Located at the heart of Diyarbakır’s old city (Sur district), the Grand Mosque – locally Ulu Cami or “Great Mosque” – is an architectural and cultural beacon. Often cited as the oldest mosque in Anatolia, it has drawn pilgrims and scholars for centuries. Its venerable stones speak of emperors and sultans, of conversion and continuity. To many Muslims it is revered as the beşinci Harem-i Şerif – the “fifth Noble Sanctuary” after Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem and Damascus. Along with the city’s famed fortress walls and gardens, the Ulu Cami anchors Diyarbakır’s rich tapestry of heritage.

The Grand Mosque Through the Ages: A Detailed Historical Timeline

Pre-Islamic Origins: The Site of the Ancient Martoma Church

Long before Ulu Cami’s first prayer call, this parcel of stone was sacred ground. Archaeological and textual sources suggest a temple once stood here, which later became a major Byzantine church. Geophysical surveys indicate the church was dedicated to Mar Thomas (St. Thomas) in the late antique period. Medieval Turkish tradition holds that Emperor Heraclius rebuilt or founded a church on this spot in the 620s CE. (In fact, sources describe a church built under Heraclius, intended to honor St. Thomas, thought to have been martyred nearby.) Whatever its exact provenance, the Mar Thomas Church was, by the 7th century, the largest Christian shrine in Amida (the ancient name of Diyarbakır), occupying a high point at the city’s core.

Diyarbakır sits on the Tigris’s upper valley, a key city in the Fertile Crescent. It was contested by Romans and Persians, annexed into Byzantium, and Christianized in late antiquity. The site that became Ulu Cami is continuous with this story: it lies just inside the first-century city walls and may overlay even earlier pagan foundations. The OAM-RC archaeological survey confirms this layered use: “The study area [was] used as a temple during the pre-Christian term, [then as] Mar Thoma Church after the adoption of Christianity, and currently used as The Ulu Mosque”. In other words, the ground itself has served as a sacred precinct for millennia.

The Christian community in Amid (as Diyarbakır was known) was large and prosperous. Contemporary inscriptions and travel accounts remark on the grand church by mid-7th century. While limited excavations have been conducted, documentary evidence implies the church had a classical basilical plan, possibly with a martyrium or apse. No visible remains of its mosaic floors or columns are exposed today, but travelers in the late Ottoman era noted re-used capitals and stone in the mosque’s walls (indeed, a few original column shafts inside the mosque show early-Christian style). A vivid (though debated) tradition from an 8th-century chronicle (the so-called Pseudo-Waqidi) claims the church was once partitioned: Muhammad’s followers and the Christian congregation worshipped side by side in the building after the city’s conquest. Modern scholars tend to dispute that scenario, viewing it instead as a later romanticization. By other accounts, a wooden mosque was erected adjacent to the Christian church. In any case, by the 7th century’s end the site had taken on a dual identity.

The Arab Conquest and the Dawn of a New Era (639 AD)

Everything changed in 639 CE, when the Rashidun Caliphate conquered Amida. Under Caliph Umar, the city fell to Muslim Arabs after a lengthy siege. According to Turkish tradition and historiography, Umar sanctified the site of the Martoma Church by dedicating it to Muslim prayer. The culture portal of the Turkish Ministry of Culture confirms: “Diyarbakır Ulu Camii was built on the place of the Martoma Church from 639, during the period of Caliph Umar (r.a.)”. In other words, the largest church in the city was converted into the first mosque of Diyarbakır in that year.

Arab-period records of the mosque are scarce. It is clear that from the 7th through the 10th centuries, the site functioned as a congregational mosque, coexisting with (and perhaps surrounding) a smaller portion of the former church. One early Muslim geographer, Nasir Khusraw, writing in the 11th century, still remarked on the presence of a church “next to” the mosque, which implies that any sharing of space had long ended. Over these centuries, Muslims from different tribes settled in the region, and the simple hypostyle mosque (likely just a hall and courtyard) would have sufficed. Its architecture at this stage was probably a humble wooden-roofed hall of unknown size, embellished here and there by recycled Roman columns in its walls (a common practice).

No substantial expansion is recorded until the arrival of the Seljuk Turks. Several historians note that by the 10th century the Ulu Cami was a venerable but modest structure, overshadowed by its own myth. Arabic sources do mention the Ameddi Mosque, but often in passing. The key point is that by the late 11th century, a new impetus would replace this early building entirely, ushering in our familiar grand mosque.

The Great Seljuk Renaissance: The Rebuilding by Sultan Malik-Shah (1091)

The mosque in its present form owes its core design to the Great Seljuk Sultan Melikşah (Alp Arslan’s son). In 1091–1092 CE (484 AH) the Seljuk court commissioned a far more monumental mosque on the old site. An extant inscription (in Kufic script) records that Sultan Malik-Shah I “rehabilitated” the mosque in that year, during the 5th year of his reign. Archival accounts emphasize that Malik-Shah sought to bring the prestige of Damascus to Diyarbakır: in fact, the new Ulu Cami deliberately echoes the great Umayyad Mosque in Damascus in plan and scale. Contemporary descriptions allude to its vast rectangular courtyard (roughly 75 m per side) and its three-aisled prayer hall..

This was a Turkish-period reconstruction: much of the black basalt and limestone architecture we see traces to Malik-Shah’s era. He replaced the deteriorating Arab mosque (and any leftover church structures) with a solid stone complex. We know that the main prayer hall was originally framed by two rows of piers and a transverse aisle, and covered by a high pitched wooden roof. The eastern and western facade porticoes, with their thousands of carved Kufic inscriptions, were likely part of this Seljuk overhaul as well. (One inscription on the north wall explicitly bears the date AH 484, i.e. 1091–92 AD.)

Legend says Malik-Shah chose Diyarbakır for its strategic and symbolic value, to mirror Damascus’s glory in the west of his realm. Yet whatever the motive, the result was extraordinary: Ulu Cami became not just a local mosque, but a regional masterpiece. Its triple-domed layout (though without domes, having instead a timber roof) and spacious courtyard set a pattern for later Anatolian mosques. Within a decade of its construction, it was already the object of travelogues; the 12th-century historian Ibn al-Athir notes its size and embellishment. At least one scholarly source comments that it “marks a Damascus tradition” transplanted to Anatolia.

