An Ethnographic Adventure in the High Pamirs:Stories of Culture

By Stephen DeKastle

In Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements for

SS 236 EthnographyDr. Emma Karin Emgård

July, 2014

Arriving in Khorog was a late night affair. I had just gotten to

Dushanbe, Tajikistan the morning before, and now found myself

surrounded by land cruisers in the capital city. There were bearded

men all over, some wearing prayer caps, all standing around talking.

I had showed up at 7 in the morning after a taxi took me to the

parking lot where I was to find a vehicle to get to Khorog. Everyone

was wearing track pants, track jackets. Now that I really looked

around, there were not that many men with beards, fewer than what I

had first thought. In fact, most of the men here were clean shaven,

or maybe 2 days late on a trim. It looked as though if they all

decided to grow their beards out it would be the land of beards,

officially. Suddenly I was hurried to a land cruiser taxi which I was

told would take me to Khorog. It seemed that everyone was in a rush,

but then after some small amount of time, we went nowhere.

During the wait, there were negotiations, even a near fight

between my taxi driver and another man. All of the bags had to go on

top of the land cruiser, and secured tightly by straps, and finally

by a tarp to keep it all from being blown away. Then, quickly, we

were off. We rushed out of Dushanbe and onto a highway, headed

towards the mountains. I was sitting in the back of the taxi with

only one other man, and in the middle seat of the taxi were 2 men, a

woman, and 2 children, as well as an elderly lady in the passenger

seat up front. The driver was an older man, but he seemed up to the

task. The children were being held on the respective parent's laps,

and seemed quite content. I did not know at the time, but all these

people were Pamiris. Rarely did Tajiks ever spend time to travel up

into the remote Pamir mountains, especially not as far as Khorog.

The ride was long, up a very twisty, incredibly bumpy, decently

sketchy road. Fog did not slow the driver down. Even around corners

on cliffs, he just kept going.

About three hours into the trip we stopped for something to eat

at a little cafe place. There were a couple other taxis there as

well. We all went inside, and I had no idea what to order, so just

had them get me something, which was a mix of macaroni, rice, and

meat. There was tea and bread as well, and I was asked if I wanted

some vodka but declined. The man sitting next to me with his little

son put down a whole tea cup of vodka-not a small amount.

For the next 10 hours we drove through countless villages and

into the ever increasingly tall mountains towards our destination,

finally arriving around 11 o'clock at night. I had been listening to

them speak, wondering how I was going to be able to ever understand

anything they were speaking about, in awe of the different sounds

that were present in their speech. Finally, we stopped at somewhere

seemingly random for me to be dropped off after my soon to be boss

spoke briefly on the phone to the driver, and then my pack was

unloaded. This was my first Pamiri experience.

Being very hungry, I figured it was a good day to go for a bite

to eat at the local Indian restaurant. At the restaurant I was

surprised at the large amount of people there on a Saturday

afternoon. There were a number of Indian people there, as well as

some Pamiri locals for a business meeting, or something of this

nature I was guessing. I was alone, so I sat at a table at the end of

the room, a good place to observe the Restaurant. As I waited for my

food, the men in front of me who were having a meeting of some kind

were eating their meal, as well as having a bit of drink. They were

not open about what they were drinking, as it is culturally not

acceptable to drink alcohol, even though most people do. They had

the bottle of vodka hidden behind the table on a ledge, and only took

it up to pour another glass of it, of which they had many. One man

did not drink nearly as much, but the man who had the bottle was

constantly refilling his glass ad he was also buying one cigarette

after the other from the waitress and smoking them. Although smoking

is not taboo for Pamiris, it is taboo for Muslims, but traditional

Muslim practices seem to have little bearing on what people do in the

Pamirs. This whole time, I obviously was being quite careful to not

be conspicuous with my watching, and was listening to the other

tables around me too.

There were some Indian people at the restaurant (who could have

been from Pakistan, but I can only guess) who were speaking their

language to each other, but whenever the waitress came, they spoke

English to her. This was complimented by there being Indian TV on as

well, which may not have been solely because there were Indian people

there, as Pamiris like to listen to and watch Indian music quite a

lot of their own accord I learned.

