Staying with the Marsh Arabs of the Mesopotamian Marshes and Climbing the Ziggurat Sumerian Pyramid of Ancient Ur

The Marsh Arabs of Iraq: A Vanishing Civilization

March 2017: My introduction to Iraq came not through travel, but through the Gulf War when I was in junior high. I remember seeing images of Bedouin camel caravans moving alongside American tank convoys, and pictures of floating reed villages in the middle of lush swamps—an oasis where the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers merge to form one of the largest marshlands in the world, straddling the Iraq-Iran border.

These floating villages were home to the Madan, or Marsh Arabs, an ancient people believed to be direct descendants of the Sumerians, one of the earliest civilizations on Earth and the inventors of the written word.

A Life Built on Water

For thousands of years, the Madan have thrived in southern Iraq’s marshlands, constructing floating islands and houses entirely from reeds. Once, even their boats were woven from reeds, though today, most use wooden or aluminum boats.

Their way of life revolves around water buffalo, some with striking blue eyes, which they raise for milk, yogurt, and meat. The buffalo are not just livestock but are treated like family, a source of pride and identity. The Madan also rely on fishing and occasional bird hunting, though declining populations make this increasingly difficult.

Saddam Hussein’s War Against the Marshes

As Shiite Muslims, the Madan were always persecuted under Saddam Hussein’s rule. He saw the marshes, home to up to 200,000 people, as wasted land and water that could be better used elsewhere. His efforts to drain the wetlands led to early resistance, and during the Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s, the Madan further angered Saddam by harboring Iranian fighters deep within the dense swamps.

His retaliation was brutal—thousands of Madan were killed, their water poisoned, and their homeland systematically drained in what many call one of the greatest environmental catastrophes of the 20th century.

A Fragile Revival

After Saddam’s fall, U.S. and NATO forces helped reverse the damage, restoring water to parts of the marshes. However, the way of life once sustained by 200,000 Madan has nearly disappeared. Only a few thousand remain in the marshes today, and even they struggle with fluctuating water levels, which rise and fall based on water demands elsewhere in Iraq.

What was once a vast landscape of artificial reed islands has now shrunk to scattered remnants of a dying civilization—a stark reminder of how political power, war, and environmental destruction can erase cultures that have survived for millennia.

Location of the marshes

Journey to the Marshes: Navigating Iraqi Bureaucracy

In late 2016, I decided I wanted to visit the Marsh Arabs (Madan) in southern Iraq. Initially, I reached out to various Iraqi ministries and travel agencies but received no responses, likely due to the ongoing war against ISIS, who had occupied Mosul and large parts of Iraq. Securing a visa was nearly impossible without an Iraqi sponsor, which seemed equally challenging.

After weeks of silence, I discovered an Iraqi nature organization online dedicated to environmental preservation—including the Madan marshes. The group had strong connections with the local marsh communities, and after contacting them, their president personally agreed to sponsor my trip. With incredible generosity, they spent months handling Iraq’s complicated bureaucracy—visiting various ministries to secure all the necessary approvals at no cost to me.

Finally, my visa was approved. After a long journey, I flew into Basrah, where foreign visitors had to wait under supervision until their sponsors arrived. Soon after, representatives from the Iraqi nature organization came to meet me, helped me navigate immigration, and accompanied me into Iraq. From Basrah, we traveled a few hours north, toward Al-Chibayish—the gateway to the marshes.

Journey into Southern Iraq: Militias, Martyrs, and Memories of War

Traveling in southern Iraq, I was acutely aware of its complexities and potential dangers. This part of Iraq is predominantly Shiite Muslim, deeply conservative, with women mostly in black abayas and men wearing traditional white dishdashas. Historically persecuted under Saddam Hussein’s regime, Shiite communities suffered brutal repression. During the subsequent NATO-led conflict, some Shiite militias, loyal to Iran, turned against US forces, resulting in intense clashes.

