From the Nineveh Plains to Kabul
Ladies of Caubul (Plate 24, 1848) This image depicts Shakar Lab, known as “Sugar Lips,” the favorite wife of a former governor of Bamiyan and niece by marriage to Amir Dost Mohammad Khan. Image courtesy of Colored lithograph by Lt. James Rattray.
Uncovering a Chaldean in an Afghan court
By Sheila Turabaz
For over 150 years, the remarkable story of a Chaldean woman from the Nineveh Plains who became part of the ruling dynasty during 19th-century Afghanistan was largely forgotten or perhaps intentionally concealed in my family’s historical narrative. Now, through the power of modern genetic science, her story is being rediscovered and brought to light.
As a second-generation Afghan woman, born and raised in the West but with roots that reach deep into Afghanistan’s old aristocracy, I discovered this hidden lineage not through family records or archival documents, but through the DNA I share with hundreds of Chaldeans in the diaspora. Most of these connections are with Chaldean-Americans, with others scattered across Canada, Australia, and Europe.
While this finding is based on my own family line, it raises the possibility that Chaldeans have left traces in regions and communities not previously associated with their history.
My genetic genealogy journey
Although my family was compelled to leave behind their homes and the very foundation of their lives in Kabul following the 1978 communist coup d’état and subsequent war, our roots lie predominantly in the Pashtun ethnic group, long the dominant force in Afghan society and politics. My exploration into my family’s genetic origins began with my maternal grandmother’s paternal line, which traces back to the Mohammadzai, a prominent subclan of the Barakzai tribe.
The Barakzai are part of the larger Durrani Pashtun tribal confederation. From the early nineteenth century onward, it was the Mohammadzai who emerged as the most powerful political force in Afghanistan. The Mohammadzais established a royal dynasty that shaped Afghanistan’s history from 1826 until the 1970s, when the monarchy was abolished after King Mohammad Zahir Shah (1914–2007) was deposed by his cousin Mohammad Daoud Khan (1909–1978).
Daoud Khan then served as president of the new republic until he was overthrown and murdered along with his family in a communist coup in 1978. This event marked the end of the ruling dynasty and the beginning of decades of violence and bloodshed in Afghanistan. The Mohammadzais ultimately became the most prominent face of Afghan power in the modern era, from the monarchy through to the republic.
My grandmother’s third great-grandfather, Sardar Payinda Khan Mohammadzai (1758–1799), was a chief of the Barakzai tribe whose leadership laid the foundation for his family’s rise to power. Although his sons were still young when he was executed in 1799, they would go on to dominate Afghan politics in the nineteenth century as the founders of the Barakzai-Mohammadzai dynasty.
Among his descendants were several major rulers, including Amir Dost Mohammad Khan (1792–1863). It was under Dost Mohammad Khan’s leadership that the country began to take shape as a modern state. My grandmother’s second great- grandfather, Sardar Said Mohammad Khan (1797–1860), was the half-brother of Dost and considered one of the influential “Peshawar Sardars,” a group of brothers who held semi-autonomous control over Peshawar and its surroundings during the turbulent early nineteenth century. Sardar is a Persian-derived honorific meaning “chief” or “leader,” historically used across Persia, Central and South Asia for princes or nobles, senior military commanders, and tribal chiefs.
Remarkably, Dost Mohammad Khan’s fifth eldest son, Sardar Mohammad Azam Khan (1818- 1869), who was our ancestor’s cousin, married the daughter of the head of the Armenian community in Kabul in 1847. This is a rare and well-documented example of intermarriage between the Afghan ruling elite and a Christian woman.
At that time, the Armenian community in Kabul was small but still notable, with members serving as merchants, translators, and artillery officers. It is one of the few examples where the identity of a Christian wife was actually preserved in written records, providing a rare glimpse into the social fabric of nineteenth century Kabul.
Historian Dr. Jonathan L. Lee, drawing on the observations of Sir Herbert Benjamin Edwardes (a British political agent involved in Afghan affairs in the nineteenth century), noted that other sons of the Amir also sought to marry Armenian women in personal communication with the author.
The big DNA discovery
The real breakthrough in my research came when modern DNA testing revealed a link that no source, oral or written, had ever hinted at: my grandmother’s paternal Pashtun Mohammadzai lineage is genetically connected to Chaldeans from the Nineveh Plains region of northern Iraq.
I submitted DNA samples from several relatives, including my grandmother, mother, siblings, myself, and my grandmother’s nephew, to various commercial testing companies. The results were undeniable: our family shares clear DNA segments with more than 265 individuals from the Chaldean diaspora, especially those living in Metro Detroit and San Diego.
