Kurds Enter the Global Gaming Boom

In post-conflict Iraq, young Kurds are turning to the gaming industry to tell the stories no one else will and claim their place in one of the world’s fastest-growing industries

Haron Younis sees an opening in the gaming world—and he’s ready to fill it. The 30-year-old co-founded a game development studio in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq (KRI), determined to build local games that speak to an international audience.

“We have all the indicators and evidence to show we know the global market and are confident of success,” says Younis, whose team is preparing to launch their first game demo at the Devcom Developer Conference in Germany this summer.

Operation Stutter, a psychological horror game set during the 1980s Cold War era, follows a photojournalist who witnesses a disaster while working with the government on a secret nuclear operation. The game dives into themes of trauma and global conflict, territory that resonates with Kurdish history, but Younis is careful not to anchor it too heavily in local suffering.

“We focus instead on celebrating our heritage… we feel it is equally important to remind the world that there is a unique culture, language, and people in Kurdistan,” he says.

For many Kurds, reminders of past violence are never far away. In Duhok, Younis’s hometown, people still gather at the Nizarkê Fortress to mourn those lost during Saddam Hussein’s Anfal campaign, when as many as 100,000 Kurds were killed and 4,000 villages were wiped off the map. For many, it’s the last place they saw loved ones before they were taken south and massacred. Older generations still tell of the horrors that became part of daily life during that time.

“Every two or three years, they find another mass grave,” says Younis, whose father fought against the Baathist regime.

Although Younis was born after Kurdish regions gained de facto autonomy in 1992, the trauma lingers—and resurfaces with each new crisis, most recently during the ISIS onslaught of 2014. “This is part of our lives still, it never feels like calmness is fully achieved because every now and then something else happens that brings up the trauma,” he says.

But games, Younis believes, can offer an alternative kind of narrative. His next game, currently under production, invites players to participate in a story that sets traditional Kurdish folktales in a contemporary fantasy environment. He discovered Greek mythology, Renaissance Italy, and medieval Japan through gaming, and believes games can be a powerful vessel for cultural preservation and representation. “Most players engage with games for fun, but in the process, they absorb cultural, historical, and artistic elements without even realizing it,” he says.

Iraq’s video game market is expected to be worth $3.48 million by 2025, with two million users projected by 2029. As demand for games with local relevance grows, developers in the KRI are positioning themselves to meet it. But to compete with regional players like Egypt, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia, they say they need more support.

Danar Kayfi, an independent developer and manager of the Arabic game Game Zanga, sees the potential—but also the limits. “Local studios are talented, but many lack the resources to scale up or market their games globally,” he says.

He and others are hoping for a breakout game—something like Poland’s The Witcher series, which drew global attention to Polish folklore and put the country on the gaming map. “This could open doors for Kurdish stories to reach broader audiences and make the region more appealing for regional or global partnerships. It would also create jobs and help retain local talent that might otherwise move abroad for better opportunities,” says Kayfi.

But it won’t be easy. While big international studios invest hundreds of millions to create state-of-the-art worlds with lifelike characters, low-budget independent game developers need to find a niche. Erbil-based studio FastXPlay is among the few trying to fill that gap. After modest success with their debut game, End up Alone, the team is working on A Way Behind. The game, based on a novel by studio founder Rabar Ismail, follows a young man investigating his father’s death in a fictional land modeled after Erbil.

“It’s harder than adapting a book into a movie because we need to create every aspect of the architecture, landscape, and characters,” says Akram, a developer at the studio.

The challenge is compounded by a lack of digital Kurdish content. Developers often have to create everything from scratch—including expensive 3D models for character animation. “The big gaming companies have budgets of millions for this because the more you pay, the more realistic the game will be,” Akram explains.

Finding skilled people is another hurdle. Few specialize in game development in a country where most can’t make a living doing it. Many are like Akram, who codes games after hours while holding down a full-time job as an automation engineer.

Still, the passion is real. A few pioneers are doing everything they can to keep Kurdish storytelling alive in the digital age.

Younis has been in the industry for seven years. He sees big potential. “It’s a low-risk, high-reward business,” he says. A small investment in a game, if it finds an audience, can yield outsized returns—especially through global platforms like Steam, which make international distribution easier than ever.

With the global video game market projected to reach $312 billion by 2027—more than film and music combined—Younis believes Kurdistan has a chance to carve out its place.

Alan Salam Mohammed is doing his part to prepare the next generation. He teaches a new bachelor’s program in Game Development and Media Design at the University of Kurdistan Hewlêr. He’s also a self-taught game designer who grew up gaming, taught himself 3D modeling, and now makes an indie action game called Ratslayer, available on the platform itch.io.

His advice to students? Don’t quit your day job. “Young people here would love to work in gaming, but with the current economy and job market, they just want jobs,” he says.

Still, he’s optimistic. “I trust developers like Kevir Entertainment, myself, and others to publish something good and give Kurdistan its big break, then there will be more work in the gaming sector,” he says.

That’s the goal for Younis and his team at Kevir. They’re not just making games; they’re trying to build an ecosystem conducive to growth. If they succeed, they could blow the doors wide open for game production in Kurdistan. “This is one of the largest industries in the world, and we have no representation—not due to lack of talent or skills, but because the ecosystem is not accommodating,” Younis says.

In August, he’ll speak at Devcom in Germany to spotlight the Kurdish gaming scene and the cultural power of video games.

“Nobody knows our stories better than we do,” he says. “Games are a beautiful way to bring attention to this rich culture and open up conversations.” In a world that has too often ignored the Kurdish people, video games may just be the medium that finally compels it to listen.

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