Life in the ancient Christian village of Al Qosh

D. Morrow

22 September 2014

Al Qosh

The most noticeable thing about Al Qosh when you arrive is the quiet. Of the 3500 residents, only about 60 per cent are currently living here. Two weeks ago, the town was completely empty. 

An Assyrian holy site, Al Qosh is a Christian town between Mosul and Duhok. It has been inhabited for approximately 3000 years, and the people here, like so many minorities in this region, are no stranger to persecution. A huge crucifix mounted on the mountain behind the town faces out over the Mosul dam reservoir, where only two weeks ago air strikes took out IS militants fighting the peshmerga. A month earlier, when the Mosul dam fell to IS, a mass exodus took place in Al Qosh – the majority of residents walking north to Duhok, over 20 km away. Since then, residents have feared the advance of IS would leave it permanently abandoned. 

“It’s not stable,” Sami, a returnee resident who lives between Al Qosh and the United States told us, as he showed us his town. When asked if he thought IS would ever make it all the way here, he replied, “There is a possibility always. There are no protection forces to fight them.” But how close would IS have to be to permanently abandon the town? “At the last checkpoint,” he responds matter-of-factly. We can see it from where we stand on the side of the hill. It’s not particularly far – barely 10 minutes away. But the only people the residents can trust to take care of their town are themselves.

Al Qosh is caught on the very border between Kurdistan and Iraq. Before conflict erupted in this region in June, Al Qosh was technically in the Ninevah region belonging to Baghdad. Now, it sits firmly in Kurdish territory. The town is heavily protected by Kurdish forces, as its historical and religious significance for minority Assyrians across the region make it an important pilgrimage site. The most significant of these is the tomb of Nahum, a Jewish prophet that rests in a ruined temple in the centre of the town. The Jewish population was expelled from Al Qosh in the mid-twentieth century, leaving no caretaker for the site. When we visited, someone had constructed a metal roof over the temple to protect it from further deterioration. Despite the ruin, it remains an eerie and beautiful building, the tomb itself covered carefully with clean green cloth despite the dust and age of the space around it. Candle sconces hang broken off the stone walls, catching the evening sunlight. 

A short walk from here is a private home that seems the very opposite of the quiet gravitas of the crumbling temple. A local artist has adorned her home with a riot of colourful interpretations of various biblical images, sculptures, and decorative floral arrangements. The contrast from ancient pilgrimage site to modern curiosity denotes Al Qosh as a place essential to the history of Iraq, both ancient and modern – and more specifically as a place defined by the minorities that have continued to live here through myriad conflicts.