The journey of Nureddin Sofi, which began as a child tending horses along the border areas of Qamishlo near Nusaybin (Nisêbîn), evolved over time into that of a poet, a commander, a bard, a dengbêj, a scholar, both Arab and Kurd. Following the path of his search, he went on to reshape the trajectory of an era.
Sofi studied chemistry in Aleppo (Heleb) and driven by his quest, embarked on a restless journey through Qamishlo, Damascus (Şam), Aleppo, and Lebanon. He was courageous, modest, and carried the dignity of mountains. He did not carry money in his pocket and was remembered for his distinctive glasses.
Before even reaching the age of twenty, he set out on a remarkable journey that would continue uninterrupted for thirty years amid harsh wars. He passed through lands behind mountains and at the crossroads of borders; he lifted the morale of his comrades and fighters with his poetry, sharing works such as “33 Bullets” and “Dialogue” on misty and rainy days. He would say, “For the sake of Adil, Nuda, and Avaresh.”
Those who debated the age of science, who gathered bunches of narcissus flowers in the mountains, remember him, miss him, and recount his memory. All of them move toward the light of a new and renewed time.
Pitch-dark nights, water springs, long mountain paths, oak trees, and flocks of seagulls bore witness to the roads Sofi walked. Along the line stretching from Lebanon to Damascus, from Diyarbakir (Amed) to the Zagros Mountains, he carried the years he lived in a bag filled with books, pens, and notebooks. He walked alongside the dark-eyed children of Rojava, the wounded, and the horsemen.
Sofi always moved in close harmony with the sounds of nature; he wove into his story the meowing of cats, the climb of a squirrel up a tree, the arrival of spring, and the swelling of floods. He asked after the well-being of the people he met along the way and became a witness to the stories of those walking the same paths. “Come, let us sit and talk about editing the book; I have written about the condition of Syria as it passes through the Middle East. This is the map of the Kurds’ path and time,” he would say, adding, “I have written of wars of exhaustion and of days that determine destiny.”
He would say that the journey of life begins where one is born. He spoke of Kurdish existence from the high mountains. The great commander never accepted denial: “Kurd,” he would say, “occupation over Kurds and Kurdistan cannot be accepted.” His tone was firm and powerful. He spoke to the mountains, addressed the flowers, insects, and flowing rivers. He passed on the fluid joy of life to his comrades. War, tactics, defeat, victory, poetry, and love of homeland never left his tongue.
There was no ambush he did not face, no dream he did not build for his homeland. He trained thousands of people and ensured that the rejection of occupation and annexation was learned. He was the color of the mountains; he was Rojava and Kurdistan. Days spent on mountaintops with bulgur pilaf, beans, and an onion, the longing for April’s almond blossoms, and notes passed from hand to hand were inseparable parts of his journey.
In the Metina Mountains, Sofi would solve riddles; in the evenings he sang folk songs and always carried his golden-colored dagger, his war notebook, and his diary. Taking to the roads of Diyarbakir, he told the story of his era.
Sofi made his father’s words, “You must defend the rights of the poor”, his life philosophy. He would say that he stood for the rights of the poor. Across many regions such as Lebanon, Damascus, Diyarbakir, Mosul, Shengal, Dersim, and Merivan, he spoke of being a companion to Sabri, Haki, Nalin, Bawer, Cemal, and many others.
He was also a companion to Rüstem, Rıza, Haydar, and Kasım, keeping all traces of the past alive in his memory along with its enduring recollections: “Ah, that old past, those memories I left behind, still alive…”
He read the words of Melayê Cizîrî, Feqî Teyran, Tahîrê Uryan, and Cegerxwîn, accompanying those who walked along mountain slopes, narrow paths, in the misty air of Garê and under the rain with his poetry.
Sofi was remembered as “the story left behind to those who set out on the road, who crossed the waters, who dreamed and departed.” He would say, “We could not tell, we could not write about those who fought in their own mountains.” The urgency he carried, the need to act quickly, to protect, and to achieve, reflected a shared consciousness of being fighters of the same family, the same times, and the same struggle.
During a break under the shade of an oak tree, Sofi bid farewell to his comrades with the words, “Take care of yourselves, I will come again.”
Remembered as a companion on the journey of life, Sofi was last seen on the road to Bergarê, singing at the top of his voice the song “Ay lê gulê, ay gewrê” by Mihemed Şêxo together with Bahtiyar.
Nureddin Sofi fell a martyr in Garê on April 6, 2021.
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