ly decide to dis­play white flags and wait, hop­ing to avoid vio­lence.

As Khaled arrives at anoth­er Yazi­di loca­tion, he wit­ness­es mil­i­tants com­man­deer­ing the streets. Hajji Amer, a man he once con­sid­ered a friend, is now lead­ing the armed men. Khaled and the oth­er Yazi­di men are forced to leave their homes, stripped of valu­ables, and threat­ened with vio­lence. As the mil­i­tants turn hos­tile, Khaled’s resolve strength­ens. How­ev­er, tragedy strikes as they are tak­en to a water cis­tern and exe­cut­ed en masse.

In the chaos, Khaled sur­vives, bleed­ing and alone, and man­ages to call his moth­er-in-law, urg­ing her and Nar­in to escape imme­di­ate­ly. They must flee to Mount Sin­jar for safe­ty. Mean­while, Nar­in awak­ens to her grandmother’s urgent plea to leave with the few rel­a­tives will­ing to escape, set­ting off into the uncer­tain night, unaware of the per­ilous jour­ney ahead. As dawn breaks, they face an ambush from ISIS, and chaos ensues, leav­ing the sur­vivors flee­ing into the des­o­late moun­tain with dwin­dling hope.

The chap­ter titled “H—NARIN” takes place by the Riv­er Tigris in 2014, where Nar­in and her Grand­ma reg­u­lar­ly escape to con­nect with nature after relo­cat­ing to Zêrav with rel­a­tives. They rest on a rock near decay­ing build­ings, once vibrant eater­ies filled with tempt­ing aro­mas of grilled fish, par­tic­u­lar­ly mas­gouf, amid live­ly neon lights. Nar­in, adher­ing to her faith, refrains from eat­ing fish and feels a pang of sad­ness at the site’s cur­rent des­o­la­tion, wish­ing to have wit­nessed its for­mer glo­ry.

Their peace­ful moment is inter­rupt­ed by Grand­ma spot­ting a scor­pi­on. This leads into a whim­si­cal con­ver­sa­tion about how every­thing in the world communicates—the sounds made by nature and the spir­i­tu­al con­nec­tions they form with it. Grandma’s pro­found reflec­tions on exis­tence high­light that even silence and death hold con­ver­sa­tions that con­tin­ue beyond life. Nar­in, curi­ous yet appre­hen­sive, men­tions Grandma’s ten­den­cy to speak to poten­tial­ly haz­ardous crea­tures.

Sud­den­ly, Grand­ma becomes seri­ous, sens­ing some­thing in the riv­er. When Nar­in fol­lows her, they dis­cov­er a float­ing body, a sight that stark­ly con­trasts their ear­li­er mus­ings. Grand­ma rec­og­nizes the tragedy, shar­ing her sor­row for a lost life, and she attempts to retrieve the body from the strong cur­rent. How­ev­er, despite her resolve and gen­tle prayers, she can­not bring the corpse ashore. This encounter makes Grand­ma recon­sid­er shar­ing the inci­dent with their fam­i­ly as it ties into the unset­tling rumors of dis­ap­pear­ances in the area, with whis­per­ings of peo­ple going miss­ing and oth­ers return­ing trau­ma­tized.

The Tigris, once a beau­ti­ful and live­ly riv­er, is now pol­lut­ed with waste and has become a for­got­ten grave­yard of vic­tims, lead­ing to a fat­wa against fish con­sump­tion. The atmos­phere changes dras­ti­cal­ly as it becomes evi­dent that con­tent­ment in their nat­ur­al sur­round­ings is over­shad­owed by the lurk­ing dan­gers and silent hor­rors that the riv­er now embod­ies. Grand­ma con­tin­ues to speak to the ele­ments around them, but an invis­i­ble men­ace haunts their tran­quil retreat, empha­siz­ing the ten­sion between the beau­ty of nature and the dark real­i­ties of human exis­tence.

In the chap­ter titled “By the Riv­er Tigris, 2014”, Nar­in con­vers­es with her Grand­ma about past expe­ri­ences relat­ed to cul­tur­al myths and the feel­ings of iso­la­tion that arise from such beliefs. Her Grand­ma recounts a painful mem­o­ry of her younger broth­er being ostra­cized by peers, reveal­ing the under­ly­ing prej­u­dices about their cul­ture. As they dri­ve towards Iraq, excit­ed and feel­ing grown up, Nar­in reflects on her fam­i­ly’s her­itage and the jour­ney ahead.