One of my coworkers, Karim, invited our other coworkers and I

over to his house to eat on a regular basis. He is the office

Administrator, and works 3 or 4 days a week. Usually we go to his

house for lunch, during our break from work. Typical of a Pamiri

household, the TV gets turned on as soon as we get there, and

whatever is on is left on. There have been a number of times when

Karim has put in a DVD of Indian music videos on the TV for when we

were there, all of them being quite over the top Indian style. Indian

music has even been playing on the regular TV before, and that seems

to be quite the treat. Pamiri people in general enjoy Indian music a

lot, and comment on it often too. One interesting thing that I have

noticed is them calling someone who is outwardly romantic 'Indiski',

which is to say that they are acting like an Indian, being very

romantic. This portrayal of Indian culture they have certainly

procured from the music videos which they so frequently watch.

Watching gold medal game and editing Nasima's cousins

During the Sochi Olympics, I had not seen a single event or

match of any kind, but I was quite eager to watch the Gold medal

match between Canada and USA for men's hockey. My language helper,

Nasima (who is also Karim's sister), said that her family had TV and

she invited me over to watch the match. I was hesitant to go, as I

was not certain that this was appropriate for me to go to her house

by myself, being a man, and her a woman, especially since I am

engaged. She said that her family and her brother would be there as

well, which was much better. When I arrived at the house, I greeted

the father outside, and he was with some of his friends, of whom one

spoke a little English, and he spoke with me for a bit. Nasima's dad

was working on his van at the time, but stopped to talk with me

before I went inside. He was one of my favourite guys to talk to

there, because he spoke Shughni with me like I understood him and

with respect, something that is not common here. I was thankful for

this as it was very encouraging.

After talking to him, I was led inside by Nasima's little

sister, who greeted me by saying 'Hello, how are you, no thank you',

words she must have heard very often, so she assumed they

automatically went together! When inside, I greeted Nasima, Karim and

their cousin, who was also there for the evening. This event just

happened to coincide with Man's day, which meant a nice meal, and

multiple other men coming over for short stops during the evening.

Soon the game was on the TV, in Turkmen, and I enjoyed watching

it with the family during supper. We all ate our mashed potatoes, and

watched the game at the same time, talking about different things to

do with hockey and the like. We ate sitting on the floor with a

tablecloth on the floor in front of us, which is normally how Pamiri

people eat at home. At the end of the meal we all ate some cake which

was made specially for the day. There were three other men that came

after we had all eaten and they stayed for some time, all refusing

food at first, but each eventually taking the food and eating all of

it. It sounded as if they came just to visit, which was a perfectly

good excuse to come over.

!Once everyone was fed, and the game was over on the TV, Nasima

asked if I could come and help edit her cousin's application form for

a cultural exchange in Kenya with the Ismail'i group. While editing

these papers, her cousin was not involved, but was playing football

on his phone with Karim. There were many aspects of the application

form that sounded great, but Nasima said something somewhat

concerning. While editing one section about a story of helping

someone with English, she told me that this was actually made up to

be able to answer the question. There was no implication of wrong-

doing associated with this, even though this was clearly lying. I did

not say anything, as I did not think it my place to do so, and kept

on editing the paper.

Finally, it was getting late, and I felt a little awkward about

staying any later at their house, so I decided to leave. As I was

leaving, her father was doing the evening prayer in the other room,

and did not stop to say goodbye, as he was in the middle of a prayer.

This was the first time I had ever seen a Pamiri do a prayer, whether

it be morning or evening.

As I left, Karim and his cousin came with me all the way until

my house, to see me home.

Going to Wir with Moksads friends and the Shrine.

On a Wednesday we were to go out and see the greenhouse. This

was just Ben and I, with Moksad and a number of his friends, one of

whom was driving. It started out a normal day at the office, as Ben

and I had some work to do there before going to the greenhouse at

around 11 o'clock. We were to meet Moksad in the Bazaar around that

time, and go from there. Not in the mood to be hungry all day long,

we decided to get a little bite to eat before leaving, so we stopped

in at an Osh Khona for some plov. We knew we didnt have a huge amount

of time, so we ate quickly, but before we were even done eating, and

before 11 o'clock, Moksad called us. He was wondering where we were,

because it was time to go. We were very confused, because we still

had around 10 more minutes until we even had to meet him anywhere,

yet he was in a rush to leave. This seemed very strange, so we went

to the bazaar to meet him, but he was so impatient with us, he

thought it was best to have his friend drive all the way around town

to get to the office. Seemingly there was some large rush, but then

we spent the next half hour just chasing around town before even

leaving. We picked up 2 more of his friends, who were quite rowdy,

and headed off into the upper valley for the afternoon.

