A dense mist hangs low over the wetlands as the sun begins to rise in southern Iraq. First light spreads across a vast network of winding waterways, edged with thick reeds, as flocks of birds zip overhead. By the time the sun clears the horizon, the marshes have begun to stir. Buffalo wade through the shallows and thin columns of smoke rise slowly from cooking fires along the water’s edge.
For tour guide and travel blogger Zoe Stephens, these quiet early hours reveal the rhythm of life in the marshlands. “It’s a calm, reflective atmosphere where you naturally slow down and take in your surroundings,” she says.
Known as the cradle of civilisation and reputedly the location of the biblical Garden of Eden; the Mesopotamian wetlands stretch right across southern Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers spread into a broad floodplain before reaching the Persian Gulf. Together, they form one of the most ancient and storied wetland ecosystems in the world.
In 2016, the region gained international recognition when the United Nations included the marshlands as part of the Ahwar of Southern Iraq World Heritage Site. They support a wide range of wildlife and serve as an essential stopover for migratory birds, from flamingos, to pelicans, to eagles.
They are also home to the Maʻdān, colloquially known as the Marsh Arabs, who have lived here for more than 5,000 years and have cultural traditions traceable to the ancient Sumerians. Ornate reed houses line the waterways and traditional wooden narrowboats remain central to daily life. According to Zoe, the relationship between people and landscape becomes immediately clear once you spend time here. “The Iraqi marshes are both environmentally and culturally important,” she says.
Despite their historical resilience, the marshes face growing climate-related pressure. “In some areas the environmental pressures are noticeable,” Zoe says. “Water levels fluctuate depending on rainfall, drought, and the amount of water flowing from the Tigris and Euphrates.”
Azzam Alwash, CEO and founder of Iraq’s first environmental NGO Nature Iraq, echoes this sentiment. The marshes, he explains, depend on a precise ecological cycle that has been disrupted. “The entire biodiversity depends on a flood pulse,” he says. “It comes at a precise time, when reeds are growing, when fish are spawning, when birds are hatching. But that pulse is now essentially gone because of dams inside Iraq, but mostly outside.”
For thousands of years, this flood cycle sustained both the wetlands and the agriculture around them. “Irrigated agriculture has lasted for 8,000, maybe 9,000 years in southern Iraq because of these floods,” he says. “The floods healed the farmland by washing away the salts… renewing vitality.”
Large parts of the marshes were drained during the late twentieth century as reprisal for the Ma’dan’s role in the 1991 uprisings and, by 2003, over 90% of the wetland ecosystem was destroyed. After the US invasion, however, restoration efforts allowed water to return to wide areas and the marshes began to recover.
For Azzam, who left Iraq in 1978, returning after decades away evoked a visceral reaction. “It was like a physical blow,” he recalls. Vast swathes of once lush and fertile marshland had been transformed into a dry, barren landscape, interrupted only by the occasional tamarisk tree. “Seeing satellite pictures is one thing, seeing it with your own eyes is something else,” Azzam says.
There was, however, a sense of new possibilities. “The nightmare was over. It was a new day. You could control your future, do something.” In the immediate aftermath of the invasion, restoration began largely through local action, with Marsh Arab communities quickly breaking embankments and disabling pumping stations. Their efforts, in conjunction with the work of environmental groups such as Nature Iraq, saw around 75% of the marshes restored by 2008.
While the wetlands have partially recovered, increasing water scarcity has seen much of this progress reversed. “Climate change, along with upstream dams and past drainage projects, has made the ecosystem more fragile,” Zoe says. Azzam frames the crisis in even starker terms. “The issue is not just restoration of the marshes,” he says. “The issue is water bankruptcy… the death of agriculture, the death of irrigated land.”
For the communities that live here, environmental change is inseparable from daily life. Fishing, buffalo herding and reed harvesting all depend on stable water conditions and, when water levels shift, livelihoods must shift in tandem.
Zoe says Marsh Arab communities have shown resilience. “Many rebuilt their homes and livelihoods after parts of the marshes were restored following 2003.” Some have also turned to tourism, hosting visitors and sharing their way of life, creating new sources of income while raising awareness of the wetlands’ significance.
At the same time, local communities are becoming more politically active. Azzam says environmental pressure has pushed people to organise. “They gain access to politicians and use their democratic rights to demand help. That has been somewhat successful.”
But Azzam stresses that local action alone cannot solve the problem; the future of Iraq’s marshes also depends heavily on regional cooperation. “The solutions exist,” Azzam says, referencing his decades of research and policy proposals. “Implementation requires political will… and that will only come in crisis.”
Despite the uncertainty, Azzam’s outlook remains grounded in an interminable view of nature. “We need humility,” he says. “We are not the ultimate agents of change. We accelerate change, but we do not control it.” The marshes, he believes, will endure in some form: “they may change… but they will exist.”
- Published: 29th Arpil, 2026
- Location: Basra
- Country: Iraq
- Editor: Ben McInerny
- Photographer: Zoe Stephens
- Category: Environment
