In the Canyon of the King

by Zoë Richardson (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Iraq

The bus had been rattling for much of the journey as the group inside weighed it down. Regardless of my doubts, it had got us to our destination, even if we had to push it slightly up the mountain side. Our group was solely archaeologists, each with their own specialism. Then there was me- a third year student, weeks shy of handing in my dissertation. I had stumbled my way onto a fascinating archaeological dig with my British university, excavating a several thousand year old building in Iraq. If this was some adventure film, I would be the audience surrogate- excited, confused, and happy to learn and go along with the ride. It was Easter 2014 and I was travelling through Kurdistan, Northern Iraq. As it was a Friday, we were having our weekly day off, this time on an excursion to see a stelae relief in the mountainous Darband-i-Gawr, outside of Sulaymaniyah. The work was hard, and the five weeks were to be out there felt much longer when you only had each other for company. The schedule was for six day weeks, starting around 5am. The stereotypes of the student rung true- I was not ready for these intense timings, heat, nor the physical side of the excavation. It was a privilege to be invited out there, but I certainly felt like I was earning every minute. Friday was far more special to the locals, and everyone seemed take to mountains to picnic. We had been made aware of the colourful, sequin encrusted outfits that the women in Kurdistan wore- some had visited us on site, whilst we, the archaeologists, stood dusty in combat trousers and checked shirts, feeling inadequate. How I longed to wear their long sleeved dresses, like something out of a high fantasy artwork- they seemed to elevate the wearer into someone almost magical. As the bus ascended the mountain side, the groups glittered in the sunlight, creating an otherworldy glimmer across the mountain. The mountains were beautiful, as the lush spring had seen the snow from the start of our excavation melt away to reveal vibrant greenery. My steel toed boots felt extra heavy as we began the walk through a tight cliff side. When I would later tell my family about the trip, I would omit the multiple times I thought perhaps I might die. I stumbled slightly, defacto leader on this path. I hesitated as I rounded the cliff edge; there was a sheer drop into the gaping valley below and the path was uneven. This sort of site would be a tourist spot in other parts of the world, there would have been rails, gift shops, concrete steps. Here there was nothing but a gap in the rock path. One of the other archaeologists called me a ‘mountain goat’, but even I was struggling here. When they saw my fear, two decided they wanted to turn back. I didn’t though, I wanted to see something that had been carved into the mountain thousands of year ago and I was not going to let my fear stop me. Before coming on the expedition, I had to sign a risk assessment warning me of earthquakes, plane crashes, kidnappings, wild dog attacks- I had already signed my life away, so why not take the jump? I leapt the gap and the group followed. To my left I saw it. Etched into the cliff face was the stelae, as it had been for millennia. The professor gave us the history: It had been carved for the Akkadian king Naram-Sin as a mark of his victory, showing him crushing his enemies beneath his feet. Here I was, a 21 year old girl from a nation this king would not have any clue would exist, observing his legacy. This path, now barely frequented, was likely to have been the route taken by the invaders. It was there to inspire hope in his soldiers, and fear into his enemies. I felt an overwhelming gratefulness for my adventurous spirit, for sending that email, signing that form, taking that jump and being able to experience millennia of our world’s shared history.