Upon reach­ing Cizre, Grand­ma intro­duces Nar­in to a notable fig­ure from their cul­ture, the sci­en­tist Al-Jazari, who lived in Upper Mesopotamia. Through Grand­ma’s sto­ries, Nar­in learns about Al-Jazari’s pas­sion for water and his remark­able inven­tions, includ­ing a mechan­i­cal pea­cock that dis­pens­es water and atten­dants with soap and tow­els. Nar­in is fas­ci­nat­ed, and her father shares that Al-Jazari’s pio­neer­ing designs are kept in muse­ums in Amer­i­ca, which spurs a con­ver­sa­tion about cul­tur­al own­er­ship and the acces­si­bil­i­ty of their his­to­ry. Grand­ma express­es con­cern over West­ern­ers pos­sess­ing and show­cas­ing their her­itage, feel­ing a pro­found dis­con­nect from the arti­facts now housed abroad.

The fam­i­ly dis­cuss­es how Al-Jazari’s iden­ti­ty is viewed dif­fer­ent­ly depend­ing on the per­spec­tive of Arab, Iran­ian, or Kur­dish indi­vid­u­als, high­light­ing issues sur­round­ing cul­tur­al recog­ni­tion and belong­ing. Despite the era­sure of his­tor­i­cal fig­ures like Al-Jazari due to neglect, Narin’s father reas­sures her that their fam­i­ly holds the mem­o­ries alive, describ­ing them as the “mem­o­ry tribe.”

Their jour­ney leads them to the Tigris Riv­er, where Grand­ma rem­i­nisces about the rich wildlife that once thrived in the region, such as oryx­es and lions, now lost due to hunt­ing and the destruc­tion brought forth by dev­as­ta­tion relat­ed to war and polit­i­cal upheaval. The fam­i­ly recalls the beau­ty and fer­til­i­ty of the marsh­lands, recount­ing the adverse effects of past regimes that left their home­land bar­ren. Narin’s father cul­mi­nates the reflec­tions by explain­ing the trag­ic fate of Yazi­di com­mu­ni­ties dis­placed by gov­ern­men­tal actions and the ongo­ing per­il sur­round­ing the Mosul Dam, empha­siz­ing the fragili­ty of their his­to­ry and the hope for preser­va­tion amidst adver­si­ty.

In the chap­ter “By the Riv­er Tigris, 2014,” the sto­ry unfolds with Grand­ma prepar­ing for an upcom­ing jour­ney, excit­ed­ly mak­ing tra­di­tion­al foods like stuffed vine leaves and borek. Nar­in, her grand­child, shares her excite­ment, pray­ing for guid­ance and pro­tec­tion from the spir­it Khider, along­side oth­er unseen beings aid­ing their com­mu­ni­ty. These spir­its include Sore-Soran, Mama-Rasan, and Xudāne-Mālē, each rep­re­sent­ing dif­fer­ent aspects of every­day life and sup­port. Grand­ma high­lights how kind­ness can emerge from unex­pect­ed places through the tale of Ibrahim—a moral sto­ry empha­siz­ing the impor­tance of com­pas­sion and action when one’s neigh­bor is in dis­tress, sig­ni­fy­ing that even the small­est efforts mat­ter against great chal­lenges.

As they sit togeth­er, Grand­ma reflects on the nature of sto­ry­telling ver­sus clock time, empha­siz­ing that sto­ries con­vey deep­er truths tran­scend­ing mere chronol­o­gy. This les­son of resilience and per­spec­tive is mir­rored in a per­son­al sto­ry from her child­hood, show­ing how neigh­bors who seemed friend­ly held prej­u­dices against her fam­i­ly. Grand­ma’s wis­dom extends to her belief that despite pain and adver­si­ty, the world is filled with beau­ty.

Their con­ver­sa­tion shifts to their immi­nent trip to Iraq and the sig­nif­i­cance of their ances­tral home in Lal­ish, said to be cre­at­ed by divine inter­ven­tion. Grand­ma recounts the leg­endary for­ma­tion of this sacred val­ley through the angels’ jour­ney and the leav­en­ing of water, instill­ing a sense of pride and con­nec­tion to their her­itage in Nar­in.

As the night approach­es, a deep­er con­ver­sa­tion fol­lows about their fam­i­ly lin­eage, par­tic­u­lar­ly cen­ter­ing on Leila, who migrat­ed and demon­strat­ed extra­or­di­nary tal­ents. Grand­ma explains that these gifts have evolved through gen­er­a­tions, poten­tial­ly cul­mi­nat­ing in Nar­in. The notion of a “fir­man” aris­es, describ­ing the dan­ger­ous edicts that led Leila to escape her home­land due to impend­ing vio­lence against their peo­ple. This his­tor­i­cal pain remains pal­pa­ble, echo­ing the ongo­ing mem­o­ries held by the Tigris Riv­er itself.