Artuqid Flourishing: Additions and Embellishments

The Seljuk era was followed, in Diyarbakır, by the rule of various Artuqid and Seljuk offshoots. The Inalids and Nisanoğulları dukes in the mid-1100s undertook the first major expansions. Between about 1115 and 1164, new wings were added to the mosque. The western mâksura (a closed-off prayer section) dates from 1117 (with a second level added in 1124) under İnal bey of the Inaloğulları. The eastern mâksura was later built in 1163–64 (with its upper story completed under Inal’s son). These additions reflect the mosque’s division into a southern “Hanafi” hall and a northern “Shafi’i” hall (see below), each patronized by different elites.

Architecturally, the 12th century also brought decorative innovations. In 1155–56, Shihab al-Din Hibatallah al-Gurgani commissioned a grand inscription band: scenes carved around the courtyard date to this period. Corinthian capitals and friezes were carefully salvaged from older Roman or Byzantine ruins, a phenomenon noted by today’s scholars. For example, many column capitals in the eastern portico were reused 4th-century Roman work. According to modern study, the stone masons of Hibatallah’s time deliberately mixed these ancient bits into the mosque’s colonnades – a visual link to the past. In short, the Artuqid era embellished Malik-Shah’s framework with fine carving and spolia, cementing Diyarbakır’s claim as a crossroads of cultures.

Around the turn of the 13th century, the neighboring educational complexes also arose. To the north of the courtyard Malik-Shah’s son Mesud Pasha founded the Mesudiye Madrasa (1193–1223), intended as a center of learning. Shortly thereafter the twin Zinciriye Madrasa (also spelled Sincariye) was built just to the west (finished 1198). Neither madrasah is inside the mosque walls, but both are integral to the site’s history: Mesudiye’s entrance now serves as the mosque’s north portico, and Zinciriye’s ornate entrance façade faces the mosque’s west. These institutions underscore how the complex was more than a single building: it was a scholarly and spiritual enclave.

Subsequent Dynasties: Akkoyunlu, Safavid, and Ottoman Contributions

Diyarbakır later passed into the hands of Turkoman and then Safavid overlords, but it was the Ottomans who left the next major imprint on the mosque. In 1515 the Ottoman commander turned sultan, Selim I, conquered Diyarbakır. Soon thereafter his court ordered a substantial renovation of the Ulu Cami. In 1528–29 (935 AH), Master Architect Atik Sinan (not the famous Mimar Sinan, but an earlier Atik in Suleiman’s service) erected the great Şafii bölümü (Shafi’i section) of the prayer hall. This northern prayer bay, separated by stone columns and heavy arches, reflects an Ottoman taste: it has a taller roof structure and was later raised to a dome (the tall dome you see today dates to an 18th-century restoration). At the same time, the mosque’s central corridor was redesigned: where the Seljuk building had a flat roof over this span, the Ottomans rebuilt it with pointed vaults.

The Ottomans also cared for the mosque’s ancillary structures. The open wood ceiling was gradually replaced by a new framework. A notable change came in 1849 with the gift of the şadırvan (ablution fountain) at the center of the courtyard. Eight marble columns now rise in octagonal formation around a covered fountain basin – a classic Ottoman feature that replaced an earlier structure. And in 1839 the aging Seljuk-era minaret was torn down and rebuilt in its present form. This square, unfluted minaret with its brick banding is thus an Ottoman reconstruction, though it echoes its original 12th-century layout (and was again repointed in the 20th century). By the late 19th century, the Great Mosque’s appearance had reached close to its modern aspect: two stone-gabled bays and a dome-topped hall, under a sprawling basalt roof, with a stone courtyard marked by porticoes east and west.

The Mosque in the Modern Turkish Republic

After the founding of the Turkish Republic, Ulu Cami remained a functional mosque and a historical treasure. It did not fall to ruin, thanks in part to state-led restorations in the 20th century and to its continuous use. In 2015 UNESCO inscribed the Diyarbakır Fortress and Hevsel Gardens Cultural Landscape as a World Heritage Site. While this designation officially concerns the city walls and gardens, it underscores the mosque’s importance as part of the old city core. In practice, the mosque is under the protection of the General Directorate of Foundations, and recent projects (including excavations from 2010–2017) have sought to document and conserve it in even greater detail. Today, Ulu Cami stands not only as a relic of empire but as a living place of worship for up to 5,000 people, hosting daily prayers and the community events of Diyarbakır.

Architectural Marvels of the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque: A Deep Dive

An Overview of the Architectural Style: A Synthesis of Influences

The Great Mosque of Diyarbakır is often hailed as a “synthesis” of Middle Eastern mosque architecture adapted to Anatolian resources. In its broad layout and some ornamental elements it consciously recalls the Umayyad prototype: a large rectangular courtyard flanked by arcaded galleries, and a domeless, hypostyle prayer hall. The Discover Islamic Art database notes that Ulu Cami covers roughly a 75 × 75 meter square, with eastern and western porticos originally two stories high – much like the Damascus model. In practice, however, the mosque’s profile is distinctive: instead of a dominant dome it has a soaring pitched roof, and it uses local black basalt stone for most visible surfaces.

The local material – dense basalt from nearby quarries – gives the mosque its solemn, almost fortress-like appearance. In the wall sections you’ll notice rows of narrow light-colored limestone, the remnants of Byzantine-era masonry, contrasting with the dark basalt. Inside, finely-carved columns of marble and granite (many of them scavenged from Roman buildings) support the porticoes. The use of such spolia is purposeful: it ties the new mosque to the city’s long history, even as its plan forges a new, Islamic identity. Architectural historian Godard Elten described the result as “the most important monument of early Islamic architecture in Anatolia”, because it blends the elegance of Umayyad design with the functionalism and ornamentation of Seljuk-Turcoman taste.

In stylistic terms, Ulu Cami also shows the imprint of the Artuqids and Ottomans. For example, the dynamic lion-and-bull relief guarding the east portal dates from the mid-12th century (the later Artuqid era). Its animal motifs set a dramatic tone that one associates with north Mesopotamian art. Meanwhile, the inner prayer niche (mihrab) is flanked by Ottoman-style calligraphy from the 18th century. These layers of decoration – Umayyad footprint, Seljuk structure, Artuqid reliefs, Ottoman inscriptions – make the mosque a rare palimpsest. The architect’s task was not only structural but symphonic, weaving together influences from Damascus, Baghdad, and Diyarbakır’s own heritage.