Along the way, we stopped and Moksad got some deep fried food

for everyone at the usual place. They are quite cheap, so you can buy

for quite a few people without spending hardly any money.

The ride there was mostly filled with lots of loud talking,

jeering, laughing, and being generally rambunctious on the part of

Moksad's friends. Ben and I were in the very back, secluded from the

rest of the group, physically, linguistically, among other things.

There was quite a bit of snow that day, so the little taxi van

had a fair struggle at some points to keep going without having to be

pushed.

Once at the Greenhouse, we spent some time doing the things we

needed to do, but there was still much more to do, and Moksad came up

to Ben and I and said we needed to go. We were confused, because we

had told him that we needed at least 2 hours at the greenhouse, but

it had only been 30 minutes, but he still insisted we needed to hurry

up. He did not say why, other than that his friends wanted to leave

already. So Ben and I kept working away, trying to finish the large

amount of work we had to do. I asked Moksad for help with clearing

out some dead plants, but for over 10 minutes he just stood there

saying we needed to hurry so we could go, without even picking one

plant. I had asked multiple times for help, also saying that if he

helped we could go even sooner, and finally he picked up a couple

plants, but very reluctantly.

Finally after all was said and done, we got to leave. About 5

minutes from the greenhouse on our way back, with everyone seeming

very rushed, the car stopped at a shrine. All the guys piled out and

went to go see this shrine, which was a small rock with a horse-shoe

shaped indent in it, which supposedly secretes some sort of oil. This

is where people say the first Ismaili Imam's horse stepped as he was

travelling through the Pamirs. It was covered by a small tin roof,

and protected on the sides by a low cement wall. After this we all

got back in the car and continued on our way home.

In the regional government centre, Navabod, we were driving

through the main road to pass through, going quite slowly because

there were many people all over the road, and it was an icy day, when

some of the guys started opening the door and whistling and yelling

at girls. One guy reached out and tried grabbing one girl, obviously

to her disgust, with them all saying things like 'ow ow, so

beautiful, wow!' I was surprised that Moksad would associate with

these kinds of people, and slightly embarrassed and ashamed to be in

the same car as these guys. This did not last too long, and at last,

we were back in Khorog.

Neighbour Lady giving me soup.

After a nice day out for a hike by myself, enjoying the

beautiful weather that we were getting, I came home and sat down with

my family for supper. When I came in the house, there was one of our

neighbours there, who is an older lady that speaks a tiny bit of

English. She greeted me, “Oh hello! How are you? Very good! Very

good! Here, Eat!”, as she motioned towards a bowl of soup she had

brought for me to eat. Everyone else at the Dastakhoen was eating the

soup that my host mother had made, but she wanted me to eat this soup

that she had made and brought. I got some curious looks from the

siblings at the table, and the cousin and friend that were there for

the night. Not quite sure of what to think of the looks, I started to

eat the soup slowly. I felt there was something I was missing about

the whole ordeal, and clued in that maybe it was the soup, that it

might not be very tasty...

After a while, the neighbour lady came back with another bowl of

soup for my host brother who had just come back in from doing

something, and told him to eat it. He was quite reluctant to put it

away at any great speed. The neighbour, and my parents had just left,

so then it was just us 5 young people. This is when the fun started!

So now that the adults were gone, it was time for shenanigans.

There was a little daring game going on, where they were all trying

to make each other eat stuff all mixed together. The dare was for 1

somoni – hardly worth it! Then it all escalated when I suggested they

put sugar on top of all the mixed food, they did not seem to think

the 1 somoni was worth it anymore for some reason. The girl who was

their cousin started loading my host brother's bowl of soup with

sugar, and started to quickly stir it around so he could not take it

out before it soaked in.

After a while of slowly eating my soup, they let me in on the

secret that it was not very necessary for me to finish it, and that I

could have my host mum's soup instead. I gladly accepted, and had a

bowl of that soup. I was not sure this whole time if that was

acceptable to not eat food that someone had brought over for me, but

I guess it was not too big of a deal after all.

Then we just sat around for a long time talking, and laughing,

and joking with each other. It was a great evening, and quite

enjoyable. After things wound down a bit, I was pretty tired, so I

decided to turn in for the night.

Karim making plov because Canada won the hockey game.

During the Sochi Olympics, Karim was talking to me about the

hockey games that were going on, and me being a supporter of the only

team that is worth supporting, obviously said that Canada would win

gold in both Women's and Men's hockey. Not being too ambitious, Karim

bet that the Men's team would not win this, and even put something on

the line for the bet. He said that if Canada won, then he would make

plov for the office staff, and that if they did not win, I would have

to treat the staff to a meal of plov. He kept true to this bet when

Canada won the gold, and invited us all over for Plov that same week.

