When a River Turns from Lifeline to Lethal Flood
From the ancient citadel that crowns the valley, Ridvan Ayhan peers into the soft‑gurgling Tigris, his brow cast as if he could already see the town of Hasankeyf polishing away like a forgotten piece of jewelry. The very river that fed his family’s livelihoods for millennia will soon seep into the heart of the city and leave nothing but a watery echo.
Grandparents in the Future—or the Past?
“My grandchildren will never set foot on the grounds where I once grew up,” Ayhan says, tugging the scarf around his face, “They’ll ask me, ‘Grandpa, where did you come from? Where did you live?’ What will I show them? A lake? A washed‑out dream?”
This is the living nightmare of Hasankeyf—a settlement that has thrived since the dawn of human civilisation, 12,000 years of history baked into its very stones. Now, it’s on the brink of vanishing into the maw of an artificial reservoir tied to the Ilisu hydroelectric dam.
Ilisu: The Engine of Economic Promise (and Peril)
- Turkey’s second‑largest dam, part of the sprawling Southeastern Anatolia Project (GAP), which aims to turn a once‑slanted region into a bright spot of agriculture and power.
- Rises downstream of the Tigris to store water, create turbines, and irrigate the surrounding arid plains.
- Projected to flood not only Hasankeyf but an additional hundred villages.
With a rough‑cut 3,000 residents riding the tide of the incoming water, the city sits at a crossroads. Some locals glare at what they see as a forced donation of heritage for a shiny economic future, while others hope that a large dam will finally lift the region from neglect.
Ayhan: The Kid Who Never Left the Citadel
Retired and relentless, Ridvan’s battle plan includes anything and everything that can preserve the village’s soul. He spends his days lit‑up by the coiled map of the “Keep Hasankeyf Alive” collective—a coalition of community activists and local politicians determined to keep the town’s narrative alive.
From the Ancient to the Modern: A Layers of History
The region is a treasure trove for historians. Assyrians, Romans, Seljuks, and countless other empires have left their stains in stories, subterranean chambers, and cave dwellings—tribes that were still living inside these caves until the 1970s, and now stand as tourist magnets.
“There’s so much history beneath your feet,” Ayhan laments, “Dig in a single spot, and you could find Roman pottery,” he says. “To let Hasankeyf disappear would be a crime against the past.”
Government’s Note Suite: Preservation in a Puddle
The Turkish administration claims that all necessary steps have been taken to safeguard these monuments, rolling out a ‘builder‑friendly’ narrative that the dam’s benefits outweigh the losses.
“If our strategies don’t succeed, then future generations could learn more from the water that washes away the past than the stones beneath it,” the government says.
Until that day comes, the murmur in the wind over the Tigris keeps whispering a promise—a town that thrives or a future that remembers. For now, Ridvan’s scarf is both shield and map, conducting the rhythm of a community stuck between the clamor for progress and a stubborn hope for preservation.
Hashankeyf’s Grand Move: From Mosques to Bulldozers
Imagine a 14th‑century Ayyubid mosque—saints, saints, and a whole lot of stone—being whisked away to a brand‑new “cultural park.” That was the reality of December 13, 2018, in Turkey’s south‑eastern Kurdish heartland, where the old city of Hasankeyf was turned into a construction playground.
The Big 1,600‑tonne Haul
- Artuklu Hamam (the sprawling bath house) was not left standing; it hopped onto a heavy wheeled platform and was carefully sledged down a custom‑built road to a brand‑new spot.
- Three kilometers (that’s about 1.8 miles) later, the mosque’s stony skeleton found a new turf.
- In place of the bustling bazaar’s giddy traffic, you’ll now see royally large dump trucks doling out sand and a lone crane that looks like a giant pessimistic octopus at the entrance.
Gloom at the Market
Once a vibrant marketplace, the old bazaar now hosts Zeki the butcher. He watches as traders shuffle past – bleak, like… well, a pile of crunching floor tiles. “No one’s coming to see this anymore,” he says. “Every bend a potential slip‑over to the ground, hoping you won’t get stuck!”
Who’s Riding the Bulldozer Wave?
Not everyone is throwing a tantrum. Meet Ahmet Akdeniz—who once amused himself with sheep flocks—now he’s at the helm of the Hasankeyf Cultural Association. His eyes sparkle with optimism, trusting the future will unfurl, “I can’t wait to start my new life, finally.”
What the President Touted in 2006
Back in 2006, during the inauguration of the Ilisu construction site, President Recep Tayyip Erdogan – then prime minister – promised the dam would be a golden ticket for locals. “The greatest benefit,” he assured, and the town’s new blueprint really is one wild, wheel‑powered, stone‑moving adventure.
Life on the Edge of the Tigris
A resident eyes the horizon from the roof of his home in Hasankeyf, staring at the water that’s about to soak the old town.
What’s on the Horizon?
The official line is a promise: a brand‑new Hasankeyf on the far side of the river, featuring spacious flats and a state‑of‑the‑art hospital. But the reality on the ground looks more like a patchwork of tiny buildings with muddy, unpaved roads snaking between them.
Current Reality
- Construction hasn’t sped up – it’s still a stretch of unfinished slabs.
- The original move‑in date was December, but now the only realistic hope is late summer.
- “Look how we live today,” says resident Akdeniz, pointing to his 45‑square‑metre (484‑square‑foot) house with cracked walls.
- He survives on a simple wood stove with his six‑person family: “All we want is to live with dignity.”
Dreams of a Tourist Paradise
Akdeniz’s optimism is high. He believes the ramped-up dam will turn Hasankeyf into a tourist hotspot. The citadel’s restoration and the water‑free caves lurking just downstream are key attractions.
- “There will be boats, a cable car. We’ll have hotels.”
- He adds, “Some of our young people are already learning to dive. Diving into Hasankeyf – can you imagine?”
Waiting for the Green Light
Engineers are still holding out for Erdogan’s go‑ahead to close a third floodgate and finish locking the water out. Once that happens, a three‑month countdown starts: the town will float away beneath the Tigris.
Inside the Heart of a Disappearing Village
Picture this: a humble corner of Hasankeyf, where the ancient caves still echo the whispers of past civilizations. In the midst of it all sits Suleyman Agalday, the owner of a tiny, makeshift café that’s become the town’s unofficial heartbeat.
What’s Going On?
The DSI, the agency behind Turkey’s dams, has been keeping mum about the finish line for the big project shaping the valley. “No exact date,” they said, but local newspapers swear it’s on track to wrap up this year.
Being a Resident Isn’t Easy These Days
- Delays & Money Problems: The dam’s saga began way back in the 1960s and has been anything but smooth.
- Uncertainty: “It’s been a roller‑coaster, and I never know what tomorrow brings,” Suleyman laments.
- Jobs on the Decline: With construction barred since 1981 as a protected zone, investors stayed away, leaving locals scrambling for work.
- Outmigration: Many families left to find better opportunities or simply crave larger homes.
A Get‑Out‑Of‑Town Reality Check
Last week, Suleyman hopped over to the neighboring province, taking a peek at Halfeti, a once‑fabled village that’s been submerged for two decades because of a dam on the Euphrates.
“Seeing that was a punch in the gut,” he says, “I just sat on the floor and couldn’t stop crying.”
What If Your Future Looks Like That?
For people like Suleyman, the looming dam isn’t just a big stone in the valley—it’s the looming redefinition of everyday life. The fear is real, the emotions raw, and the sense of community on the brink is palpable. It’s a story that’s still unfolding, with every day bringing a new twist to those living in its shadow.
