In the breezy April air of Hawar Village, southeast of Halabja in the Kurdistan Region near the Iranian border, a distinct sound drifts across the hills. Sunlight glints off the vibrant colors of traditional Kurdish dress worn by women, men, and children gathered for the annual Giving Day ceremony.

For the Kaka’i – a religious minority also known as Yarsan, living in Hawar and nearby villages such as Hawarakon and Daratwe – Giving Day is more than a festive gathering. It is a cornerstone of spiritual life, a celebration steeped in centuries of tradition.

Above the hum of conversation and laughter, ancient music rises: the intricate, soulful strumming of the tambur or tambura. Along the village heights, seasoned musicians and eager young learners – men and women alike – cradle the long-necked instruments, their fingers dancing across the strings in a living dialogue with the past. Voices soon join, singing sacred Kaka’i hymns and maqamat, traditional melodies that have endured through generations.

For the Kaka’i, the tambur is far more than a musical instrument. It is central to their identity – an ancient vessel carrying their stories, faith, and spiritual way of life.

An instrument rooted in home and soul

Shamal Heme Law Salih, a respected Kaka’i tambur instructor, deeply understands the instrument’s significance.

“The tambur is present in every Kaka’i home,” he told Kurdistan Chronicle. “It is often regarded as a member of the family.”

This intimate presence, he explains, is why the tradition has survived through the ages. The tambur is not merely taught; it is absorbed naturally, woven into daily life.

“From childhood, in 70% of Kaka’i homes, there is a tambur,” Salih says. “Children watch their parents and elders play it. Automatically, that love is received.”

While formal tambur schools exist, especially in Eastern Kurdistan (northwestern Iran), Shamal emphasized that the true conservatory remains within homes and among communities.

The Kaka’i trace the tambur’s origins to the dawn of existence itself.

“It is even connected to the creation of the world,” Shamal explains. “It was made alongside Adam and Eve. It is the mother of all musical instruments.”

This ancient lineage confers sacred status on the instrument. Though similar stringed instruments exist elsewhere, the Kaka’i tambur – sometimes called “temire” in some Kurdish dialects – holds unique spiritual significance. Traditionally crafted with a walnut neck and a body of mulberry wood, it is rooted both in the local land and in the strength of nature.

For the Kaka’i, playing the tambur is an act of devotion.

“Your body must be pure and clean to play it,” Salih says. “It’s not like any other instrument – it has its own value, its own respect.”

The music of the tambur carries layers of memory, faith, and history. Through complex melodies called maqamat or lehn, musicians evoke spiritual states, recount epic stories, and keep ancient knowledge alive.

“Each melody is connected to a specific subject,” Shamal says.

Among them is Jangera, an epic maqam recalling times of struggle and hardship, carefully preserved so that it is “not lost, but passed down generation after generation.” Other maqamat, like Terz and those honoring sacred figures such as Babe Nawus and Shah Khoshin, form a living archive of Kaka’i spiritual and historical identity.

For many Kaka’i, playing the tambur is not simply music – it is prayer, a direct communication with the soul.

Goran Nofel Fettah, an experienced player, finds deep personal refuge in the instrument.

“When you play the tambur, if you feel sorrow, unhappiness, or trouble ... it calms the soul,” he says. “It is the only instrument that connects directly with the human spirit.”

Yet preserving this unique heritage faces growing challenges. Fettah voices concern about the tambur’s identity being co-opted.

“Some neighboring countries are trying to claim the instrument as their own at UNESCO,” he warns. “We hope the authorities of the Kurdistan Region will protect it as an authentic Kurdish instrument.”

Beyond political battles, there are practical hurdles. Oral traditions persist, but new compositions need proper documentation.

“We have many melodies we would like to record and archive,” Fettah says, lamenting the lack of funding and institutional support.

He dreams of establishing a mali tambur, or tambur house – a dedicated space for learning, preservation, and performance, ensuring the survival of the sacred sounds.

A new generation of guardians

Sana Zana Sadiq, a 19-year-old musician and singer from Hawar Village, embodies the next generation carrying the tambur tradition forward.

“I started playing at 12 as part of a beautiful little group,” Sadiq recalls warmly. “We were young, enthusiastic, and grew up with the tambur shaping our talents.”

Though she also plays piano and guitar, the tambur holds a unique place in her heart.

“It’s very close to my soul,” she says. “The tambur was the first instrument I ever played, and I view it through its spiritual side.”

Raber Burhan Rustam, who has devoted nearly two decades to the tambur, remembers picking up the instrument at the age of 16 – later than many peers, but with fierce devotion. Today, he plays a leading role in the Hawar Players Group.

“We have about 120 tambur players from Halabja who have learned from this tradition,” he says.

Most performances remain within private, sacred ceremonies, not for public broadcast. In these spiritual gatherings, musicians sit in an arc – a formation rich with religious symbolism, representing unity and connection.

“We rehearse weekly, but the true playing happens in our places of worship,” Rustam says. “There, the tambur takes its rightful place.”

When he plays, he feels something beyond mere performance.

“We don’t always have words to express our inner sorrows,” Rustam says. “But the tambur speaks for the soul. It rescues me from my burdens.”

For Rustam and many other Kaka’i, the tambur is inseparable from their spiritual and cultural identity.

“The tambur is not just a musical tool – it is part of our sacred texts, part of our body and soul,” he explains. 

Yet he, too, worries about outside attempts to claim the tambur’s heritage.

“This instrument belongs to the Kurds. It belongs to the Yarsan. It is not the property of any other nation,” he insists.

In the village of Hawar and beyond, the tambur remains living proof of the enduring spirit of the Kaka’i people – singing their soul, heritage, and history through strings that will not be silenced.

As Rustam says, “it is part of us. It always will be.”

Qassim Khidhir has 15 years of experience in journalism and media development in Iraq. He has contributed to both local and international media outlets.