This was a pretty serious deal for him, not something that was just a

joke, but a real bet, which he was more than willing to make good on.

This was even after we all went for plov earlier that week to one of

his friend's restaurant that had just opened, which would have been

good enough to count as fulfillment of the bet in my mind, but he

still wanted to invite us all over to his house. At his house, we all

sat down and had plov, and talked about the problems happening in

Ukraine, and watched the news reporting it all. After some lengthy

discussion about all of this, Johannes prayed and we all went back to

work.

People speaking Russian to me when with Matthew, and being a guest.

Matthew came to Khorogh for about a week, and stayed with me in

my house. We did quite a bit of exploring of the town, and lots of

wandering through the bazaar. Normally, when I speak to people in the

bazaar to purchase things, they respond in Shughni. It was much

different with Matthew there, as they only responded in Russian. No

matter how many times I would say that I did not speak Russian, they

insisted on speaking Russian. This was strange, as you would think

that if their mother tongue was Shughni, they would want to speak

Shughni. Now, this was not always the case, but it was quite across

the board with most people. Another curious thing that happened was

being called 'maymoon'(guest), which never happens when I am by

myself. I had never been called a guest by a Pamiri since being here,

but the minute I was with Matthew, that is what we were. We walked up

to the money changer in the bazaar so Matthew could get some cash,

and immediately the man was very friendly, calling us guests, and

saying it did not matter what kind of money we had, he would change

it. Normally the changers do not want to accept 1 dollar bills, but

this man was fine with it, because we were guests. I am still not

sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing that I am never

called a guest. I have not decided if this is because I do not look

like a respectable person, or if these people have seen me so often,

that I am no longer a guest. Either way, it was not so bad to get

some VIP treatment while with Matthew.

Night with Matthew at DDB when ladies were dancing.

During Matthew's last night in Khorugh, I decided to take him to

the Indian restaurant to get some much needed spicy food for a

change. It was a Friday night, so we expected it to be a little busy.

When we arrived, it was a fairly calm atmosphere, but everyone who

was there was a woman! A little bit awkward at first, as I was not

sure if this was lady's night or something of that kind, but after

asking the waitress, we were assured it was OK for us to be there.

After some time of being in the restaurant, the real party

started. It must have been someone's birthday, and did they ever

party! All of these middle aged women had been drinking no small

amount of alcohol, with one lady even shouting at the top of her

lungs jokes to which all the other women laughed hilariously at.

Then, it was dance time. With no further ado, a whole table of around

10 women stood up, and the restaurant turned up the music. They were

dancing in a circle, with one person at a time taking turns being in

the middle doing their own dance. These ladies were likely upper

middle class Pamiris, as none of them were wearing head scarves, and

all had fairly short hair, and could afford the amount of alcohol

they were drinking. They did not care that we were there to watch

them dance and have a great time, as is the case in the Pamirs,

dancing is something to be watched and enjoyed!

At some point, the speakers blew because the music was so loud,

and so the waitresses reluctantly came and asked us to help them

after a while of trying to figure out how to fix it. Sadly, we could

not fix the problem either, as there were melted wires, but they were

thankful nonetheless. Disappointed, the ladies who were having such a

crazy time dancing and being loud, were now quiet, with no music, and

the buzz of the moment now worn off.

When all of the hullabaloo had ended, we finished our meals, and

then went back home after an eventful evening.

Gender roles, Brother cooking, host dad eats if he wants, doesnt need

to be there.

My host brother is a great guy, who I genuinely enjoy spending

time with. He has been very encouraging during my time here, not

because he thought he should be, but because he just actually spends

time talking with me, and being a real person with me. There have

been many times when he has come into my room, whether it be in the

evening or during the day, and just talked with me about random

things. He is studying Geology at University right now, so he knows

quite a lot about this, and has some experience in the mountains of

Tajikistan doing Geological research with his school. One day he came

in....*knock knock* 'Yes?'

'Mumkino?' May i come in?

"Oen" Yes

"Do the plants need water?"

"I'm not sure, Let's check."

"No, they look good. Whats this? Quartz, cool!"

"Ya, I found that up on the mountain over there."

