Long before the sun-baked plains of Mesopotamia became crowned with the ziggurats of Ur and the epic verses of Gilgamesh, another people walked these lands. They did not leave behind heroic tales etched in stone tablets, but they quietly built the world that made such tales possible. The Ubaid—dwellers of river and desert, masters of water and soil—lived here between 5500 and 3800 BCE, shaping the first outlines of civilisation.

They tamed the Tigris and Euphrates, cut canals into the stubborn earth, and coaxed green fields from a landscape that might otherwise have swallowed them in sand and thirst. Yet, in the midst of their irrigation channels and temple platforms, they left behind something stranger, more haunting—a legacy not of bricks and barley, but of clay and imagination.

Small, handmade figures. Elongated heads. Almond eyes. Faces that were not quite human, but reptilian. Some cradled infants. Others wore ornate crowns or clutched sceptres. All seemed to belong to a realm where the human and the otherworldly walked side by side.

The Ubaid lived in a land of sharp contrasts—life-giving rivers carving through vast, harsh plains. Instead of merely surviving, they flourished. Their villages, such as Eridu and Tell al-Ubaid, were orderly, with temples and communal spaces that hinted at a society already experimenting with hierarchy and governance.

They were skilled innovators. Their irrigation systems were marvels for the age, allowing them to grow more food than their population could consume—a feat that changed everything. Pottery painted with fine, geometric patterns spoke of an eye for beauty beyond the practical. Piece by piece, they were laying the foundations—social, agricultural, and spiritual—for the Sumerians who would follow.

Yet while the Sumerians left their story in writing, the Ubaid left theirs in symbols, and nowhere are those symbols more beguiling than in their Lizard Figurines.

In the 1920s, while peeling back the layers of time at Ur and Eridu, archaeologist Leonard Woolley and his team found them. Tucked into the soil were clay figures unlike any other. Some were standing, others seated; some male, others female—but all shared those uncanny reptilian traits.

One figure, now displayed in the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad, depicts a reptilian-headed woman gently holding a child. Her long, tapered head and narrow eyes are softened by the intimacy of the pose. Another wears a tall, patterned headdress, as though attending a ritual before a temple altar.

These were not idle doodles in clay. Their form was deliberate, their style refined, their purpose—whatever it was—deeply important to the people who made them.

The reptilian figurines have inspired a host of theories about their meaning, each offering a fascinating glimpse into the Ubaid mind.

• Symbols of Fertility and Life: The numerous figurines found holding infants or displaying prominent breasts strongly suggest a connection to fertility. In a world where agricultural success and the continuation of the lineage were paramount, these effigies may have been used in rituals to ensure bountiful harvests, healthy pregnancies, and the vitality of the community. The act of nurturing a child, even by a reptilian figure, speaks to the sacredness of life and procreation.
• Deities or Demigods: The most common theory posits that these figurines represent deities or supernatural beings. The serpent motif is powerful and pervasive, appearing in later Mesopotamian religions and myths as a symbol of both creation and chaos. It’s plausible that the Ubaid revered a serpent or lizard deity, perhaps one associated with the primordial waters of the Tigris and Euphrates, which were both sources of life and potential destruction. The ornate headdresses and sceptres on some figures further support a divine or priestly interpretation.
• The Shamanic Transformation: Another compelling theory suggests the figurines depict shamans—individuals believed to have the ability to communicate with the spirit world. In many ancient cultures, shamans were thought to transform into animals to traverse the spiritual realm. The reptilian features could represent such a metamorphosis, showing a human figure in the process of becoming a spiritual intermediary. This would tie the figurines to rituals of healing, divination, and communication with the unseen.
• Guardians of the Afterlife: The discovery of some figurines in burial sites adds a layer of mystery. Were they placed in graves to protect the deceased on their journey to the next world? Did they serve as guides, leading the soul through a reptilian-guarded underworld? This connection to the afterlife suggests a sophisticated belief system that extended beyond the mortal coil.

Ultimately, the figurines may represent a complex interplay of all these elements. They likely reflect the Ubaid worldview—their understanding of the cosmos, their relationship with the natural world, and their reverence for the great mysteries of life and death.

In time, the Ubaid gave way to the Sumerians, but their touch remained. The idea of the temple as the heart of the city, the canal as the lifeline of the land, the belief that the divine walked among mortals—these threads wound their way into the great tapestry of Mesopotamian civilisation.

And perhaps, somewhere in the recesses of Sumerian myth, those reptilian figures still lingered, transmuted into new gods and new symbols.

When I stood before that figurine in Baghdad—a reptilian-headed mother holding her child—I felt no coldness from her clay face. There was a gentleness there, a timelessness. She had travelled five and a half millennia to meet my gaze.

The Ubaid never wrote their story, but in her, I could almost hear it: the hush of reeds by the riverbank, the rhythm of a potter’s hands, the quiet breath of a people imagining their place in the cosmos.

These Lizard Figurines do not give us answers. They offer something more valuable—a reason to wonder. And in the lands where civilisation began, perhaps wonder is the oldest inheritance of all.