The Magnificent Courtyard (Sahn): The Heart of the Complex

The mosque’s enormous open courtyard, or sahn, is often described as its spiritual and social heart. Measuring roughly 75 meters east-west and 57 meters north-south (according to some surveys), it can hold thousands of worshippers on hot summer days. The paving is a mosaic of local basalt slabs, worn smooth by generations of feet. The southern end of the court opens into the Hanafi prayer hall; the north end into the Shafi’i hall. Along the east and west sides run the porticoes – the remains of a two-story arcade. Each portico originally had a row of slim columns on the courtyard side, above which was an upper gallery (now partly ruined). Today one sees the lower columns and arches: on the east side they support fragments of a faded polychrome pattern, and on the west side the portico wall is thick with caretaker housing.

One architectural thriller in the yard is the Ottoman şadırvan (ablutions fountain). Set in the center of the paved courtyard, it dates to 1849. The fountain is octagonal in plan, with eight Corinthian marble columns rising to support a lead-covered conical roof. Originally decorated with calligraphy and tiles (many lost), it provided water for ritual washing. Its placement visually balances the lions and bulls of the east gate: where that relief symbolized power, the fountain offered refreshment and charity in the name of faith.

Walking the courtyard, visitors will also spot an ancient sundial set flush in the flagstone near the northern steps. This is a circular marble piece with a brass gnomon (sun-needle) – said to be over 900 years old and built by the famed inventor al-Ğazari. (It is one of the few surviving medieval sundials of its kind, believed to mark hour lines by the sun’s shadow.) The sundial stands near the entrance to the Shafi’i hall, facing north, so that the noontime shadow aligns on the yard. We will say more about it below.

The courtyard also contains other traces of the mosque’s past. For instance, some columns in the porticoes are clearly taken from Roman columns, complete with chipped capitals depicting acanthus leaves. On the ground one sometimes sees broken fragments of inscriptions, reused stone blocks, even the odd marble column section – evidence of random spolia that did not make it into the new wall. These fragments have become part of the mosaic, quite literally. Together, the sahn feels like an open-air museum: at each step you encounter a different era, yet the overall effect is of harmony – a unified place of gathering.

The Prayer Hall (Haram): A Sanctuary of Serenity

Passing through the main southern entrance, one enters the prayer hall – the sacred haram. In plan this hall is somewhat unusual for a Turkish mosque. Instead of a single wide nave and many domes, Ulu Cami employs a transept design: two broad, equal-height aisles run east-west (parallel to the qibla wall), intersected by a similarly wide north-south aisle that extends from the courtyard inward. The effect is a sort of cross-shaped floor plan, with the central aisle (under the wood roof) the fullest. This layout is a legacy of early-Umayyad design, adapted here without domes. The ceiling above is a lofty pitched roof of wood and lead (replacing earlier flat roofing). It rises to meet at a ridge, supported by massive transverse trusses. Walking inside, one sees that the height is considerable – allowing for large clerestory windows and an airy light.

Along the south wall is the mihrab – a marble niche indicating the qibla (direction of Mecca). The wall here is plain basalt but for the mihrab’s ornate portal frame and an Ottoman inscription band above it (dated ca. 1712). To one side of the mihrab stands the minbar – the pulpit – which Ottoman records show was gifted by a local patron in 1163. These focal points were often re-carved or replaced by successive rulers. For example, the golden-tiled band above the minbar dates from the 17th century, though the marble stair is older. The basic Seljuk configuration survives, but with Ottoman embellishment.

Notably, a low wall of marble runs across part of the prayer hall, separating it into two sections. This wall demarcates the Hanafi (wider) south bay from the Shafi’i (narrower) north bay. Why two halls? Early Ottoman piety in Diyarbakır had two coexisting juridical communities, each with its own prayer area. Thus the mosque truly has “two branches under one roof.” The southern branch (Hanafi) is wider and was earlier; the northern (Shafi’i) stands elevated on a platform with its own entrance. Today visitors can walk freely between them during non-prayer times, admiring their modest differences: the Shafi’i side has slightly more decoration in its woodwork, while the Hanafi side emphasizes open volume.

Along the east and west facades of the hall stand the rows of stone piers that carry the roof. These piers are built of dark basalt blocks, each topped by a simple spandrel of geometric carving. Between them runs a continuous cornice of Kufic script – literally the history of the mosque in stone. Carved into this frieze are the names of patrons (Melikşah, the Inalids, Melikşah’s wife Gürcü Hatun, Ottoman viziers, etc.) and Qur’anic verses. For instance, one long inscription on the south wall recounts Melik-Shah’s rebuilding of the mosque in 1091. Another, on the west wall, records the restoration work of the Nisanoğulları. These bands draw the visitor’s eye around the hall, underscoring that the building is not only a space of prayer but a chronicle in stone.

The lighting in the hall is soft but sufficient. Large arched windows on the south face (and similar ones north) admit daylight; however, because the walls are so thick, the interior remains cool and shaded. A long thin clerestory band below the roof ridge introduces a wash of light along the apex. At night, the mosque is lit by rows of contemporary chandeliers (a modern addition), which hang from the eaves. The overall effect is one of calm austerity – free of colored glass or frescoes, but detailed and textural. Along the floor, large prayer rugs have been laid; their presence reminds visitors that this is an active sanctuary, not a museum.

The Minaret: A Silent Witness to History

Dominating the complex is the mosque’s tall minaret – a slender stone tower that has called the faithful to prayer for generations. Diyarbakır’s minaret is square in plan (about 3.5 m on a side) and rises in three distinct stages. Its style is commonly referred to as “Anatolian” because of the horizontal brick banding on the upper sections. The story carved into the base stone records that it was entirely rebuilt by the Ottoman sultan Abdülmecid in 1839. The earlier (Artuqid or Ottoman) minaret had collapsed or become unsafe, so the 19th-century master architect Mustafa (the same who rebuilt the nearby city hall) reconstructed it in a faithful yet sturdier manner.

