Kurdistan is a lab of mountains, including the rugged Taurus and the imposing Zagros ranges, which have shaped the life and history of its people millennia. It is a fertile and resource rich area, often referred to as the "granary" of Middle East, with abundant water, oil, and natural gas.
Geographically, this region spans contiguous areas across the modern-day political borders of four countries: Southeastern Turkey, Northern Iraq, Northwestern Iran, and Northern Syria.
However, Kurdistan is not an independent, unified country recognised by the world's maps. It is instead a geo-cultural region where the Kurdish ethnic group forms a prominent majority population and where Kurdish culture, languages, and national identity have historically been based. The absence of an independent state, despite promises in treaties following World War 1, has led to a long and complex history of struggles for autonomy and recognition.
Within this broader region, there are areas of significant self-governance. Most notably, the Kurdish region of Iraq is an autonomous region with its own parliament, government (the KRG), and a distinct official status within the Iraqi federal system. In contrast, Kurdish areas in other nations have varying degrees of recognition and have often faced political suppression.
To be from Kurdistan is to be part of a people bound by a shared heritage and an enduring dream of self-determination, scattered across a land of ancient beauty and modern political division. The global Kurdish population is estimated to be between 30 and 40 million people, making them the fourth largest ethnic group in the Middle East after Arabs, Persians, and Turks, and widely recognised as the largest ethnic group in the world without a state of its own.
The people themselves speak a variety of related Kurdish languages and dialects, primarily Kurmanji (Northern Kurdish) and Sorani (Central Kurdish). Their rich cultural heritage includes a vibrant tradition of music, dance, poetry, and intricate textile weaving. Despite political fractures and ongoing challenges to their identity and existence, a powerful sense of unity persists among the Kurdish people, sustained by their shared history, common language, and the enduring connection to their mountainous homeland.
In the bustling, historical city of Sulaymaniyah, cradled by the Azmar and Goizha mountains, lived a family named Boskani. They were good people, known for their kindness and deep connection to their community. They had been married for twelve long years, years marked by quiet hopes and silent prayers.
Every evening, as the city lights began to twinkle across hillsides, the Jamal and Nasrin would sit on their balcony, drinking tea and wishing for the gentle chaos that only a child can bring into a home. The absence of children had curbed a hollow ache into their lives, a silence that felt heavier than the mountain air. They tried everything the doctors suggested, sought advice from elders, and prayed with unwavering devotion. Their house was filled with love, but it remained tragically quiet.
Then, they had nearly surrendered hope to the will of fate, a miracle unfolded. A joy so profound it felt like the mountain snows had finally melted into the spring thaw of new life. God, in his infinite mercy, blessed them.
Their prayers were answered with the arrival of a daughter: Layla.
Layla was the light of their world, an unexpected gift that filled every corner of their home with warmth and laughter. Her birth was a celebration that rippled through the narrow streets of their neighbourhood; neighbours brought sweets and well wishes, seeing her arrival as a sign of divine grace bestowed upon a patient and deserving family.
To her parents, Layla was more than just a daughter; she was proof that endurance and faith had their own rewards. She became the very heart of the existence, the fulfilment of a long-awaited dream in the beautiful, resilient city of Sulaymaniyah.
Layla grew up in the cherished quiet city of Sulaymaniyah, protected within the strong arms of her parent's love, yet the shadow of the ongoing conflict with northern forces was never far from from her mind. The constant drumbeat of the Anatolian Empire's aggression echoed from the border regions, a conflict woven into the very fabric of daily life.
Her parents wanted her safe, perhaps married to a good man within the city walls, far from the front lines. But Layla had a brilliant, analytical mind that saw patterns where others saw chaos, a fire in her that the high mountains had instilled. When she was old enough, Layla chose a path that quietly earned her father's solemn respect; she joined the Peshmerga intelligence wing, the parastin.
Her official title was "Data Analyst and Tactical Liaison," a career that placed her behind computer screens and maps, interpreting intercepted communications and plotting enemy troop movements. It was a vital role, often determining where a critical supply convoy should be rerouted or where a specific defensive line needed reinforcing. She was helping to win the war, without a riffle, but with information