Shafaq News

On a bend of the Euphrates River in western Iraq, an island sits wrapped in water and silence. Palm trees sway above abandoned houses, a school building still stands, and electricity lines and water pipes remain in place. Yet no one lives there.

The island, known as Alus Island, lies in the middle of the river near Haditha. Once home to a close-knit community, it has been emptying for nearly two decades. Its intact infrastructure and overgrown orchards give it the appearance of a place paused in time, raising a question that has lingered along this stretch of the Euphrates for years: how did a functioning settlement simply fade away?

Alus was not a marginal outpost; for generations, families lived from farming and river trade, passing homes and land down through decades. The island housed one of the earliest primary schools in the area and a small health clinic, signs of a settled community integrated into the life of the wider district rather than isolated from it.

According to Amer Abdul Razzaq, a researcher and archaeological expert, Alus Island is part of a broader pattern of river islands that formed where the Euphrates widens, creating fertile ground for settlement. He told Shafaq News that evidence on the island suggests human presence extending far earlier than the modern village, giving it historical value beyond its abandoned houses.

“Settlement here goes back more than half a century, and possibly much further,” Abdul Razzaq said. “There are remains that indicate older periods, which makes the island important not only socially, but historically.”

At its height, Alus supported a stable population, Abdul Razzaq said, with institutions that reflected long-term habitation rather than temporary use. That continuity, he added, is what makes its abandonment striking. Today, more than 100 houses stand empty, surrounded by neglected groves of lemon, olive, and date palms.

For local officials, the disappearance of Alus’s population is less mysterious than cumulative. Ammar Ali Hamdi, director of antiquities in Anbar, told our agency that the island’s decline was driven by a series of practical pressures that slowly made life there untenable.

Repeated flooding of the Euphrates damaged homes and farmland, and the bridge connecting the island to the mainland collapsed more than once, cutting residents off for extended periods. Access to schools beyond the primary level, healthcare, and jobs required daily travel that became increasingly difficult.

“People did not leave overnight,” Hamdi explained. “They moved gradually, especially families whose children needed to continue their education. Many relocated to Haditha, Ramadi, or Baghdad.”

The island’s architecture reflects its layered past. Most homes were built from mud brick, with stone added in later periods. Among the remaining landmarks are an old mosque and the shrine of Sheikh Abdul Qader Al-Alusi, a religious figure whose presence once gave the island particular cultural standing. Alus was known locally for producing teachers, engineers, doctors, and scholars, a reputation that contrasts sharply with its current emptiness.

Today, although the island is largely uninhabited, it still draws occasional visitors. Some come out of curiosity, others for quiet picnics among the palms, and a few to see the historic buildings that remain officially registered as heritage sites. But there is no formal conservation work, no visitor infrastructure, and no permanent oversight.

That has not stopped talk of revival – both Hamdi and Abdul Razzaq pointed to discussions with local authorities and visits by tourism and antiquities officials exploring the possibility of rehabilitating Alus as a heritage and tourism site.

For now, Alus Island remains suspended between past and possibility. Its houses still stand, its school still bears its name, and its orchards still root into fertile soil. What is missing is not stone or timber, but the continuity of daily life.

Along the Euphrates, the island waits, intact and empty, a reminder that what disappears first is often not buildings, but communities.

Written and edited by Shafaq News staff.