Today the minaret climbs about 30 meters high above the mosque’s flat roofline. Above the two rectangular balconies (sharps) the shaft is decorated with an elegant series of rectangular panels filled with geometric ornament. The paneling incorporates some older carved stones – there are even fragments of Kufic script inlaid there from the past. The very top tapers to a small cone capped with a copper finial. From a distance, the minaret’s silhouette against the Diyarbakır skyline is distinctive: a tapering stone tower whose brick stripe (reminiscent of the Citadel’s rampart colors) is clearly visible.

A visitor should try to ascend the minaret to experience the view: those who do report that from the summit one sees the ribbon of the Tigris, the fairy-chimney shapes of Hevsel Gardens, and the rambling curve of the city wall. Inside, a winding staircase of 92 steps leads up. Each step is a block of basalt, worn smooth by foot traffic. Midway up, a narrow balcony encircles the tower; local legend says that in the 19th century, revolutionaries even hoisted the Ottoman flag here during the War of Independence. At the top balcony, the city suddenly spreads out in panorama. The stone has held in tension all these centuries: the slightly salty wind from the riverside, rare but violent earthquakes (Diyarbakır is in a seismic zone), and the 19th- and 20th-century storms. It stands as a silent witness – indeed, şahit – to all the human history below.

The Intricate Art of Inscription: Kufic Calligraphy as Historical Record

Scattered throughout the mosque’s walls and courtyard porticoes is a dazzling script in carved black stone: the angular Kufic letters of Arabic. These inscriptions are not mere decoration but a running commentary of the mosque’s story. Scholars have mapped dozens of panels of carved text: they chronicle grants, repairs, verses of the Qur’an, and names of patrons. For example, above one arch is carved the 10th Sura (Yunus) in large script, while other bands quote the names of Malik-Shah and his vizier in 1091. At another portal you can read the calligraphic signature of Melikşah’s wife, Gürcü (Georgian) Hatun, commemorating her endowment. The utter detail is staggering – entire treaty clauses have been squeezed into narrow stone bands.

The meaning encoded in these letters went beyond historical record. For worshippers, the inscriptions linked the mosque to the cosmology of Islam. Verses about divine sovereignty and prayer surround the faithful as they stand, essentially enveloping the community in Scripture. In earlier times, a scholar like Evliya Çelebi marveled at this profusion of writing, likening the Ulu Cami to Islam’s great sanctuary of knowledge. Today, when visitors spot a partially buried inscription or a cracked column base, they may not decipher the exact Arabic, but they understand the impulse: to name the building by pen and chisel, to ensure that each era’s contribution was immortalized.

Important inscriptions are located on every major façade. In the courtyard, one pillar by the eastern gate carries the verse “God is light upon light” (24:35), famously set against a delicate carved background. Above the main mihrab, a panel of Hakemite Kufic reminds believers of the enduring nature of faith. The decorative Kufic on Ulu Cami is masterful, with stylized floral motifs interlaced among the letters – a legacy of the Seljuks’ support for calligraphy. In short, the mosque itself is a massive carved manuscript. By walking its perimeter, one is in effect reading a chronicle written in stone.

Decoding the Symbolism and Significance

The Fifth Harem-i Şerif of Islam: What Does This Title Mean?

As noted, Ulu Cami holds a special place in Sunni tradition as the so-called “fifth Harem-i Şerif.” In Ottoman and later parlance, the term Harem-i Şerif (lit. “Noble Sanctuary”) referred collectively to Islam’s holiest mosques. First among these is the Kaaba in Mecca, then the Prophet’s Mosque in Medina, then Al-Aqsa in Jerusalem, and the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus. To be counted alongside them is a rare honor. By the 16th century, Ottoman chroniclers routinely called Diyarbakır Ulu Cami the fifthHarem-i Şerif, an assertion found even in the travelogue of Evliya Çelebi.

This status is rooted in history and legend. Diyarbakır’s location at the crossroads of the Arab Conquest and the Seljuk Empire gave it prestige. Sultan Suleiman’s court and later Ottoman piety propagated the idea that whoever visited the five noble sanctuaries (as Cicero held visiting seven wonders) earned immense spiritual reward. For local Muslims, the label reinforced that their provincial mosque stood among great shrines. Even if it is more an honorary ranking than a theologically codified one, it has helped attract pilgrims and reinforce the mosque’s identity. Today, the title is often invoked on plaques at the entrance.

Thus, when entering Ulu Cami, one might see scriptural references like “Ihram” (sacred state of pilgrimage) and remember: the very stones are charged with centuries of devotion by those who saw them as standing in the line of Abrahamic monotheism. The Fifth Sanctuary idea also hints at continuity: as Damascus was an Umayyad capital, Diyarbakır under Malik-Shah and later Ottomans was a center that connected East and West. It subtly claims that this modest city in Anatolia shared in Islam’s grand arc from Arabia to Europe.

The Iconic Lion and Bull Relief: A Study in Power and Struggle

One of the most immediately arresting images at the mosque is the pair of stone creatures at the eastern portal. Flanking the main entrance are mirror-carved medallions showing a lion and a bull locked in combat. Scholars and visitors alike have puzzled over this scene for centuries. It likely does not depict a literal story from scripture; instead, the prevailing interpretation is symbolic. Some argue the lion, often an emblem of Ali or the Abbasid dynasty, represents spiritual authority, while the bull might symbolize raw power or tyranny. Others see in it a reflection of Mithraic or pre-Islamic Persian motifs (the fight of good and evil).

Whatever the origin, the presence of figurative relief in a mosque is notable. Some art historians date the carving to the 12th-century Artuqids, suggesting it was inherited from an older structure or made to flatter local rulers. The Turkish cultural portal simply states that they “symbolize the struggle of a lion and a bull”, leaving the deeper meaning to the viewer. Regardless, as one approaches the mosque one cannot miss these animals – they stand as silent sentinels. They invite reflection on themes of strength, perhaps of faith battling doubt, or of rulers balanced by the natural world. For modern visitors, the lion-and-bull are also a potent reminder that this Islamic site was not culturally isolated; it appropriated and recast motifs from earlier Mesopotamian and Persian art.

Celestial and Scientific Wonders: The Sundial of Al-Ğazari

Another remarkable feature connecting spirituality with science is the sundial in the courtyard, made by the ingenious 12th-century polymath Badi’ al-Zaman al-Ğazari. Al-Ğazari, often called the father of modern robotics and mathematics, was in Diyarbakır serving as a governor of the Artuqid dynasty. Around 1150 CE he designed a marvellous stone sundial that still resides here. It is a circular marble disc set on the ground, about 1 meter in diameter, with a bronze pointer at its center. When the sun is shining, the pole’s shadow sweeps across an array of hour-lines carved in the marble, accurately marking the time.

