Syrian Olive Trees Put Down Roots in Kurdish Iraq

Suleiman Sheikho, from Syria's Kurdish Afrin region, is believed to be the first person to introduce the olive oil business to Iraqi Kurdish farmers. AFP
Suleiman Sheikho, from Syria's Kurdish Afrin region, is believed to be the first person to introduce the olive oil business to Iraqi Kurdish farmers. AFP
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Syrian Olive Trees Put Down Roots in Kurdish Iraq

Suleiman Sheikho, from Syria's Kurdish Afrin region, is believed to be the first person to introduce the olive oil business to Iraqi Kurdish farmers. AFP
Suleiman Sheikho, from Syria's Kurdish Afrin region, is believed to be the first person to introduce the olive oil business to Iraqi Kurdish farmers. AFP

Tucked away in the rolling hills of Iraqi Kurdistan is a hidden treasure: tens of thousands of olive trees, thriving in a new homeland after being smuggled from neighboring Syria.

Their branches are heaving with bright purple-black olives ready to be picked.

Their caretaker, Syrian Kurdish businessman Suleiman Sheikho, is proud to have brought the olive oil business to Iraq's autonomous north, AFP reported.

"This year was a good year," said 58-year-old Sheikho, who has been transporting trees from his native Afrin in northwest Syria into Kurdish Iraq since 2007.

"On this farm I have 42,000 olive trees, all of which I brought from Afrin when they were three years old," he told AFP, gesturing to neat rows reaching the horizon.

In early 2018, his mission took on a new urgency.

Turkey, which saw the semi-autonomous Kurdish zone of Afrin on its border as a threat, backed an offensive by Syrian opposition groups to take control of the canton.

The operation, dubbed "Olive Branch," displaced tens of thousands, many of whom had made their living for decades by producing olive oil in the area's mild climate.

Sheikho himself is a fourth-generation olive farmer and had 4,000 trees in Afrin that are older than a century.

The slender businessman, who once served as the head of Afrin Union for Olive Production, sprung into action.

He transported some of his trees legally, but smuggled others across the border, managed on both sides by autonomous Kurdish authorities.

Some of the new transplants joined his orchard, located among luxurious summer villas near the regional capital Arbil. He sold others to farmers across Kurdish Iraq.

Raw olives are a staple on Levantine lunch tables, while their oil is both used in cooking and drizzled on top of favorite appetizers like hummus.

The oil can also be used to make soap, while the dark, sawdust-like residue from olives pressed in the autumn is often burned to heat houses in winter.

- Fertile ground ahead -

Olive trees struggle in the blistering heat and desert landscapes of Iraq, so the yellowish-green oil was long imported at great expense from Lebanon, Syria or Turkey.

A domestic oil industry could change all that.

Sheikho was relieved to find the soil near Arbil as rich as in his hometown, but the warmer temperatures meant his trees required more robust irrigation networks.

According to AFP, there are two harvests a year, in February and November.

He built a press, where the olives are separated from twigs and leaves, pitted, then squeezed to produce thick, aromatic oil.

Dressed in a charcoal grey blazer during AFP's visit, Sheikho tested the quality by drinking it raw from the press, before the viscous fluid was poured into plastic jugs.

"For every 100 kilos of olives, I produced 23 kilos of olive oil," he told AFP.

Olive oil production had not taken root when Sheikho began working there, but has thrived since Syrians displaced by their country's nearly decade-long war began moving there.

According to the Kurdish regional government's (KRG) agriculture ministry, there were just over 169,000 olive trees in the Kurdish region in 2008.

Since then, the ministry invested some $23 million in planting and importing the trees, which now number around four million, it estimates.

There are around a half-dozen olive presses, employing many Syrian Kurds from Afrin.

Sheikho sees more fertile ground ahead.

"The farmers here have great ideas and they are extremely ambitious," he told AFP.

"With the hard work and experience of Afrin's farmers, they are going to create a very bright future for olive business."



In Northern Syria, Displaced Owners Return to Houses with No Roofs

 A view of damaged and looted homes in a neighborhood in Maarat al-Numan, on the outskirts of Idlib, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025. (AP)
A view of damaged and looted homes in a neighborhood in Maarat al-Numan, on the outskirts of Idlib, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025. (AP)
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In Northern Syria, Displaced Owners Return to Houses with No Roofs

 A view of damaged and looted homes in a neighborhood in Maarat al-Numan, on the outskirts of Idlib, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025. (AP)
A view of damaged and looted homes in a neighborhood in Maarat al-Numan, on the outskirts of Idlib, Syria, Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025. (AP)

After a decade of war and displacement, many Syrians are returning to their homes, only to find them looted and roofless.

In towns like Maarat al-Numan and Kfar Nabl in northern Syria, residents who fled years ago have returned since the fall of former President Bashar al-Assad but are now confronting the harsh reality of widespread theft and destruction.

Strategically located on the route between the cities of Aleppo and Damascus, Maarat al-Numan became a touchpoint in the Syrian civil war.

Assad's forces seized the area back from opposition control in 2020. After that, groups affiliated with Assad looted houses and demolished some of them to extract valuable materials and furniture, human rights groups said. Steel and wires were taken out of rooftops to be sold.

An aerial video of the area shows rows of houses that are still standing but with their roofs missing.

Anmar Zaatour, a resident who left in 2019, said he came back in 2025 to find his home destroyed.

“There was nowhere to put our children,” he said. "This destruction isn’t from the bombing, it was the military. And it’s not just mine, it’s my neighbors, and friends.”

Zakaria al-Awwad burst into tears of mixed joy and sorrow upon his return to Maarat al-Numan. His house was destroyed, “one of the first ones to get hit,” he said.

“There is no place like home,” he said. “Even if I have to put on a sheet of cloth, it is better than anything else. We have freedom now, and that is priceless.”

Others were more circumspect about the future.

“The problem is, it’s impossible to resume a life without a roof,” said returning resident Hassan Barbesh. “Maarat al-Numan is an impoverished town. It’s a very difficult task to start from scratch.”