By the time of my visit, Iraq was deeply engaged in the battle against ISIS, and tensions were high. The roads of southern Iraq were dotted with large billboards displaying the faces of young Shiite militia fighters—martyrs who had died in the fight against ISIS. Each portrait depicted these young men in military fatigues, bravely holding large weapons. Frequently, we passed convoys of militia trucks packed with fighters heading north to the front lines near Mosul.

I knew full well that some Shiite militias operating in the south wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap a foreigner like me, making local connections crucial to safety. Daily life here was deeply traditional—slow-moving scenes of markets where women wore abayas and men wore white dishdashas, a stark contrast to the images of violence and martyrdom that hung above the roads.

Traveling here was a sobering experience—a region of great hospitality, complexity, and tragedy intertwined.

Basrah Street Scene Martyr Billboards

Basrah Street Scene Martyr Billboards

Al-Chibayish: Gateway to the Marshes

I spent my first nights in southern Iraq staying at the office of the Nature Iraq Organization in Al-Chibayish, a small, friendly village on the edge of the Euphrates River. The village is home to many Madan people, some of whom had permanently settled here, while others moved back and forth between the village and the marshes.

Al-Chibayish is a simple place—tea cafes, small shops, bustling markets, and quiet streets, all surrounded by marshes. Wherever I went, locals greeted me warmly. As soon as they found out I was from America, they enthusiastically declared, “We love Merika!” and refused to let me pay for tea or meals. My Iraqi hosts proudly introduced me to villagers, and I felt welcomed everywhere.

The town felt incredibly safe—far removed from the conflict raging in the north—but I knew this sense of safety depended heavily on my local connections. Still, my brief stay in Al-Chibayish was marked by kindness, hospitality, and even a surprising love for America, creating a truly memorable experience in this remote corner of Iraq.

Euphrates River

Me wearing my Iraqi friends’ traditional clothes-thobe

Tea with the Sheiks: Discussing the Future of Marsh Tourism

While staying with the Nature Iraq Organization, I was invited to join discussions with regional sheiks in traditional reed houses, sitting cross-legged on carpets, sipping tea, and exchanging ideas about developing tourism in the marshes. At one of these meetings, tourism officials from Baghdad even made the journey to attend.

I contributed several ideas about eco-tourism initiatives that could preserve the culture and livelihoods of the Madan people while attracting responsible travelers. It was fascinating to sit with these local leaders—men of influence dressed in traditional white dishdashas—and listen as everyone thoughtfully debated the potential and challenges.

These gatherings were unlike anything I’d experienced before: traditional, welcoming, and deeply respectful. It was an honor to contribute even in a small way, and I left feeling hopeful that sustainable tourism could genuinely benefit the Madan people and their unique culture.

Mudhif-Traditional reed house

Another Mudhif-Traditional reed house with Pictures of Ruling Sheiks on the Walls

Endless Tea and Hospitality in Al-Chibayish

While exploring Al-Chibayish, I was accompanied by a friendly local from the Nature Iraq Organization. Everywhere we went, villagers would warmly greet us and insist we sit down for tea. I quickly learned that offering to pay was pointless—they wouldn’t allow it.

Each time I entered a tea café, I’d become the center of attention. Almost immediately, someone would ask, “Where are you from?” Upon hearing “USA,” their faces lit up as they said enthusiastically, “We love Merika!”

These genuine gestures of hospitality made me feel warmly welcomed, and despite the region’s complex history and conflicts, in those moments, I felt completely at ease.

Local man at tea house

Local man at tea house

Sharing Tea and Diplomacy with the Madan

The Nature Iraq Organization maintains strong ties with the Madan community, regularly visiting remote marsh villages to check on their needs, mediate with regional sheiks, and bridge communication with Iraq’s central government.

I was fortunate to join these visits, traveling to small villages where we’d meet the local sheiks, sitting cross-legged on carpets inside traditional reed houses, sipping tea, and discussing the region’s challenges. At each stop, we were served generous meals and endless cups of tea.

