Mosul: a city you don’t leave the same

Could you imagine yourself living in a city destroyed by a war that ended seven years ago (April 2024, when I wrote this text)? Living among bombed buildings, where more than 5,000 people are still buried beneath the rubble, where some parts of the city have not yet been cleared of mines, and where almost every wall is marked by bullet impacts? A city where the scars of war are everywhere you look? Where every person you meet has lost someone they loved, in the most horrific circumstances?

I have to be honest: I had forgotten, or perhaps I had never truly understood, what the people of Mosul endured between June 2014 and July 2017, when Daesh (ISIS) decided to make this Iraqi city the capital of their so-called caliphate. For three long years, militants imposed a brutal and bloody regime upon its inhabitants.

Mosul is now free, as I discovered it when I first visited in April 2024. But everything still remains to be rebuilt, and the wounds of Mosul are still wide open. Mines continue to hide inside the old buildings where Daesh had established their headquarters. Many structures still threaten to collapse. Children play among the ruins, sometimes near unexploded bombs, wandering through these destroyed homes as if they were playgrounds. Displaced populations often remain in exile.

Walking through the streets of Mosul means facing a heartbreaking reality. Barbed wire lines the roads, burned and blackened cars from the explosions still lie scattered across the ground, and destroyed buildings stand as reminders of the violence that took place here. Red and white “safe” markings can be seen on buildings that have been cleared of debris. Simple concrete blocks, painted red and white, indicate the situation: on the white side, the area is considered safe. On the red side, entering means accepting the risk and danger. I cannot help but wonder about the children playing football in the nearby streets, those riding their bicycles, those living in the neighboring houses that their inhabitants have chosen to return to despite the dangers, simply because this is their home. All these areas remain open, accessible to anyone. We can enter almost any house, even those where the upper floors threaten to collapse.

The former house that Daesh transformed into a prison is just as accessible. A chill runs through us as our eyes move across this two-story building. Our minds try to reconstruct the images behind the stories we are told, trying to imagine the prisoners who were kept here by these men. As we are shown the bullets still embedded in the walls and the explosives left behind, words disappear. Our eyes fill with tears. There is nothing left but silence, and the sound of our own heartbeat echoing inside our heads.

The people I met in Mosul have marked my life forever. Saif became one of my closest friends, even though we have not seen each other much for two years (two very shorts encounters, in Turkey and Lebanon). He was the one who took care of us throughout our time in his city. He insisted on sharing everything he had lived through, and he has made it his life mission to rebuild his own life while telling the stories of the horrors of war to anyone willing to listen. Mostafa, a young Iraqi full of energy and enthusiasm, spent an entire day showing us his city. His dream is to travel the world, but before he can make it happen, he collects banknotes from visitors who come to discover Mosul.

Among Saif’s friends, one young man lost his father at the age of fifteen under Daesh rule. His father was sick, but they were not allowed to leave the city to seek treatment. His first love was killed during the war by an explosion. He himself was imprisoned and tortured by Daesh for two months, as shown by the scars on his hands : painful reminders of the electric pliers they used to torture him. I spent two nights with a strong woman who leads a family of three boys. She lost her husband, who died in her arms while she was pregnant with their youngest child. She had to raise her three sons alone, carrying the unbearable weight of grief.

This list is endless. Unfortunately, it could go on forever. I will not continue, but Saif has collected thousands of these stories and testimonies, which he has compiled into a book still waiting to find a publisher.

If you'd like to experience Mosul with us, meet the people who inspired this article, and discover the city through a slower, more human journey, we'd love to welcome you on one of our Iraq cultural tours.

Since then, Iraqis have slowly begun reclaiming these spaces as places of life again. The ground floors of buildings riddled with bullets and artillery impacts are becoming shops once more.

But beyond these scenes of destruction, you also encounter courageous souls wandering through these devastated neighborhoods, carrying stories of loss and hope. Mosul, with its deep scars, has become a symbol of humanity’s refusal to be broken : a city trying to rise again despite everything.

One day, while walking through one of the destroyed neighborhoods, I saw an old man standing alone, looking at the ruins of a house with his hands clasped behind his back. I wondered how many times he had returned to stand in front of what I imagined was once his home. I wondered whether, among the thousands of bodies still buried beneath the rubble, were members of his own family.

Without a doubt, it was in Mosul that I experienced the greatest generosity from Iraqis. I do not remember paying for many meals in this city, because every single time, people refused to let me pay for my own food. One day, as I was handing over money, someone waiting behind me in the queue stepped forward and paid for me before I could even react. I stood there with wide eyes, bowed my head in gratitude, knowing that fighting back would be useless. I had tried during my first days in Mosul, but nothing could change their determination.

You do not leave Mosul the same way you entered it. Something changes inside you. It makes you realize how brutal, cruel, and unjust this world can be. Like every traveler I know who has visited Mosul, a part of us remains there, wandering among those people who are still trying, alone, to rebuild their city and heal their wounds.

It was in this city that I received perhaps one of the greatest lessons of my journey. Beauty, strength, and resilience can emerge from the worst horrors of war. They did not wait for the world to wake up before rebuilding their city. After enduring years of hell, these broken souls found the courage to begin again, on their own.

A lifetime will not be enough to heal their wounds. Their hearts, their minds, and their bodies will forever carry the marks of executions, torture, and bombed buildings that took away the people they could never imagine living without. Yet they continue to fight for a normal life. They keep moving forward, trying to leave the past behind: even though the absence of their loved ones, the constant presence of destroyed buildings, and the physical and invisible scars will never allow them to forget.

The road to reconstruction is still long. But we carry their stories with us, determined to become their voices. Not a single day passes without me thinking of them. Proud. Dignified. Strong. So resilient. So courageous.

We hope this article has shown you a different side of Mosul: far beyond the headlines and the scars of war. A city that its people are rebuilding with remarkable resilience, generosity, and hope. Their stories deserve to be heard.
In April 2027, we're organizing a 10-day small-group expedition to Iraq. One of the highlights of the journey will be several days in Mosul, where we'll be accompanied by our friend Saif: the very person who welcomed us with such kindness and made us fall even more deeply in love with the city.
If you'd like to discover Mosul through the eyes of the people who call it home, we'd love to have you join us.
→ Explore our Iraq tour