For over six millennia, the Erbil Citadel has been a symbol of human civilization and endurance. Today, however, it stands nearly deserted, with only one family continuing to inhabit this ancient fortress. For the past 18 years, Rebwar Mohammed, his wife Nazanin Qadir, and their four children have borne the unique responsibility of keeping the citadel alive – a legacy that stretches back 6,000 years. In their hands lies the preservation of an unbroken chain of life within the citadel, even as wild animals roam the empty streets.

Located in the heart of Erbil, the capital of the Kurdistan Region, the Erbil Citadel rises 32 meters above the city, covering an area of 102,000 square meters. This once-bustling hub is now largely empty, save for a large Kurdistan flag that flies in the center. Out of the 500 homes that once occupied the citadel, only one remains inhabited – a small house near the southern gate where the Mohammed family lives.

In 2006, the Kurdistan Regional Government evacuated the citadel’s 840 families as part of a preservation effort, but one family was asked to stay to fulfill a historical duty. “I never imagined that one day I would be living here alone, responsible for upholding a tradition that has lasted for millennia,” says Rebwar, who was born on the citadel in 1986. His family has now become the sole guardians of this ancient site, continuing a legacy that began in the Sumerian period.

A journey to Erbil

Rebwar’s parents arrived in Erbil in 1978, moving from the villages of Harmk and Mergasar in the Balisan Valley, 75 kilometers north of Erbil. Struggling with poverty, they settled in an abandoned hut in the citadel, paying just 10 Iraqi dinars a month for rent (roughly equivalent to $10 today).

For nearly two decades, Rebwar, Nazanin and their children have lived in two small rooms connected by a glass patio. The modest space is a blend of old and new, decorated with flowers and religious books. It serves as a reminder of their deep roots within the citadel and their commitment to preserving its legacy.

Rebwar fondly recalls a happy, simple childhood on the citadel, surrounded by a close-knit community. “To me, the citadel wasn’t just a collection of neighborhoods and streets – it was one big family,” he says. However, in 2006, everything changed. As part of an effort to restore and excavate the citadel, authorities evacuated its residents. The only exception was Rebwar’s family, who were tasked with ensuring that the citadel would remain continuously inhabited – an unbroken tradition for 6,000 years. 

The hardships of solitude

This historical responsibility weighs heavily on Rebwar. While he acknowledges the challenge of being isolated from society, he understands that his family’s role is vital. “It may be difficult for us to adjust to modern life again after so many years of solitude,” he admits. “But we’ve kept the citadel’s legacy alive, and that’s something we’re proud of.”

Nazanin, Rebwar’s wife, was only 16 when she moved to the citadel. Adjusting to life in the ancient fortress was not easy, especially after growing up in the bustling town of Bahirka, just 16 km away. The eerie silence of the abandoned citadel often left her unsettled. “There were nights when the wind howled like a wolf,” she recalls, adding that she later learned that there were cemeteries scattered throughout the citadel’s homes.

In addition to isolation, the presence of wild animals complicates life in the citadel. “I had to learn to kill snakes and rats to protect our home,” Nazanin says. Over time, she became accustomed to the challenges, but the responsibility of being the last family left in the citadel has never left her mind.

In 2008, the couple welcomed their first child, a son named Redar. With no neighbors, markets, hospitals, or schools nearby, raising a child was no easy task. Three daughters followed: Hanar, born in 2010, Rahel (who was born with paralysis) in 2014, and Hanasa, who is now 10. The children have grown up without the companionship of other kids or the usual childhood experiences of playing in the streets. The ongoing restoration work on the citadel has confined them largely to their home.

Despite these hardships, Rebwar views their unique circumstances with a sense of duty. “At least they’re free from the troubles of street life,” he says. But he admits that the isolation has taken its toll, particularly on their eldest son Redar, who had no children his age to interact with and adopted many of his father’s behaviors early on, acting more like an adult than a child.

A legacy to protect

The Erbil Citadel’s long and storied past spans thousands of years, making it one of the oldest continuously inhabited places on Earth. In 2006, a team from the University of West Bohemia, in collaboration with Salahaddin University, identified different historical layers within the citadel, each corresponding to various eras of Erbil’s history. The High Commission for Erbil Citadel Revitalization worked with UNESCO and the Iraqi State Board of Antiquities and Heritage to secure the citadel’s inclusion on the World Heritage List in 2014. Since then, efforts to restore the site have been ongoing, with Erbil Governorate contributing $13 million to the restoration project.

In the early 20th century, the Erbil Citadel housed three mosques, a church, two schools, and a bathhouse. It was divided into three main neighborhoods: Sara, home to aristocratic families; Takya, where religious leaders lived; and Topkhana, the area for artisans and farmers.

For Rebwar and his family, the task of preserving the citadel’s 6,000-year legacy is both an honor and a challenge. As the sole remaining inhabitants, they carry the weight of history on their shoulders. While restoration efforts continue and the citadel’s future remains uncertain, their presence ensures that its long tradition of uninterrupted habitation remains intact.

“It’s a responsibility that we didn’t choose, but one that we’ve accepted with pride,” says Rebwar. 

And so, as the winds howl through the empty streets and the ancient stones of the Erbil Citadel continue to weather the passage of time, one family’s commitment keeps its legacy alive – a legacy stretching back to the dawn of civilization.

Riband Saadallah is a professional photographer and seasoned journalist. He is a member of the Union of Journalists in Finland.