One afternoon, after several cups of tea, I asked about the women—noticeably absent from every gathering. It was explained that women rarely joined these discussions, reflecting the region’s deep conservatism. But despite these complexities, hospitality here was unmatched, and I felt privileged to witness these candid exchanges between Nature Iraq, government officials, and Madan leaders firsthand.

Me meeting with local Medan

huge lunch with Medan in a modern house

Exploring the Marshes with a Madan Boatman

I visited the marshes on three different days, each journey beginning with a meeting with our expert Madan boatman, who knew these waters better than anyone. The Madan traditionally traveled in boats woven from reeds, but today wooden boats with small motors are common.

The marshes were beautiful but tricky—often shallow and thick with reeds. When our motor failed or became tangled, our boatman skillfully navigated using a long wooden pole, effortlessly pushing us through the narrow waterways. Watching him maneuver through this labyrinth made it clear why insurgents had historically hidden here; no outsider could easily follow.

Thanks to our experienced guide, we explored parts of the marshes few outsiders ever see—a privilege made possible only through his unmatched knowledge of this unique and challenging landscape.

Medan boatman

Medan Boatman

Water buffalo

Blue eyed water buffalo

Blue eyed water buffalo

The Gentle Giants of the Marshes

To me, these enormous buffalo were intimidating creatures, wary and alert whenever I approached. Alone, I’d barely come close before they’d rise aggressively, sending me quickly stepping backwards. Yet, for the Madan children, these imposing bulls were as gentle as golden retrievers.

I watched in amazement as the kids crawled over the massive creatures, climbing onto their backs and playing around them. The buffalo hardly seemed to notice. But if I dared approach alone, without the children, these gentle giants quickly transformed, standing up sharply, snorting warnings and sending me scrambling back to a safe distance.

Medan children with a water bufallo on a floating reed island

Me and Medan children with a buffalo

Women of the Marshes

In the marshes, Madan women dressed in vibrant colorful dresses and hijabs paddled small wooden boats quietly through the waterways. They carefully collected bundles of reeds—the lifeblood of the Madan community—which they used to build houses, strengthen floating islands, feed their buffalo, or sell to others in the village.

Watching these women glide silently through the marshes, expertly cutting and stacking the reeds, revealed how deeply tied their lives were to this landscape. It was a beautiful glimpse into the rhythms of their daily life.

Medan woman collecting reeds

Sunrise

Man fishing

Woman collecting reeds

Collecting reeds

Collecting reeds

Birdlife of the Iraqi Marshes

The marshes serve as a critical resting stop for countless migratory birds traveling across the barren deserts of Arabia, while many other bird species make the marshes their permanent home. It was incredible to see such a vibrant and lush habitat filled with life amidst the harsh desert surroundings.

Sadly, the marsh’s bird populations face significant threats. Overhunting and habitat destruction have pushed many of these remarkable species to the brink of extinction, turning this fragile oasis into an endangered sanctuary.

Kingfisher diving for a fish

A Medan boat with birds that he had hunted with a pellet gun

The mother of this bird was killed and the baby orphaned. The hunter was holding the bird and will likely raise it to eat it later

Reed Houses of the Madan Marshes

Deep within the marshes, the Madan people still live in traditional houses made entirely from reeds. Some homes float on artificial islands, carefully constructed from woven marsh grasses, while others sit on remnants of roads and levees originally built by Saddam Hussein during his devastating campaign to drain the marshes.

After Saddam’s fall, these levees and roads were intentionally broken down, allowing water—and life—to return. Now, these reed homes stand proudly once again, symbolizing both the resilience of the Madan people and their enduring connection to the marshes.

Reed house

New reed house and floating island of reed being contructed by medan

Medan man living on one of the roads that Saddam, built into the marshes which was dynamited and is now an island of concrete in the marsh

Medan man living on one of the roads that saddam built

The Medan people with Sumerian ancestory have beautiful features of olive colored skin and green or blue eyes

Life in the Reed Houses of the Iraqi Marshes

In one of the deeper marshes, we visited several traditional reed houses built on floating islands. It was only March, yet temperatures were already climbing into the 90s Fahrenheit. With no electricity, these houses had no fans or ventilation, relying only on occasional breezes blowing off the water.