Ulti­mate­ly, they set­tle down for the night, with Grand­ma promis­ing to reveal the truths of their his­to­ry when they arrive at Nin­eveh, illus­trat­ing that some­times, even rivers must aban­don their orig­i­nal paths in search of safe­ty.

In the chap­ter titled “By the Riv­er Tigris, 2014,” Nar­in engages her grand­moth­er in a con­ver­sa­tion about the Flood, a sig­nif­i­cant event in their her­itage. Intrigued, Nar­in asks how it start­ed, prompt­ing her grand­moth­er to recount the tale of a sin­gle drop of water that her­ald­ed the impend­ing dis­as­ter. This drop esca­lat­ed into relent­less rain, ulti­mate­ly drown­ing the land and claim­ing many lives. How­ev­er, they, as Yazidis, were saved by a coura­geous woman named Pira-Fat, who float­ed above the chaos and pre­served their seeds, allow­ing them to repop­u­late the earth after the waters reced­ed.

Narin’s curios­i­ty expands as she learns there were poten­tial­ly mul­ti­ple Floods: the first affect­ed the chil­dren of Adam and Eve, while the sec­ond direct­ly impact­ed the Yazidis. This lega­cy of sur­vival rais­es ques­tions for Nar­in about divine inten­tions behind such calami­ties. Her grand­moth­er sug­gests these tri­als may serve as cleans­ing events meant to address human mis­deeds but empha­sizes her belief that God’s nature is one of benev­o­lence, steer­ing clear of delib­er­ate pun­ish­ment. She com­pares the world’s ongo­ing chaos to yogurt – still roil­ing beneath the sur­face, sym­bol­iz­ing the cycles of nature and his­to­ry, known as dewr.

The nar­ra­tive shifts to their fam­i­ly heir­looms stored in an ornate chest, which holds trea­sures like cro­cheted doilies and a dec­o­ra­tive qanun, an instru­ment with ties to Narin’s father. One poignant object is an ancient slab of clay inscribed with sym­bols, passed down from Narin’s great-great-grand­moth­er Leila, a gift­ed heal­er and divin­er, who once prac­ticed the art of see­ing the future. Narin’s grand­moth­er fond­ly recounts Leila’s beau­ty and tal­ent, intro­duc­ing a new dimen­sion to their family’s lega­cy.

How­ev­er, this gift comes with per­il. Div­ina­tion, as her grand­moth­er explains, can lead to pro­found pain and trau­ma, par­tic­u­lar­ly after wit­ness­ing a grim pre­dic­tion that scarred Leila for life. Fol­low­ing this event in Nin­eveh, Leila renounced her prophet­ic abil­i­ties, assert­ing that future gen­er­a­tions should avoid such bur­dens. Instead, they embraced their abil­i­ty to locate water under­ground and heal­ing, main­tain­ing a con­nec­tion to their her­itage while adapt­ing to the hard­ships they face.

In this enchant­i­ng chap­ter titled “By the Riv­er Tigris, 2014,” Nar­in, a curi­ous child, engages in a dia­logue with her grand­moth­er about the myth­i­cal lamas­sus the lat­ter men­tions. Grand­ma explains their dis­ap­pear­ance from their home­land, hint­ing at their cur­rent exis­tence in for­eign muse­ums, a tale that Nar­in strug­gles to believe ful­ly. Yet, Grand­ma clar­i­fies the impor­tance of sto­ry­telling, call­ing it a vehi­cle for truth, which stirs Narin’s respect and curios­i­ty.

Grand­ma con­veys wis­dom steeped in her cul­ture, cit­ing rev­er­ence for the earth. She stress­es that they hold the land sacred, advis­ing Nar­in to treat it gen­tly, empha­siz­ing that their peo­ple abstain from mar­ry­ing in April due to its sig­nif­i­cance as a time of fer­til­i­ty for the land. She also shares an anec­dote about a Yazi­di woman shocked by the bathing prac­tices in Ger­many, illus­trat­ing cul­tur­al dif­fer­ences in respect­ing water.

As the con­ver­sa­tion deep­ens, Grand­ma shares her rit­u­als of hon­or­ing celes­tial bod­ies with prayers at dawn and dusk, attest­ing to the hid­den won­ders of nature, from trees to insects. The Tigris riv­er holds a spe­cial place in her heart, treat­ed with the utmost dig­ni­ty. Describ­ing her heal­ing prac­tices, Grand­ma dis­cuss­es the sacred­ness of ash and the num­bers that guide them, par­tic­u­lar­ly the num­ber sev­en. For her, time man­age­ment con­cern­ing emo­tions and deci­sions is para­mount, urg­ing Nar­in to allow a week to pass before act­ing on feel­ings.