A description carved near the sundial explains that al-Ğazari designed it to “show the time by the shadow of a piece of metal placed on a round marble” – in other words, our sundial.. For passersby, it is both a scientific instrument and a metaphor. It evokes the Islamic Golden Age ideal that godly order can be measured and understood through mathematics. At prayer time, one might watch the shadow edge to the next hour line – a subtle way to link the cosmic clock with the call to worship. In practical terms, people used it to regulate the day’s five prayers before the spread of mechanical clocks.

Al-Ğazari’s name is known to few tourists, but in scholarly circles his sundials in Diyarbakır (and Aleppo) are famous inventions. That this artifact survives in situ is extraordinary: it has suffered the elements for nearly nine centuries. Visitors today often stamp on it (it is at ground level!) with reverence rather than inattention, mindful that they are treading on a piece of scientific heritage. The sundial thus symbolizes the melding of faith, time, and reason at Ulu Cami.

A Center for Social and Intellectual Life

Beyond stone and script, the Grand Mosque complex has always been a gathering place and civic hub. From its inception, Ulu Cami was more than a prayer hall: it was the pulse of the city. Its large courtyard could host public announcements, tribal meetings, and even markets. In the late Ottoman era, photographs and accounts tell of the courtyard as a sheltered café where scholars debated theology and merchants exchanged news. The Hanafi and Shafi’i sections meant that two legal traditions shared one sacred space, perhaps promoting a kind of pluralism.

The presence of the Mesudiye and Zinciriye madrasas on the site reinforced the intellectual role. In their prime, students of law and theology streamed in to study under famous teachers. The libraries associated with these madrasas were among the richest in Diyarbakır. Indeed, pilgrims would come seeking lectures as well as prayers. Even today, some afternoons one may glimpse imams and students poring over manuscripts in the quiet corners off the courtyard. The mosque’s library, set in the former Mesudiye, still holds rare Qur’ans and hadith collections, though access is now limited.

Furthermore, Ulu Cami long served social functions: it sheltered the poor (cash endowments for the needy were traditionally managed by the mosque’s vakıf), and it was the place where kurban (sacrificial animal distribution) was organized during Eid. In times of crisis – floods from the Tigris or Ottoman-era plagues – the mosque courtyard was sometimes used as a shelter space. Even tourism itself has become part of its life in recent years, with local guides stationed at the entrance, and occasional heritage festivals using the forecourt as a stage (always mindful of prayer times).

In sum, Ulu Cami has been and remains a social nexus. It is where faith, law, politics, and education all converged, under a single broad roof of basalt. To fully appreciate its significance, one must remember it as a living community center, not just a static monument. The worn floor stones and the fading paint of Ottoman calligraphy testify to generations of everyday life – children playing tag in the courtyard, imams giving sermons in winter, old men leaning on canes in the shade of the arcades. Each of those acts of life is just as much part of the mosque’s legacy as the construction dates.

The Grand Mosque Complex: Exploring the Adjoining Structures

The main mosque building is only one part of a larger religious complex (külliye) that spans much of the block. Several important structures adjoin it, all worth exploring.

The Mesudiye Madrasa: A Beacon of Learning

Just north of the courtyard stands the Mesudiye Madrasa, built by Emir Mesud in the late 12th century. It was originally a two-story learning center, facing south onto the mosque’s courtyard. Its design is a classic madrasah: a rectangular plan with a central courtyard, though today the central space is roofed over as a library. The entry portal – richly adorned with marble inlay and geometric carvings – has been refurbished as a library entrance and reading room. Inside, high vaulted halls (originally classrooms) flank the court, now filled with shelves of manuscripts.

In Ottoman times, the madrasa’s upper floors served as the mosque’s official Quran library. Even now, quiet scholars may browse there (with permission). Though the madrasa is in private control, a visitor can at least peek through its courtyard gate. One sees a façade of tightly ashlar-cut stone, punctuated by occasional Gothic arches (another sign of Artuqid tastes). In short, the Mesudiye is Ulu Cami’s twin sister: lower in profile but higher in purpose, embodying the link of worship and learning. In our courtyard walk, it is the tall building immediately north of the sahn, identifiable by its fine windows and a minaret-like chimney (an old furnace vent).

The Zinciriye Madrasa: Another Gem of the Complex

To the west of the main mosque lies the Zinciriye (Sincariye) Madrasa, dating from 1198. Unlike Mesudiye, Zinciriye faces away from the courtyard, opening instead onto the city’s old market street. It is thus often visited on its own merits. Architecturally it is a two-iwan madrasah (two vaulted halls facing each other across a courtyard) with only one story, which is unusual. Its stone portal is famed for a band of astrological motifs and epigraphy. Inside, the only remnant today is a small museum of handicrafts, housed in what was once the prayer corner of the school.

You may notice that Zinciriye has no direct opening into the Grand Mosque. Nevertheless, it is usually included in any tour. Historically, students and traders would move freely between these buildings. The madrasa’s survival (it was restored to house the Diyarbakır Museum between 1930–2011) means visitors can appreciate a more intimate medieval interior, complete with carved wood ceilings and ornate cupboards. For the curious: in the old plan, this madrasa was often used for advanced Shafi’i study (hence its proximity to the Shafi’i prayer section).

Exploring the Shafi’i Section

Within the mosque itself, the *Shafi’i prayer hall (on the north side) is semi-detached from the main space. It was originally an open hall with a flat wooden roof, but as noted it was raised into a dome by the Ottomans. Its interior decoration is somewhat more elaborate: blue flower motifs were painted on its ceiling in the 18th century. A visitor stepping into the Shafi’i bay first crosses an elevated threshold and then finds a separate mihrab and minbar of modest size. Worshippers of that school would pray here mostly, although today worshippers flow freely. The upper story of its entrance portal was once the Shafi’i madrasa; now it leads to a quiet anteroom. In short, this northern bay feels a bit cozier than the giant main hall – it has its own identity but is still very much part of Ulu Cami.