A clear majority of these DNA matches, commonly referred to as distant cousins, trace their ancestry back to Tel Keppe, Alqosh and Mosul, with Baghdad representing a more recent, internally driven relocation. To a lesser extent, there are also ancestral links to Tesqopa, Batnaya, Baqofah, Bakhdida, Kirkuk and Zakho.
The pattern became even more striking when I looked at their family names. Recurring Chaldean surnames that are well known in the community appeared over and over again. As Dr. Adhid Miri wrote in the 2024 article “What’s in a Name,” the study of names is a powerful tool used in genealogical research to gain insight into the identity of one’s ancestors— and in my family’s case, unveiling hidden connections.
During my genealogical research, I identified recurring common Chaldean surnames such as Abbo, Abouna, Achoo, Gammo, Hanna, Jajjo, Marogy, Matti, Putrus, Saco, Shamoun, Tobia, Toma, Yaldoo, Younan, and many others.
This kind of genetic overlap simply cannot be explained by distant or ancient connections between Pashtuns and Chaldeans, since these two populations have distinct genetic histories. The sheer number of DNA matches, the specific shared DNA segments, and the recurrence of well-known Chaldean surnames leave little doubt about the origin of this connection.
In addition to commercial DNA tests, I also submitted my grandmother’s DNA for qpAdm analysis, a well-regarded scientific method in population genetics. The results confirmed that the Chaldean ancestry in her DNA most likely came from a relatively recent ancestor.
The most convincing explanation is that this Chaldean connection traces back to a woman from the Nineveh Plains who, by some unknown journey, entered my family line. Since the direct male lineage is well documented and exclusively Pashtun, the genetic evidence points strongly to a woman whose story survives in our DNA and forged this unexpected link. All signs point to the wife of Sardar Mohammad Husain Khan, my grandmother’s great-grandfather who was born between 1835 and 1845, as the most likely source of Chaldean ancestry in our family.
My grandmother’s family tree is unusually well documented for Afghanistan, where records were often lost, intentionally destroyed or never kept at all. Each generation on her paternal side, going back to the 17th century, is recorded in both historical sources and personal family records, except for one crucial link.
My grandmother’s third great-grandfather, Sardar Payinda Khan, married women from both Pashtun and non-Pashtun backgrounds to secure alliances. His wives included members of leading Pashtun tribes, Persian Qizilbash (who were Shia Muslims) Tajiks, and even a woman from the Siyaposh people of Nuristan, who at that time still practiced their indigenous pre-Islamic faith.
By marrying across ethnic and religious lines, Payinda Khan strengthened his family’s ties throughout Afghanistan’s diverse society. His son, my grandmother’s second great- grandfather, Sardar Said Mohammad Khan, also had wives from several major Pashtun tribes as well as a Persian Qizilbash wife, reflecting the elite custom of forging alliances through marriage.
The next generation, Sardar Mohammad Husain Khan, my grandmother’s great- grandfather, who was a feudal landlord, is the exception. His wife’s identity is missing from all official and family records. We know he had two sons, although one was omitted from the official records due to a mental disability, but nothing is mentioned about their mother. The absence of information hints that some aspects of the family’s history may have been quietly left out.
This gap is striking in a lineage otherwise recorded with unusual detail. It suggests that Husain Khan’s wife may have been an outsider, possibly the Chaldean woman whose DNA appears in our family today. Unlike tribal Pashtuns, who were famously endogamous, the Mohammadzais regularly married outside their lineage, using such alliances to co-opt rivals and strengthen political networks for example.
This more flexible approach made it possible for individuals, especially women, of diverse origins, including non-Pashtun and non-Muslim backgrounds, to enter Afghan households. These identities were often omitted or vaguely recorded in historical sources and genealogies, sometimes noted only as “a lady from X tribe or ethnicity”.
Was my Chaldean ancestor brought to Afghanistan as a wife by choice, arrangement, or captivity? Did other Chaldeans also make their way to Afghanistan at that time? It remains unclear exactly how such women became part of Afghan families.
In some cases, concubines or women of slave origin had their children recognized by the household; in others, only children of officially recognized wives were fully integrated into the noble lineage. While we cannot know the exact circumstances, it is likely that an element of coercion or lack of true agency was involved for some women in these situations. Whether my ancestor entered as a wife or in some other capacity, her descendants became part of privileged Afghan circles. Sadly, her true origins may have been concealed or gradually forgotten over time.