Sym­bol­i­cal­ly, rivers embody per­son­al­i­ties, and through dia­logue, Grand­ma illus­trates the con­trast­ing natures of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, sug­gest­ing that tran­quil­i­ty demands a fierce inter­nal strug­gle. Ulti­mate­ly, she declares respect for the Euphrates, valu­ing gen­tle­ness over strife, which aligns with her spir­i­tu­al teach­ings.

Through ten­der exchanges, Grand­ma imparts lessons on humil­i­ty, well­ness, and life­long learn­ing, using analo­gies of water and nature to enrich Nar­in’s under­stand­ing. The pro­found con­nec­tion of knowl­edge to water encour­ages Nar­in to appre­ci­ate the wis­dom that flows through their lin­eage. The chap­ter beau­ti­ful­ly encap­su­lates cul­tur­al prac­tices, envi­ron­men­tal respect, and famil­ial bonds through the lens of sto­ry­telling.

In the chap­ter titled “H—NARIN,” set by the Riv­er Tigris in 2014, we are intro­duced to Nar­in, a girl excit­ed about her cousins’ vis­it from Ger­many. The fam­i­ly has roots in Turkey, and the children’s flu­ent Ger­man impress­es Nar­in, who shares her grand­moth­er’s unique tal­ent as a heal­er through water dows­ing. As her cousins ques­tion her about their grand­moth­er’s abil­i­ties, Nar­in describes how her grand­moth­er detects hid­den water streams and hopes to inher­it this skill. Despite some sib­ling squab­bles, their time togeth­er allows Nar­in to feel the joys of hav­ing cousins.

The fam­i­ly pre­pares a grand break­fast for their guests, show­cas­ing a vari­ety of tra­di­tion­al dish­es, and the scene high­lights their cus­toms and val­ues, par­tic­u­lar­ly con­cern­ing clean­li­ness and respect for the deceased dur­ing a vis­it to the village’s ceme­tery. The impor­tance of hon­or­ing ances­tors is empha­sized through their rit­u­als, with women lead­ing the remem­brance cer­e­monies.

As the chil­dren explore the ceme­tery, ques­tions arise about a tomb­stone belong­ing to an Eng­lish­man who died by the Tigris while search­ing for a poem. Their dis­cus­sion reveals curios­i­ty about his­to­ry, iden­ti­ty, and the loss of her­itage, espe­cial­ly poignant giv­en the impend­ing con­struc­tion of a dam that threat­ens to sub­merge Hasankeyf, the community’s ances­tral home.

Lat­er that evening, dur­ing a fam­i­ly din­ner, Narin’s fam­i­ly con­tin­ues to engage with their past via a mor­tu­ary feast, sym­bol­iz­ing a con­nec­tion between the liv­ing and the deceased. Con­ver­sa­tions turn seri­ous as Nar­in over­hears her uncle’s con­cerns about ris­ing vio­lence and the future of their home­land, lead­ing to dis­cus­sions about relo­ca­tion to Ger­many. Her father express­es doubts about aban­don­ing their roots, reveal­ing a gen­er­a­tional con­flict about the safe­ty and future of their com­mu­ni­ty. Narin’s thoughts weave between her impend­ing hear­ing loss, the fear of fanat­ics, and the com­fort of famil­ial love.

This chap­ter cap­tures the essence of tra­di­tion, the bur­den of her­itage, and the com­plex­i­ty of iden­ti­ty amid chaos, leav­ing Nar­in feel­ing unset­tled yet hope­ful about her family’s jour­ney to Iraq and her own per­son­al growth.

In the nar­ra­tive titled “H—NARIN,” set by the Riv­er Tigris in 2014, a poignant rela­tion­ship unfolds between a girl named Nar­in and her illit­er­ate grand­moth­er. As they nav­i­gate a trail, gath­er­ing wild herbs, Nar­in express­es a con­cern for those who speak ill of her grand­moth­er, wish­ing they could tru­ly under­stand her. In response, Grand­ma becomes a ves­sel of oral tra­di­tion, shar­ing tales that con­nect their her­itage with the divine.

One par­tic­u­lar sto­ry describes the cre­ation of the world, begin­ning with God, known as Xwedê, who exist­ed alone in silence before mold­ing a pearl filled with divine light. A mag­i­cal bird, Anfar, pro­tects the pearl until God, for rea­sons unknown, smash­es it, cre­at­ing the moun­tains, forests, and oth­er ele­ments of nature. This act leads to the cre­ation of angels and human­i­ty, with an intrigu­ing dis­tinc­tion: Yazidis trace their lin­eage back sole­ly to Adam, diverg­ing from oth­er faiths.