"Nice, I found lots of quartz when I went with my school to the east

of the country. We found huge long crystals, we were looking for

rubies, but we didn't find any. We worked all day, for days. Here,

I'll show you a map." My host brother and I go to his room and he

shows me a map of some part of the country that he has used with his

geology class, which he is in his 4th year of University taking right

now. I find it quite interesting that he is taking Geology as his

major in school, as I also enjoy geology quite a bit as well. We talk

for a bit more, then he tells me about the workouts he's doing,

pushups, pullups, dips, jump rope.

This simple conversation has taken months to be able to have. It

is no simple thing to be able to have a comprehensive conversation

with someone, and certainly not something to take lightly. I have

wished for so long now to be able to just have a real conversation

with my host brother. It seems that it finally is possible, and bless

the Lord if it happens to be about rocks and workouts and plants,

that's good enough for me!

Its one thing to talk to someone for 5 minutes about where I'm

from, what I'm doing here, and what my name is. It's a whole

different story to be able to actually talk about something that

isn't such a normal thing to talk about, especially when the person

you're talking to does not know a single word of English(in my mind,

'yes' and 'no' don't count).

Another thing about my host brother is that he quite often cooks. He

is not the normal person to cook a meal, or cooking every day, but he

does contribute sometimes to cooking. Today as I was in the Chid

(Pamiri House), Shawqat was making something over the fire. He was

making something called 'Rughan Kharvo' which is a mix of oil and

flour, and then after it is cooked in the pot for a while, then added

water and salt. This is apparently good for when you are sick, and

particularly, as my family says, for 'Grip'. This I assume means when

you are feeling just a little bit down, but not quite sick. He

happily was cooking away making this, and then my family ate it

afterwards. After finishing making the Rughan Kharvo, while we were

eating it, he started to criticize it, saying it was not salty

enough. This is something that I have observed multiple times. My

host mother sometimes will have made a soup, which tastes great to

me, but she will openly criticize the taste, and say its not salty

enough, or has no taste. While making potatoes, she will talk about

how she does not like potatoes or onions, and how my host dad does

not like these either. Talk around the table can often include 'It

isn't very tasty, is it? You don't like it? I don't like it.' These

have come as a surprise to me, as anything I cook, or my mum cooks,

criticism about the food is not something I enjoy, but in all the

experiences here I have had, this is ok!

Women's day

Walking through the Bazaar on the week leading up to Women's day

was like a madhouse. 'HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY' cakes flying around

everywhere, some more expensive cakes here and there, more fruit than

there had been in months. There were men proudly parading around the

confectionery they had purchased for their respective women. The

scene was almost comical, groups of men walking around in their

studious attire, with identical happy happy birthday cakes for

Women's day. Not nearly as many women were working the day of, which

means most shops were not open, and all the little stands with quick

food for cheap were closed down for the day. No doubt these women

were home making food for their own celebration, as their sons and

husbands tried to buy the best shampoo and perfume their small amount

of Somoni's could buy them. A brief stop in the cosmetic shop

revealed a hoard of men, mostly younger, buying cosmetics to supply

the woman in their life, presumably until next Women's day. There

were even two women in the shop when I stopped in shortly. I was

unsure of what to buy my host mother for Women's day, so after asking

the lady behind the counter what I should buy, she asked how 'Ya

Tsund Solayo?'(How old is she?), and after replying 'Chillo Aft'(47),

she swiftly reached up on a shelf and got down a box with some

lotions, Shampoos, and hopefully things that my mum would enjoy. This

all cost 43 Somoni, not a humble price for a Pamiri! It is no wonder

that women normally buy themselves the cheap simple soaps and

shampoos, and do not normally spend their money on such costly

products. After I left this full house of lotion procur-ers, I bought

some Mandarins, and the man gave me a pomegranate.

Being the one day that women might be truly appreciated here, It

would fall short for me to not get anything for my host mother, as

she is most certainly a hard working woman. Men's day in comparison

is a much smaller deal, and this does not bother me a bit, as women

need a time to be appreciated for all they do for the people in their

lives.

When I came home that evening with a gift for my host mum, she

was quite happy that I had gotten her something. I suspect she was

not expecting me to get her anything, and she was very happy. She

immediately asked me where I bought the gift, which was some shampoos

and cremes which the lady at the shop sold me. She then took

everything out of the box, and looked at everything and inspected it

all, and then put it back in the package and set it aside.

