Al-Hurr ibn Yusuf: The Original Urban Planner of Mosul or Just Another Umayyad with a Blueprint? In the annals of history, we often encounter figures whose contributions are nothing short of monumental. They shape the very fabric of society and lay down plans that serve as blueprints for future generations. Enter Al-Hurr ibn Yusuf al-Qurashī al-Umawī, who has come to be celebrated as Mosul’s original urban planner—or perhaps just an overzealous Umayyad with a fondness for drafting oversized blueprints and an unrelenting ambition to plaster his name across the skyline. Picture this: Al-Hurr, clad in the majestic garb befitting a powerful Umayyad, squinting at a scroll of parchment under the hot sun of Egypt around 726 CE. Was he studying the latest architectural trends or simply doodling, dreaming of an Egypt that would never agree to anything he’d ever suggested? With his eye for detail (and catchy hooks like “More water features!”), it’s entirely plausible that he envisioned Mosul as the next Dubai—before Dubai was ever a glimmer in the desert’s eye. He undoubtedly had a zest for grandiose projects, and let’s face it, an insatiable desire to outdo the last governor. Rumor has it, the first blueprint he submitted was merely a drawing of an extravagant fountain that looked almost like a giant goldfish. “Fountains attract tourists!” he proclaimed, waving away the guffaws of his peers as they wondered if his next proposal included indoor plumbing—a luxury that cities of the time were just beginning to consider. Now, let’s not pretend Al-Hurr had his work cut out for him in Mosul. Armed with whatever dusty scrolls were available, he rolled up his sleeves and began reconstructing the urban landscape. Are we talking about innovative road systems? Perhaps a more aesthetically pleasing layout? No, dear reader. This was less about urban planning and more like a massive game of Tetris-person-on-steroids, with Al-Hurr shoving buildings wherever he saw fit, all while screaming, “Think big or go home!” For a man with the ambitious title of governor, one must ask: How many times did he invite dignitaries to visit his “eclectic” new projects only to be met with awkward silence? Presumably, much like a comedian at a funeral. “Spectacular, isn’t it?” he might have chirped, pointing at the towering stack of mud bricks that had now replaced what used to be a lovely open square. As the assembled guests nodded politely, one might have overheard a bemused official whispering, “Original urban planner? More like the architect of chaos!” As Mosul advanced through the dizzying heights of the Marwanid period—all thanks to Al-Hurr's masterful touch—one has to wonder how much of it was actually sensible. Did he build adequately spacious venues for governing officials? Did he think he could squeeze a brick-and-mortar Starbucks in there for the town's elite, possibly around the charming fountain shaped like an oversized fish? And who can ignore his building projects’ artistic flair? Al-Hurr seemingly believed Mosul should not only be functional but also a spectacle to behold—more akin to the Las Vegas strip than an ancient city. “Why settle for a mere wall when you can have an ornate gate?” he might have mused. Perhaps the walls of Mosul became so flamboyant that generations lamented not the invasion of foreign tribes, but rather the critical lack of understated elegance in their city planning. In the end, while some may argue Al-Hurr ibn Yusuf was an innovative urban planner ahead of his time, others might assert that he remains a symbol of monumental overreach—like giving Richard Branson a plot of land and saying, "Do whatever you want with it!" Did he lay the path for future urban planners? Maybe… in the sense that these planners subsequently learned to not approach city layouts with the same flamboyant errors of grandeur. So, let history remember Al-Hurr ibn Yusuf, the man who straddled the line between planning brilliance and chaotic concrete fountains—and with any luck, his blueprint collection remains undiscovered and misplaced in the dusty annals of antiquity. After all, who needs sensible spatial arrangements when you can have a dazzling (if not slightly ludicrous) urban panorama of your very own?