As the sto­ry unfolds, themes of loss emerge; Grand­ma dis­cuss­es the forth­com­ing dam’s impli­ca­tions for their envi­ron­ment, fore­see­ing their beloved pis­ta­chio trees drown­ing and the birds los­ing their habi­tats. Togeth­er, they dream of an ark akin to Baba Noah’s to save their home and wildlife. In a fur­ther reflec­tion on mor­tal­i­ty, Grand­ma reas­sures Nar­in about the cycli­cal nature of exis­tence, empha­siz­ing that the soul trav­els beyond death, and that Yazidis believe every­one returns to earth mul­ti­ple times.

Their con­ver­sa­tion mean­ders through mem­o­ries and folk­lore, includ­ing Grand­ma’s tat­too, ances­tral spir­its, and the neglect­ed grave of an Eng­lish­man who sought lost poet­ry. This man, a sym­bol of long­ing and per­haps loss, died of thirst, echo­ing the themes of con­nec­tion to land and cul­ture in stark con­trast to the loom­ing destruc­tion by the dam. The chap­ter clos­es with the real­iza­tion of impend­ing change, as bull­doz­ers work near­by, fore­shad­ow­ing an end to their famil­iar world and leav­ing Nar­in with heavy, unan­swered ques­tions about the future and her her­itage.

In the spring of 2014, on the banks of the Tigris in Turkey, a gath­er­ing of most­ly elder­ly Yazidis con­venes for the bap­tism of a nine-year-old girl named Nar­in. Dressed in white, Nar­in pos­sess­es del­i­cate fea­tures accen­tu­at­ed by bright sage-green eyes. As she under­goes the sacred cer­e­mo­ny, she is blessed by a sheikh, who invokes a path of good­ness and strength for her. The cer­e­mo­ny con­nects deeply with Nar­in’s grand­moth­er, who express­es her affec­tion with vivid anatom­i­cal metaphors—referring to Nar­in as “the cor­ner of my liv­er,” and “the light of my eye.” This flu­id­i­ty in their expres­sions of love empha­sizes the inter­con­nect­ed­ness of their beings.

Despite the joy­ous occa­sion, Nar­in is trou­bled by her father’s absence; he is a pop­u­lar qanun play­er often away for work. Their fam­i­ly his­to­ry is marked by grief and loss, with Nar­in raised pre­dom­i­nant­ly by her grand­moth­er fol­low­ing her mother’s death short­ly after Nar­in’s birth. As the sheikh pre­pares to con­clude the bap­tism, their moment of tran­quil­i­ty is shat­tered by the arrival of a bull­doz­er, a fore­bod­ing sign of impend­ing dis­rup­tion due to a major dam project by the Turk­ish gov­ern­ment. This project will dis­place thou­sands and oblit­er­ate the ancient set­tle­ment of Hasankeyf, drown­ing its rich his­to­ry under arti­fi­cial lakes.

Despite protests from local farm­ers and activists, the dam con­struc­tion con­tin­ues. The bull­doz­er dri­ver inter­rupts the cer­e­mo­ny with hos­til­i­ty, empha­siz­ing the urgency of their relo­ca­tion. Grand­ma, rep­re­sent­ing the sto­ic strength of her peo­ple, con­fronts the dri­ver. As the bull­doz­er tears through the land, sym­bol­ic of the despair faced by the Yazi­di com­mu­ni­ty, the group is forced to move fur­ther up the riv­er, seek­ing a qui­eter loca­tion for the cer­e­mo­ny.

With chal­lenges mount­ing, Grand­ma express­es a desire to take Nar­in to Iraq for a prop­er bap­tism, as they have nev­er achieved the jour­ney to the Val­ley of Lal­ish, the holi­est site for Yazidis. Mean­while, Nar­in grap­ples with her hear­ing loss, a result of a rare genet­ic ill­ness. Grand­ma reas­sures her that love endures beyond loss, empha­siz­ing the impor­tance of mem­o­ry and iden­ti­ty with­in their cul­tur­al nar­ra­tive. Amidst ris­ing ten­sions and the poignant weight of their shared his­to­ry, Nar­in’s bap­tism embod­ies both a per­son­al and com­mu­nal hope against the back­drop of an uncer­tain future. The bap­tism remains incom­plete, yet its sig­nif­i­cance in acknowl­edg­ing both con­nec­tion and loss rever­ber­ates through the pain of their real­i­ty.

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