For supper, my host dad had cooked some soup, which my host mum

was visibly proud of him for. During supper, I was asked if it was

tasty, and of course said it was. My host brother jokingly said it

was terrible, and gave a quick wink and smile at me. There was

nothing overtly special that happened other than this on Women's day,

but what did happen was good.

Mum's reaction to gift, where i got it, etc. Host dad made supper.

Cleaning office before Navruz, Madina, Karim, Moksad

On the day before Navruz, we did an office clean, with all of

the office staff doing a bunch of cleaning. This started off with us

all getting to the office normal time, 9 o'clock, and immediately

starting the 'spring cleaning'. Karim though was in the office

working on things that he had not finished earlier in the work, as

well as signing up to take a TOEFL test. He does not have a credit

card, so he asked me if he could use mine to pay for his TOEFL test,

which I gladly helped him out with.

So while Karim sat inside in the office, Medina Ben Johannes and

I set to work cleaning out the office. It is interesting that Medina

did not object to Johannes cleaning as she had done before about the

dishes, but she did not seem to see a problem with it. During this

time Johannes made jabs at Karim how he was not working, but just

sitting in the office, most of which I thought slightly unfair. He

gave off the vibe that he did not need to help if he had other work

that needed to be done, all the while still saying that he would be

helping soon enough.

At around 10 o'clock, Moksad showed up from school to help

clean, and he and I set to work taking leaves to a garbage pile a

short walk away with a tarp. He was not a big fan of doing this,

partially because he said we should just burn the leaves there, and

partially because it was manual labour that he did not want everyone

in the community to see him doing. He made quite sure to make himself

look as unstrained as possible while walking by people, all the while

questioning me as to why I looked as if I was working so hard.

Finally after most of the work was done, Karim finished in the

office, and came out to help me haul away the last 2 loads of leaves.

After all of this work, we all went out to eat at a little

restaurant for a Navruz celebration for the office. First though,

Karim said he needed to go home to change from his work clothes to

nice clothes that were clean. We all waited for him, and then instead

of just walking to the restaurant which was very close, he insisted

we drive, so we drove all the way through town to the car bridge and

back down along the river to the restaurant. Medina had made walnut

bread, which is a traditional bread to make during celebrations. It

was incredibly tasty, but I'm allergic to walnuts, so I could not eat

very much. The restaurant we went to did not have any Plov, so we all

got fish, which was stone cold. Karim remarked after the meal that

'this would be the last time' he visited this venue.

Navruz celebration

The reports I had heard of the Navruz celebrations from years

past sounded less than exciting, but this year was something set

apart. The entire Khorog Stadium was filled with thousands of people,

all there to watch the huge display of dancing, singing, and symbolic

acts.

To start the ceremony, there was a group of older women that all

were beating hand drums together in unison while walking around the

stadium. From what I have seen, at any event like this, older women

always start it in this matter. There were many different groups of

people then marching behind them, dressed in various ways. Lots of

the colour green, signifying spring time. Leading the procession was

the 'Lady of Spring' who symbolizes the coming of a new year. After

her were all of the performers that would perform throughout the

ceremony, including a pair of oxen pulling a plow. Then there was

the show. During the dancing, a group of young ladies walked around

and put green cloths on some potted trees, to show the coming of the

green of Spring (as it was not yet green in the Pamirs at this time,

despite it being Spring). The group of dancers near me were dressed

in traditional Pamiri clothes, with red yarn braided into their hair,

red Kurtas, red Toqies, all dancing around some caged birds, Chukars,

which are traditionally used for fighting.

Surprisingly, all of the music that was played was Tajik music,

despite the entire population of Khorog has not but maybe 20 Tajiks.

I asked one guard at the stadium why this would be, and he said this

was because they were getting paid money to do this. This also meant

that most of the dancing was as well Tajik dancing, not the Pamiri

dancing which everyone loves so much, and can do for hours on end.

During this all, there were a pair of 'Sheytoen' dancing around

the groups of people. These are 'satans' that had a two sided mask

on; one side with a good expression, the other side with an evil

expression. They continued to dance the entire show, going to each

group, and symbolizing the devil trying to trick us by looking good,

but having another face altogether, symbolizing as well people who do

the same thing.

Stepping back again, the stadium had at the two opposite ends 4

big cauldrons of 'Boj', a food made to give to people during good

times, being cooked by men in Pamiri Toqies. Outside of these were

piles of logs that were burnt, harkening back to Zoroastrian

practices of fire being such an important part of worship. The middle

of the stadium had trees radiating out of the centre stage. The stage

was encircled by huge Pamiri patterns. On the outside of all of the

display in the bottom of the stadium were hundreds of volunteers

guarding so that no one could enter the inner section. Mostly

alternating man, woman, man, woman, largely wearing Pamiri Toqies,

and the women wearing red Kurtas.

