In the summer of 1958, a group of history students at Yerevan University in Armenia prepared to travel to Moscow and Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) at the end of the academic year. This official trip was intended to allow the students to acquaint themselves with these historical cities.

My brother Ordixan had been living in Leningrad for a year, studying in the Kurdish Studies Department of the renowned Institute of Oriental Studies as a research assistant. He was engaged in writing a doctoral thesis on the Kurdish epic poem Dimdim Castle (Xane Cengzerin).

In 1960s, Professor Qanate Kurdoyev had taken over the leadership of the Kurdish Studies Department, succeeding the academician Joseph Abgarovich Orbeli. Kurdoyev had met with the late leader General Mustafa Barzani during an academic trip to Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan. During their conversation, Barzani informed Kurdoyev that there were folk singers (dengbêj) among his brave five hundred fighters who were singing the epic of Dimdim Castle.

“Barzani has moved to Moscow,” Kurdoyev said. “Approach him and get the addresses of those folk singers residing in Uzbekistan, so that you can communicate with them and hear from them.” He then provided Barzani’s phone number, and Ordixan started preparing to travel to Moscow. When he heard that I was also traveling to Moscow, we agreed to meet in the Soviet capital.

Meanwhile, my mother, who had not seen Ordixan for a year, was eager to accompany me upon learning about my travel plans.

Meeting in Moscow

Upon arriving in Moscow, Ordixan endeavored to arrange a meeting with Barzani. Leaving my mother at home, we went out to call the general from a phonebooth. Barzani had been expecting to hear from Ordixan, as Kurdoyev had written to him ahead of time. After exchanging greetings, my brother said, “My esteemed brother and mother have come to Moscow, and they wish to meet you if it’s convenient.” 

“Come now,” Barzani replied immediately.

Ordixan noted the address, and we quickly returned home, but our mother was not there. Some colleagues informed us that some students had taken her to the city for a stroll when they saw her alone. Ordixan and I had to leave without her.

We arrived at a multi-story building where important guests stayed and took the elevator to his floor. Exiting, we saw an open door, were greeted in Kurdish, and invited to enter by several Kurdish men.

Barzani appeared. When he saw that our mother was not with us, he asked, “Where is my sister?” My brother Ordixan told him what had happened. He smiled and said gently, “You acted according to the Kurmanji customs (meaning you did not care much about having your mother accompany you).”

Eventually, we convinced him that our story really was the truth.

A precious memento

The late leader and Ordixan sat on chairs, while I took a seat on a sofa with a map of Kurdistan hanging on the wall behind me. After exchanging pleasantries, their conversation shifted to Ordixan’s thesis, and Barzani provided the names of some of the singers he knew.

While they were engrossed in conversation, I turned around and stared at the map hanging on the wall. Measuring 90 centimeters by 48 cm, it represented Kurdistan. Barzani realized that I was looking at the picture with love and sorrow. “What a beautiful map!” I said.

Seeing my amazement, the general called one of the fighters and said, “Take this map off the wall.” 

I understood that his words carried special meaning. “I want to give it to you,” he said. 

I felt embarrassed and regretted my admiration for the map. “I accept your gift, but many guests come to visit you; wouldn’t it be better to leave the map in its place?” I countered. 

“Don’t worry; we have many copies,” he said. Seeing I was unconvinced, he turned to the fighter and said, “Go and get the maps.” He indeed returned with a bundle containing several copies.

I had received an unparalleled gift that has since then been incredibly dear to my heart. 

“Send my regards to your father,” Barzani said, upon leaving. My father had met him once in Yerevan, when he had come to Armenia to visit the Kurdish community there.

I carried my precious gift away, a map expertly and skillfully drawn, with deep feelings of gratitude. The map delineated the borders of Kurdistan, as well as the geographical distribution of the Kurdish people in the Middle East, the Caucasus, and Anatolia. It was the first time I had seen a map of Kurdistan that had been drawn with such precision, accuracy, and craftsmanship. 

That bright and special day became deeply engraved in my memory. Now, in Vienna, the map hangs on the wall of Casimê Celil’s library, where visitors admire it, along with the late General Barzani and Kurdistan.

Celile Celil is Kurdish academic researcher from Armenia. Born in 1935, he is considered one of the most prolific researchers in Kurdish folklore. Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, he migrated to Vienna and established The Kurdish Library.