Nar­in and her grand­moth­er walk along the banks of the Riv­er Tigris in 2014, a tran­quil yet pow­er­ful bond grow­ing between them as they col­lect wild herbs. The air is crisp, and the sounds of the riv­er gen­tly rolling over its banks echo in the back­ground. As Nar­in con­tem­plates their exis­tence, she grows increas­ing­ly frus­trat­ed with the way her grand­moth­er is mis­un­der­stood. Often seen as illit­er­ate and unim­por­tant by the out­side world, her grand­moth­er holds a depth of wis­dom, knowl­edge, and spir­i­tu­al sig­nif­i­cance that is passed down through gen­er­a­tions. Nar­in wish­es peo­ple could look beyond her grandmother’s appar­ent sim­plic­i­ty and see the wealth of sto­ries and wis­dom she carries—stories that con­nect their her­itage to the divine. With a qui­et sense of rev­er­ence, Grand­ma shares a tale passed down through their fam­i­ly, a sto­ry that begins with the cre­ation of the world itself.

Grand­ma recounts how God, or Xwedê, exist­ed alone in silence before cre­at­ing a radi­ant pearl filled with divine light, set­ting the stage for the unfold­ing of cre­ation. A mag­i­cal bird named Anfar is tasked with guard­ing this sacred pearl until, for rea­sons unknown, God smash­es it, send­ing the pieces cas­cad­ing into the cre­ation of moun­tains, forests, and rivers. This act of divine destruc­tion is not a sign of wrath, but of cre­ation, giv­ing birth to the nat­ur­al world. From this chaot­ic beau­ty, angels and humans are born, mark­ing the begin­ning of life on earth. For the Yazidis, the cre­ation sto­ry is tied to their under­stand­ing of their place in the world, with a unique per­spec­tive that links them direct­ly to Adam, unlike oth­er faiths that trace their lin­eage dif­fer­ent­ly. This dis­tinc­tion is sig­nif­i­cant to their iden­ti­ty, offer­ing them a sense of belong­ing with­in the uni­verse.

As the nar­ra­tive unfolds, Grand­ma gen­tly shifts the top­ic to the inevitable changes threat­en­ing their homeland—the con­struc­tion of a dam that will flood their cher­ished land and sub­merge their ances­tral mem­o­ries. She speaks with sad­ness and wis­dom about the loss of the pis­ta­chio trees and the var­i­ous species of birds whose lives depend on the habi­tat they’ve known for gen­er­a­tions. These deep, inti­mate con­nec­tions to nature form the back­bone of their iden­ti­ty, and the thought of it being washed away is too much to bear. In this moment of shared grief, Grand­ma intro­duces a fan­tas­ti­cal notion: a dream of build­ing an ark, sim­i­lar to that of Baba Noah, to pre­serve their home and the life they’ve nur­tured. The idea is not mere­ly an escape but an attempt to pro­tect the mem­o­ries and tra­di­tions that have been passed down through the ages. Grand­ma also speaks of the soul’s jour­ney, assur­ing Nar­in that even in the face of death and destruc­tion, the soul con­tin­ues, rein­car­nat­ing over time, expe­ri­enc­ing the world again and again. The belief in rein­car­na­tion brings a sense of com­fort to Nar­in, help­ing her to under­stand that noth­ing tru­ly ends—it only trans­forms.

As they con­tin­ue to walk, the con­ver­sa­tion mean­ders to oth­er top­ics, includ­ing Grandma’s tat­too, a deeply per­son­al mark­ing of iden­ti­ty and cul­ture. She also speaks of the spir­its that guide them and tells the tale of an Englishman’s grave, which stands as a poignant reminder of loss. This Eng­lish­man had come to the region search­ing for lost poet­ry but trag­i­cal­ly per­ished from thirst, a death that res­onates with the deep­er mean­ing of their exis­tence. His sto­ry, like so many oth­ers, serves as a sym­bol of long­ing and the fragili­ty of life. His grave, neglect­ed and for­got­ten by the world around it, stands as a stark con­trast to the destruc­tion caused by the approach­ing dam. The chap­ter clos­es with the dis­turb­ing real­iza­tion that change is unavoid­able; the bull­doz­ers are already begin­ning their work, tear­ing down the land­scape and for­ev­er alter­ing the world Nar­in has known. As Nar­in con­tem­plates this, she feels a mix­ture of sor­row and uncer­tain­ty. Her thoughts are heavy with ques­tions about her future, her her­itage, and the loss of the world she has loved. The loom­ing destruc­tion feels both per­son­al and uni­ver­sal, encap­su­lat­ing the com­plex emo­tions tied to fam­i­ly, tra­di­tion, and the envi­ron­ment. This chap­ter beau­ti­ful­ly cap­tures the essence of how nature, his­to­ry, and iden­ti­ty are inter­twined, and how deeply these ele­ments affect the char­ac­ters’ lives. Narin’s inner conflict—her desire to pre­serve the past while fac­ing an inevitable future—remains unre­solved, leav­ing her with a sense of long­ing and hope for some­thing bet­ter amid the encroach­ing changes.