Wrestling match

Navruz was not only a day of celebration of spring, the literal

translation being 'New Day', it was also a time to compete in

wrestling. This was a good opportunity for me to experience something

Pamiris are very proud about.

I had gone home for a bit after the big Navruz celebration to

warm up and get some food, and then headed back down to the stadium

in the early afternoon to enjoy this event. When I first walked into

the stadium, it looked quite empty, but most of the spectators were

on one side of the stadium. I quickly found Johannes who I was

meeting there, and sat next to him. All the sudden I realized I was

surrounded by hundreds of men, all eating and spitting sunflower

seeds. Every single man in that place had a little bag of seeds, and

was intently tuned in to the events, spitting and eating as quickly

as possible.

A thorough scan resulted in me not being able to see a single

female, of any age. This must truly be seen as a sport for only men

to even see, let alone compete in. There were men of all ages looking

on as macho as can be, eating their sunflower seeds, and prepping

their friend for his bout on the mat. I soon felt out of place, not

because of a lack of macho-ness, but for the lack of seeds to spit

all over my neighbour's backs, so I quickly went and bought a small

bag outside the stadium. There were some ladies selling lots of

random snack-y items as per usual, as well as a good stash of

sunflower seeds. At only 1 somoni per bag, I quickly understood why

everyone was so into this spitting phenomenon. They could at least

freely spit this substance, unlike the green tobacco 'snus' that they

usually were spitting.

When back inside the stadium I was becoming restless of being up

in the stands so far from the action, and wanted a closer vantage

point, so I bid Johannes adieu and stood with all the young men at

the edge of the playing area. Soon some guys motioned me over to come

sit with them on their bench, seeing that I had a camera, and

noticing I did not have too many clear shots because of all the

people in front of me. They were insistent that people gave not only

me a clear view, but they as well. They asked me the usual things,

where I was from, what I was doing, why I know Pamiri, and an array

of other questions. I answered all easily, with them being quite

impressed, and seeming to like me more and more as the minutes

passed. Soon they all wanted a picture together.

The people kept creeping forward blocking the view of this bench

of boisterous brohemians, so they opted to move their bench to a more

prime location. This just happened to be about 20 feet from the

wrestling mats in the middle of the stadium, where no one else was. I

followed as to their request, and they continued to treat me like a

fellow, offering me sunflower seeds, seeing that I also had my own.

All the while, the wrestling was going on, which for quite some

time I was amiss as to what counted as a win. Some fights lasted 10

minutes, others lasted 30 seconds, and I was not quite getting the

gist. Either way, everyone there was enjoying it very much, as was I.

The wrestlers were from all over GBAO province, some from quite far

away, but lots from Khorog as well.

Observing the wrestling were a number of older men who seemed to

be judging, but then there were a number that were apparently just

observing, but from closer than anyone else had the privilege to sit.

One older man, quite esteemed looking, with a mid length beard and a

fedora, walked around, and sat down for some time watching. I had

seen him around before, and was told later by my host father that he

was some important figure in the community, but what, I am not

certain.

Eventually, the fighting became monotonous, and I was tired,

knowing that the day was not close to over, so I headed home bidding

my new friends a farewell. They were not overly sad to see me go, and

I walked home satisfied for the day in terms of social interaction on

any large scale.

Navruz at Karim's house

I was very excited to be invited to Karim's house for Navruz,

not because I thought it would be an incredibly wild time, but

because I was interested in both extending my friendship with him, as

well observing the cultural aspects of this large cultural holiday.

I arrived after Johannes and his family, and was invited in to a

room I had never been in before. Karim's wife was the one who greeted

me at the door and welcomed me in. I sat down, on the floor with a

tablecloth covered with many different dishes of food on it. Most of

these were Russian, with many different salads there, as well as

Plov. There was a lot of bread as well, with some small deep fried

dough balls that are traditional Pamiri treats. This was all with

juice, and of course tea. Finally Karim came back to the house,

apparently running an errand to a friends house, and Ben came at the

same time.

After we had started eating, there seemed to be an endless

stream of children coming to the door , all singing their own brand

of about 3 different songs. Mostly the songs were in Tajik, as Navruz

is a very Tajik Holiday for the most part, and this specific

tradition has many Tajik aspects.