The Library and the Muvakkithane (Timekeeper’s Room)

Directly east of the courtyard, between the two main prayer halls, stands a smaller annex known today as the library (formerly the muvakkithane or timekeeper’s room). This rectangular chamber looks like a late Ottoman addition. Historically, a scholar was assigned to track prayer times and ensure the adhan (call to prayer) was timed correctly. The astronomic devices (like the sundial) served his work. Now the room serves as a book repository for the mosque administration. Inside one may find copies of the Quran, prayer rugs, and a small archive of deeds (the mosque’s endowment documents). If it is open, you will see in a niche the old stone sundial, partially broken, from which today’s copy is modeled.

The library is unremarkable architecturally, but its symbolism is profound: it is the node between worship and scholarship. In the old courtyard map one sees it labeled simply as a domed chamber. Seeing a solitary man turning pages under a small central dome reminds us: the mosque complex was also a place to learn.

A Visitor’s Guide to the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque

Planning Your Visit: Location and How to Get There

The Grand Mosque sits within Diyarbakır’s old city (Sur), on Gazi Caddesi (Gazi Street) near the center of town. The address is roughly Dabanoğlu Mahallesi, Gazi Cd. No:56. It is best accessed by foot, taxi, or local minibus (dolmuş) from anywhere in Diyarbakır. If you arrive by bus from outside, you can alight at the main city bus terminal (Diyarbakır Otogarı) and catch a short taxi ride or bus to Sur. There is public parking on Gazi Caddesi if you drive. The mosque is adjacent to the Great Bazaar (Kapalıçarşı) area, so it may be easiest to navigate with a city map or ask locals for “Ulu Cami.”

Diyarbakır Airport (to the northwest) connects to major Turkish cities. From the airport, you can grab a taxi straight to the mosque (a 20–30 minute drive). For those staying downtown, Sur is a short walk from many hotels. The entrance is on the south side, below the minaret; you can recognize it by the two panel reliefs of fighting lion and bull. There is no entrance fee to visit the mosque (like virtually all mosques in Turkey, it is free for visitors).

What Are the Opening Hours for the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque?

As of 2025, the Ulu Cami is generally open every day of the week except during worship services. Visitors are welcome between the dawn and evening prayers, typically about 08:00–18:00 in summer, slightly shorter hours in winter. (In practice, the mosque closes for about an hour during each of the five daily prayers to accommodate the congregation.) A travel website notes that the mosque is “open to visitors outside of prayer times”. For example, a non-Muslim visitor could arrive at 3 PM on a weekday and find the main gate open, pause briefly for the 4 PM Asr prayer if needed, and continue touring afterward. On Fridays, the large Jumuʿah prayer around noon means the hall is closed to tourists for a longer period (approximately 12:00–13:00).

Since schedules can vary, it is wise to look up the current prayer timetable (“salat times”) for Diyarbakır. When in doubt, ask a mosque attendant or the nearby Diyarbakır Cultural Heritage office (someone at Hasan Pasha Han may assist). Also, special events (Ramadan night prayers or Eid services) may restrict access, but these are announced locally.

Mosque Etiquette for Non-Muslim Visitors

Visitors should remember that Ulu Cami is first and foremost a place of worship. All entrants must remove their shoes before stepping onto the prayer rug area (shelves are provided at the entrance for this). Loose-fitting, modest clothing is expected: men should cover shoulders and legs (no shorts), and women are required to cover their heads, arms, and legs. (Headscarves are available at the door for those without one.) Many travel guides emphasize that Turkish mosques generally welcome non-Muslim tourists, so long as they observe these dress codes.

Photography is allowed in the courtyard and outside of prayer hall sections, but always ask first if someone is in prayer. Do not wander onto the prayer rugs or disrupt someone’s worship. Keep your voice low; mobile phones should be silenced. Avoid public displays of affection and eating inside the courtyard, out of respect. It is permissible to walk around quietly and examine the architecture; guides and attendants appreciate curious questions.

One courteous practice is to enter with your right foot or hand first. Some visitors bring a small donation; though there is no official fee, voluntary offerings to the mosque’s upkeep are welcomed at the office. When speaking with mosque staff or imams, remember to address men as “hoca” (scholar) or “hoca efendi,” and women as “hanımefendi” (ma’am), as a polite form.

Guided Tours and Audio Guides

While foreign-language guided tours are not officially offered by the mosque itself, many independent guides in Diyarbakır include Ulu Cami in their city tours (often along with the citadel and bazaar). If you prefer a structured visit, consider hiring a licensed guide who can narrate the mosque’s history in English or another language. The Diyarbakır Tourism Office at Sur Meydanı (the Sur square) can recommend certified guides. Alternatively, some university students of archaeology volunteer as informal guides on weekends near the courtyard; they usually wave a small flag or sign.

There is no permanent onsite museum or audio system, but the Mosque’s inner office (on the east side of the courtyard) may provide pamphlets in Turkish and sometimes English. Do not hesitate to pop inside the office to ask questions — the officials there often have summaries of the inscriptions (or at least the dates) at hand.

The Best Times to Visit: Day vs. Night Photography and Atmosphere

The Ulu Cami has a character that changes with the light. Visit in the morning and you will see the sun glinting off the smooth basalt paving and illuminating the courtyard. The stone minaret casts a long shadow, and the cool morning air carries the distant calls of street vendors. The mosque is very quiet then, and warm shafts of sunlight may pierce the arches.

In afternoon (just before Asr prayer), families gather in the bazaar nearby and the courtyard can become lively with local worshippers. At that time, the stone seems warmer in hue, and the carved details (like the Kufic panels) take on a richer color in the slanted light. One can also hear the muezzin’s taqsim (the improvised melody) floating from the minaret.

In the evening, Ulu Cami is softly illuminated by spotlights. The contrast of lit windows and dark stone can be magical. (Wanderlog users in fact recommend seeing it after dark for a different aura.) A slow walk around the outside at twilight reveals the mosque framed against the skyline of crenellated walls. Photographers who wait until almost closing time are often rewarded: the courtyard empties of most visitors, and the mosque takes on a hushed grandeur.

