Scent of the soul: How daffodils anchor Kurdish memory

Shafaq News- Erbil/ Kirkuk/ Al-Sulaymaniyah

Each spring, white petals crowned with golden hearts reappear across the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, a gentle sign of winter’s retreat and the quiet promise of warmer days. The daffodil is more than a seasonal bloom; it carries the scent of village hills, the hush of morning air, and the warmth of family rituals, filling homes with a fleeting yet lingering comfort that reaches far beyond its petals.

As sunlight glides over Kirkuk’s streets, small bouquets resting in plastic containers or tied with simple string catch the eye. Their fragrance drifts through the movement of the city, weaving into the rhythm of footsteps, voices, and daily life.

Kaweh Rasul, a longtime vendor, notices the early crowd even before the flowers reach the stalls. “People don’t haggle,” he explains to Shafaq News. “They come for the memories, for the sense that a piece of the mountains has been brought into the city.”

Um Dilshad, carrying a modest bouquet, recalls gathering the flowers in her childhood village. “They bring calm,” she reflects. “A little warmth of the countryside in the heart of the city.”

In Erbil, the Citadel and its surrounding streets burst with colors and scents, yet the daffodil maintains its devoted following. Sarbast Omar observes that the flowers “sell themselves,” particularly on weekends, often chosen as gifts that speak quietly but profoundly. For Aziz Karim, a university student, the ritual is part of family life. “Every season, I bring them home,” he told our agency. “Their scent carries the mountains into our living room, into our family’s memory.”

Heading east to Al-Sulaymaniyah, conversations over daffodils naturally drift toward poetry and song, reflecting the Region’s deep cultural heritage. Alan Mahmoud, a vendor in Al-Saray Market, explains that many buyers come for more than decoration. “The smell reminds people of old poems and songs. It’s a memory we treasure,” he notes. Most of the flowers come from nearby villages or small orchards, fresh yet ephemeral. Their brief life is part of the charm, a seasonal ritual that cannot be stored or postponed.

Unlike the bright colors or extravagant forms of imported flowers, the daffodil’s strength lies in its meaning and fragrance. In Kurdish homes, a simple vase by a window or on a living room table transforms a space, carrying the hush of mountains and the comfort of nostalgia. From mountain slopes to busy streets, from quiet stalls to warm homes, the daffodil moves through life like a whisper of memory, bridging generations and preserving identity.

In Iraqi Kurdistan, a single daffodil is never just a flower —it is a living memory, fragrant, enduring, and resilient, refusing to fade, a silent witness to the stories and hearts it has touched.