A note on identity
It is important to clarify how Christian identity was recorded in nineteenth-century Afghanistan. In contemporary sources, Christians of eastern origin were most often described as Armenian or Georgian, with little explicit reference to other eastern Christian ethnic groups. Until the mid-19th century, the Ottoman Empire classified Chaldeans, Assyrians, and Armenians together as part of the Armenian millet, meaning one general religious community.
As a result, women who were actually Chaldean Catholic Christians from the Nineveh Plains region in Ottoman Mesopotamia may have been recorded as Armenian in historical sources. This is not a minor detail. It shows how the story of Afghan and Chaldean connections could be hidden behind broad labels, and why discovering this ancestry today requires both science and careful historical research.
A wider pattern?
While this began as a personal quest, my genetic research revealed clues that such connections may not be unique. The evidence points to other descendants of Pashtun nobility who also share genetic ties with the Chaldean community.
My case might be just one example, raising the possibility that ties between the Chaldeans and the Pashtuns were not entirely unheard of, even if the details have faded from collective memory. Perhaps this is just one small fragment of a much larger human story of migration, adaptation, and unexpected kinship.
As Chaldean American author and filmmaker Weam Namou observes, the very qualities that have long defined the Chaldean community, such as historical literacy, multilingualism and cultural adaptability, may have enabled displaced individuals to integrate into new environments, including elite Afghan households.
“This context helps explain,” Namou notes, “how, despite adversity, a Chaldean woman’s story could become woven into an Afghan lineage.”
It is not very common to find references to Christian communities in Afghanistan from the nineteenth century, the period connected to my Chaldean ancestor. Kandahar was the tribal homeland of the Afghan royal families, but most kings ruled from Kabul.
Yet in this era, a rare piece of evidence appears: a detailed city plan of Kandahar, likely drawn in 1840 by a Muslim surveyor during the British occupation, marking a distinct mahalla or neighborhood associated with Christians.
A few decades later, an almost identical version of this map appeared, suggesting that the idea of a Christian quarter in Kandahar was recorded more than once, though how long such a neighborhood may have existed remains uncertain. While there is no direct evidence that links my ancestor to this Christian quarter, the existence of such a neighborhood suggests that Christian minorities, possibly including people with roots in Mosul and the Nineveh Plains, were visible enough to be recorded in the city’s layout.
“As anthropologist William B. Trousdale notes in Kandahar in the Nineteenth Century (2021): “Across the Shikarpur Bazaar from the Hindus, in the southeast quarter, are the ‘Mosuleeha,’ or Christians, possibly from the Christian community at Mosul in northern Iraq, but more likely Armenians whose homeland is not far from Mosul. While the Christians in Kandahar, as well as in Kabul, at this time were Armenians, the identification with Mosul may simply have been synonymous with Christians in Kandahar.”
A story still unfolding
This discovery has sparked both curiosity and astonishment within my own family, challenging our long-held assumptions about our heritage. The journey of tracing this lineage has transformed the way I think about my own identity.
It almost reads like a novel: a young Chaldean woman from Ottoman Mesopotamia becoming the ancestor of Afghan nobility, only to be rediscovered generations later by her descendant through science. It serves as a powerful reminder that our histories are often interwoven in unexpected ways.
I carry a sincere admiration for the Chaldean people, the indigenous sons and daughters of ancient Mesopotamia, who have managed to preserve their faith and traditions through countless generations against all odds. It is a privilege to know that I carry a part of this remarkable legacy.
While the precise route and circumstances by which my Chaldean ancestor became part of my family remain unclear, I want to acknowledge the uncertainties and honor her memory, along with all those whose personal stories have been lost to history.
This ongoing research is my attempt to shed light on what little can still be known, and I hope that, in time, new details may emerge that will further illuminate her journey and the wider history it represents. Because this story is still unfolding, new details may yet come to light. If you have information or even the slightest curiosity that might connect to this history, I would love to hear from you.
Long before my Chaldean ancestor found her way to Afghanistan, legends told of Saint Thomas and early Christian communities traveling east across Persia and into Central and South Asia. My own family’s genetic connection to the Chaldeans is one more reminder that Christianity’s footprints in Asia were as complex and surprising as the Silk Roads themselves.
Although the details of her origins and journey remain uncertain, I hope she managed to hold on to something of her Chaldean heritage, whether a prayer, a custom, or a fragment of memory. Through fate or through force, her life became a thread in the fabric of Afghan history, and the traces of her life, carried by generations, still linger in our DNA today.