Dining and Shopping Nearby

After visiting the mosque, one will find many local attractions just steps away. To the west along Gazi Street is the great Hasan Pasha Han, a restored 16th-century caravanserai with a cafe and handicraft shops inside. The ornate stone archway of Hasan Pasha Han’s gateway offers a convenient backdrop for more photos. A short walk south leads to the Ten-Eyed Bridge (On Gözlü Köprü), a Roman-era bridge over the Tigris with ten arches, well worth seeing as the river sunset view is lovely. North of the mosque is Surp Giragos Church (St. George’s Armenian Cathedral), the largest Armenian church in the Middle East – an important site of Diyarbakır’s multicultural past.

Diyarbakır is also known for its cuisine. If hunger strikes, try one of the local kebab shops on Gazi Caddesi or the lanes to the south. The area around Ulu Cami is famous for Diyarbakır ciğer (liver kebab), often served at dawn or dusk cafes. For dessert, ask for burma kadayıf (twisted shredded pastry with pistachio and syrup) or katmer (flaky pastry with clotted cream), both specialties of the region. Chestnut baklava and urfa-style lahmacun are also nearby specialties. A stroll into the covered bazaar off Gazi Street will reveal shops of local handicrafts, textiles and spices – perfect for taking a piece of Diyarbakır home.

In short, plan to spend an hour inside the mosque and another hour exploring its lively neighborhood. The mosque’s back gate opens onto the bazaar, making it easy to continue on to the Citadel (only a 5-minute walk north) or the Great Mosque of Hasan Pasha. A short taxi ride down Gazi Street will take you to the lively Ali Emiri Meydanı or Sur Meydanı, where many restaurants and shops abound.

Experiencing the Grand Mosque: A Sensory Journey

Walking through Ulu Cami engages all the senses. The soundscape is a blend of echoes and calls. In the quiet moments, one hears the distant traffic beyond the walls, the rustle of footsteps on stone, and the whispers of the wind swirling through arches. At prayer time, the adhan (call to prayer) becomes a focused chant: one bright voice rises and falls, to be answered by an echo from the far end of the courtyard or by other mosques nearby. Inside the hall, the prayer leaders recite verse in a measured, melodic cadence; even outside the sacred carpet, one feels these voices resonate off walls. Even non-Muslim visitors often find these sounds strangely moving – it is as though the words linger in the air long after they fade, tying the present moment to centuries of devotion.

The touch of Ulu Cami is elemental. Running your hand along the courtyard stone, you feel the uneven basalts, slick in places and rough in others. Each block bears the patina of rain, sun, and human contact. In the prayer hall, the marble columns and wooden beams convey solidity. Dust motes float in beams of light, reminding visitors of the building’s age. Feel the cool shade of the portico arches – it can be notably cooler there than the courtyard in hot weather, as these 1.5-meter-thick walls absorb the heat. The wood of the old doors and minbar is dry and smooth from generations of touching. If an old owner of a prayer rug offers you a corner to feel, its wool is surprisingly soft. Through all this, one senses the work of countless hands: the masons who split the basalt, the carvers who chiseled each inscription, the worshippers who have knelt and prostrated here.

The sight of light and shadow in Ulu Cami is what captivates many photographers. In early morning, long diagonal shadows stretch across the courtyard, forming patterns around the fountain and under the lion-and-bull relief. By midday, the arena is flooded with light, revealing every carved brick detail. As the sun lowers, the east facade glows golden while the west portico darkens, setting up a chiaroscuro on the arches. At dusk, the mosque’s lamps cast a warm glow on the courtyard walls, making the old carving seem almost newfound. In particular, those horizontal limestone bands in the basalt wall catch the light; one can almost read the progression of layers in the city’s history by their alternating color. Photographers will note how the courtyard becomes a modular space – by changing their vantage point one can frame the right side with columns against sky, or catch a reflection in the fountain’s pool, or include a worshipper for scale.

Beyond sensory detail, reflection is a part of the experience here. Many visitors quietly pause at the mihrab to offer a prayer for their own lives; others sit in the far corner of the court to rest and think. There is a kind of calmness in being surrounded by so much history that you forget the world outside. Young people sometimes lie on the soft rugs and converse; old men pray or meditate. Some bring a book of poetry (like Rumi) to read in the repose. Many describe a feeling of being “connected” to something larger – as Evliya Çelebi once wrote, the mosque has a spiritual presence that makes even a stranger feel part of the community.

In the end, experiencing Ulu Cami is about blending with its rhythms. One might stop to watch how a local imam welcomes a visitor at the door, or how afternoon sunlight washes the courtyard, or how a mufti edges a stack of rugs for afternoon prayer. There is no need to rush: sitting on the cool stone or walking its perimeter slowly will yield impressions no guidebook can list. ı encourage every guest to take a moment under the main dome’s beams, or atop the minaret at sunset, to feel the weight of time and devotion that this place bears.

The Grand Mosque in Context: Diyarbakır’s Rich Cultural Tapestry

The Great Mosque does not stand alone; it is woven into the city’s larger tableau. One immediately notices that it abuts the formidable Diyarbakır City Walls, a nearly 6-kilometer circuit of basalt fortifications. The mosque’s west side actually borders the outer wall, so that one can hear warbly calls from the Ulu Cami along the battlements and vice versa. This proximity is intentional: historically, the mosque within the castle (Hisar Mahallesi) symbolized the Turkish-Islamic might in a frontier city. From the minaret one can see the Seven Gates, the towers, and the Hevsel Gardens beyond. In fact, a famous line by a traveler quips that just as Hagia Sophia is to Istanbul, Ulu Cami is to Diyarbakır – connecting city and faith.

Nearby, within easy walking distance, are several attractions that complement the mosque visit. Hasan Pasha Han (a 1546 caravanserai) now houses handicraft shops and cafés; it’s a short walk west on Gazi Street from Ulu Cami. Just beyond that is the Mehmed Paşa Camii, famous for its turquoise tile mihrab. To the south a few blocks lies the Chifte Minareli Medrese (Twin Minaret Madrasa), whose slender spires puncture the skyline. A 10-minute walk north brings one to the grassy banks of the Tigris and the On Gözlü Bridge (Ten-Eyed Bridge), a Roman/Medieval river crossing that provides a scenic riverscape view. A 15-minute stroll will take you to the St. Giragos Armenian Church, recently restored – a testament to Diyarbakır’s once large Armenian community.