When I mentioned the heat, the Madan laughed, explaining that March was actually considered cool weather—summer temperatures regularly reached an unbearable 120°F. I couldn’t imagine enduring that kind of heat without relief.

Still, life continued as it had for centuries, though one Madan proudly shared that his family was planning to install electricity soon—a small step forward, and perhaps the beginning of change in the marshes.

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Medan family living on a floating reed island

Medan home inside the reed house

Medan man with his buffalo on a floating reed island

Medan girl greeting me on her island of reed

Inside the reed house. 

A Night in the Marshes: Ghost Stories and Mosquitoes

Before traveling to the marshes, I asked the Nature Iraq director if I could spend a night with a Madan family on one of their islands. He hesitated, explaining that no foreigner had ever made such a request, and since the Madan are very conservative, unrelated men staying overnight—especially around women—could be culturally sensitive. After several weeks, however, he found a family willing to host me: a Madan man, his wife, and their young children.

I arrived with a Nature Iraq employee, and we laid out our sleeping pads in a corner of their reed house, separated by a bit of distance from where the family would sleep. Each of us slept beneath mosquito nets, a necessity—once the sun set, mosquitoes descended in hordes, making life almost unbearable without protection.

It was an incredible evening. Sitting at the island’s edge under a blanket of stars, the Madan man shared ghost stories and local superstitions, translated by my Iraqi friend. He spoke of the “jinni”—ghostly creatures believed to wander the marshes at night, seeking out souls to devour. He also recounted tales of ancient Sumerian treasures said to be hidden in the marshes, some supposedly found and seized by treasure hunters and even American soldiers during the war.

That night, surrounded by humming insects and whispered stories, gave me a rare and unforgettable insight into the Madan’s rich culture and deep beliefs, far from the reach of mainstream tourism.

Girl collecting reeds

Medan House where I slept

Rounding up the buffalo at sunset

Inside the Medan house at night

The medan boys I chased around the island

Nighttime glare from the oil flares burning off extra gas hundreds of miles away

Breakfast time

The only decorations on the walls inside the Medan house were of the family children with their water buffalo

House where I stayed

Visiting the Ancient City of Ur

On my last full day in Iraq, I traveled to the ancient city of Ur, near the modern city of Nasiriyah. The highlight—and a must-see destination for me—was the impressive Ziggurat of Ur, a massive temple structure thousands of years old, even referenced in the Bible.

Ur was once the heart of the Sumerian civilization, one of humanity’s earliest, and home to the world’s oldest known written tablets. Walking among the ruins, standing at the foot of the towering ziggurat, I was humbled by the immense history around me—connecting directly to the roots of human civilization.

Ziggaret of Ur

Active excavation in Ur revealing ancient stone tablets

Me next to some kind of male wedding party at the Ziggaret happening while I was there. Some of the members took photos with me

Male wedding party at Ziggurat of Ur

Return to Iraq: The Sad Fate of Nature Iraq

When I returned to Iraq in 2023, I learned with sadness that the Nature Iraq Organization no longer existed. Its president, Alwash, had been accused of corruption by the Iraqi government and fled back to the United States. Even more troubling, my friend Jasim, the manager who had hosted me and introduced me to the Madan marsh community, had been kidnapped and held captive for days by unknown assailants, eventually released only due to intervention by powerful local sheiks.

Nature Iraq had become a target because it openly opposed powerful interests regarding water usage policies that threatened the marshes. By advocating for the environment and the Madan people’s traditional way of life, they had challenged government plans and corporate interests around water usage. Tragically, as happens all too often worldwide, environmental activism made them enemies in powerful circles.

Thankfully, Jasim was eventually released due to the intervention of influential local sheiks—but by then, the damage was done. It was a sobering reminder of how fragile conservation efforts can be when powerful forces see nature and culture as obstacles to profit.