For those interested in everyday life, the Sur Mahallesi itself is a living museum. Stone houses with ornate doorways line narrow lanes, and small meyhane (tavern) restaurants serve local dishes. Speaking of food, Diyarbakır is renowned for its robust cuisine. Regional specialties include ciğer kebabı (grilled liver), kaburga dolması (stuffed lamb ribs), and sweet treats like fıstıklı burma kadayıf (twisted pastry with pistachio). Nearby, in Sur, you can find shops selling peppers of Urfa, pomegranate syrup, and blacksmith-forged art. Visitors often make a day of it: mosque in the morning, a lunch of kebab in a courtyard eatery, and an afternoon strolling through the Arasta (small bazaar) or climbing the fortress towers at sunset.

In short, Ulu Cami is the focal point of Diyarbakır’s old town. Stepping out of its gates, one is immersed in the city’s layered history: Roman roads, Armenian churches, Ottoman houses, all share its stonescape. A guidebook might list dozens of sights, but the walk from the Grand Mosque to Hasan Pasha Han to the Citadel’s Fatih Pasha Mosque is just as meaningful as each separate entry.

The Future of the Grand Mosque: Conservation and Preservation

As ancient monuments worldwide face threats, Ulu Cami has not been immune. The 20th and 21st centuries have brought both restoration efforts and new challenges. On the positive side, extensive restorations took place between 2010 and 2017. These involved structural reinforcement of the prayer hall, cleaning of stonework, replacement of missing timber beams, and archaeological digs in the courtyard. Specialists even mapped the museum fragments to document previously unknown phases of construction. The Turkish government, with UNESCO guidance, invested in these conservation projects to prevent collapse.

Nevertheless, maintaining a building of such age and size is a continuous challenge. Diyarbakır’s climate (hot, dry summers and occasional winter rains) and seismicity both pose risks. Minor earthquakes cause cracks to appear in plaster or tiles; windstorms can loosen roof lead. The dark basalt absorbs heat all day, which in time can create thermal stress. Pollution (though much reduced) and salt from the nearby river air also have weathering effects. Engineers must periodically re-site cracked blocks and repoint mortar. Recently, some restoration had to reverse 19th-century cement patching that was causing damp.

Another concern is visitor impact. Thousands of people walk the courtyard and prayer halls each year. To reduce wear, the mosque authorities have installed new rugs over the original floor; the old rugs are cleaned and stored as archives. Certain areas (like near fragile columns) are marked “Lütfen yaklaşmayın” (“please do not approach”) to protect them. After major renovations, there is also the challenge of tourism: the local community and clergy balance welcoming curious non-Muslims with preserving the mosque’s sanctity. (In practice, respectful tourist visitation has been part of mosque life since Ottoman travelogues.)

Going forward, international organizations remain watchful. Diyarbakır’s inscription as a World Heritage site means UNESCO can provide expertise and even emergency funds if needed. Local foundations raise money for routine maintenance (such as repairing roof leaks). And the community itself feels ownership: for example, after a flood in 2015 washed debris into the yard, local volunteers carried out clean-up at their own initiative. Schools in Diyarbakır sometimes bring students on field trips to the mosque, teaching them both history and the need to care for it.

Ultimately, the Grand Mosque’s survival depends on this human factor as much as on architecture. As one director of the preservation office put it, “The greatest protector of Ulu Cami is the congregation that prays here and the citizens who walk by it every day.” With every generation that learns its history and values it as part of city life, the chance of the mosque enduring another thousand years grows.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)

Was the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque really a church before?
Legend and some evidence indicate the Great Mosque stands on the site of the Mar Thomas (Martoma) Church, the city’s largest pre-Islamic church. Byzantine chronicles mention a grand church here in the 7th century. When Muslim Arabs captured the city in 639 AD, that church was indeed converted into a mosque. (Over subsequent decades the old church structure was rebuilt and expanded, leading to the Seljuk edifice we see today.)

Is the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque the oldest mosque in Turkey?
It is often called the oldest in Anatolia, and one of the oldest in all of modern Turkey. A scholarly source notes: “The Great Mosque of Diyarbakir is the oldest mosque in Anatolia and possibly the oldest in Turkey.”. This claim is based on the fact that Islam first arrived here in 639. However, whether it is strictly the oldest can depend on definitions (several other early-era mosques in southeastern Turkey compete for that title). In any case, it is certainly among the earliest surviving examples.

Who is buried in the Diyarbakır Grand Mosque?
Unlike some great mosques, Ulu Cami does not contain a royal tomb or mausoleum. The mosque is purely a prayer space and has no sultan’s mausoleum attached. There is no famous burial site inside it (besides some unidentified graves in the old Madrasah yard, which may belong to clerics). So, visitors should not expect shrines like at Bursa’s Ulu Cami; the people commemorated here are remembered in inscriptions, not in tombs.

Can I visit during Friday prayers (Jumuʻah)?
Friday at noon is the main weekly prayer, and the mosque’s two halls will be filled with worshippers. Non-Muslim tourists generally do not enter the prayer halls during Jumuʻah out of respect and crowding. However, one may briefly walk through the courtyard before and after the service. If you wish to observe Friday prayer, stand unobtrusively in the back or in a corner, without disturbing worshippers. For a full experience without interruption, plan your visit outside of 12:00–13:00 on Fridays (and outside the other five daily prayer times, when the prayer halls are closed to tourists).

What makes the architecture unique?
Ulu Cami has several distinctive features. Its wooden pitched roof (instead of stone domes) is rare among Anatolian mosques. The dual prayer halls for Hanafi and Shafi’i rites create a split plan unlike most single-hall mosques. The use of recycled ancient columns and richly carved stone, as well as the forest of Kufic inscription bands, sets it apart. The sheer scale of its basalt courtyard (the whole yard alone can hold thousands) is remarkable. Finally, symbolic elements like the carved lion-bull relief and the al-Ğazari sundial give it a uniquely Mesopotamian character.

Is it safe to visit Diyarbakır and the Grand Mosque?
In recent years Diyarbakır has become much safer for tourists. Like any city, one should remain aware of surroundings, but there are no special security concerns at the mosque itself. The area around Sur (the old city) is monitored by local police, and the mosque is open to the public under its own security. Many travelers visit the mosque and city walls every day without incident. If you follow normal travel precautions (avoid large gatherings not related to tourism, respect local customs), you will generally find Diyarbakır welcoming. As of 2025, the tourist information offices report no restrictions on visiting religious sites.