The kids would come with a Pamiri Rabob, maybe some guitars, a

hand drum, or maybe even a flute, and dance around and yell the song

for about a minute, then quickly leave after being given some money.

Karim had a stack of 1 Somoni bills that he would take from to give

to the kids, as this is the tradition. He says that he thinks it is

good to give them money, as when he was a kid he remembers singing

for people and getting money, and really liked it. If the singers are

good enough, or funny enough in some cases, he would give them more

money, especially if they are older. Every time the kids would come,

they would start singing as soon as he opened the door, but he wanted

them to come in, so he would make them stop singing, have them come

in, and close the door, then they could sing and dance all they

wanted. This was sometimes after they had mostly finished singing the

song already through once, and they had to sing it all over again.

After some time Karim wanted to tell a story. I can not remember

what elicited this desire, but the story had no connection to the

question which was asked of him, he just likes to tell stories. The

story goes:

“the woman's name was Husniyamo, the as my daughter's name. She was very beautiful and smart as well. After long time of studying hermaster told her to go back home and serve her parents. When she got back home she saw her farther and mother in appalling poverty and sheoffered them to earn some money. Her father asked her how to do it. And she offered to sell her in the market for 1000 golden dinar. Her father did not agree saying that the first reason is that he cannot sell his only child and the second reason is that nobody actually hasthat amount of money except the king. But she insisted and told him to trust her. All that happened in Bagdad-the capital city of Abbassids empire. That time the cost of women in the market was very chip. It was even less than one golden dinar. But she told her fathernot to make her price lower than 1000 golden dinar. When he took her to the market the Vizir (deputy) of the King passed the market and asked the price for that woman. When he heard it he laughed and said what is the difference between this woman and the others who cost less than one golden dinar? Soon the rumour spread to the king Horun Ur-Rashid. The king told his soldiers to bring the woman along with her father to his residence. When they came he asked the woman why isshe so expansive. The woman told him to collect all his scholars, vizirs (deputies) and other wise men and women who serve him. He collected 200 people in total. Then the woman said now they can ask me questions whatever they want. Everybody asked her questions and she gave very accurate and correct answers. When they stopped she started with her questions, she asked just three question which nobody could answer. Then the woman said therefore my price is 1000 golden dinar. And the king agreed with her and gave her more than 1000 dinar and other precious things and let her go home with her father. That is the true story about Husniyamo.” (Karim Gavarov, 2014)

When we had all eaten our fill, and heard our fill of stories as

well as singing, we decided it was time to go up to on of Karim's

neighbour's house, and hear him play the Afghan Rabob. He played a

number of songs for us, and when asked about what they were, they

were about 'The Girl', as usual. One song was sung in Persian(Iran),

and a couple in Shughni. He is known to be the best Afghan Rabob

player in Tajikistan, as well as being incredibly talented at

singing. I was honoured to be able to hear and see him play,

especially since he had just had heart surgery which he was still

recovering from.

Buzkashi

The day after Navruz was a very big day for the people in the

Pamirs. It had been about 30 years since Buzkashi had been played in

their area, and this was a game they all loved. It involves around 5

horses per team, trying to get a dead goat with no head to a

specified area on the ends of the field for points.

The day started fairly normal, having breakfast of milk tea with

my family, and then getting ready for what we had to do that day. I

had agreed to go to the events with my host brother, whose uncle was

going to be driving us. Eventually we left home and waited at the

street corner for his uncle to come pick us up.

We were picked up and headed off to a town called Porxhinev

where the Buzkashi would be held that day. This was supposedly where

it was held previously every year, on the same field. It was likely

the only piece of land large enough for such a game for some

distance, as the valleys are not wide enough in most places. There

was already tons of people that had arrived already, lined up along a

canal across from the field, on the mountain behind this, and

everywhere in between. I quickly said hello to one of my coworkers

Medina who was excited to see that I had come. Then Shawqat and I

walked further to see if we could get access to stand closer to the

happenings. I had told him that I wanted to stand closer to take

pictures, and that if we asked the police who were guarding the

place, they would probably let me in. He was very dubious of this,

but we went and asked anyways. I said to him that if you do not ask,

how can you receive? So we went, and he asked the guards for me if I

could go and take pictures. They said this was not possible, as they

did not have the authority to let me in. So Shawqat looked

disappointingly at me, and said we should probably find somewhere

else to stand.

Just then a man who was in a grey sweat suit came and approached

us. He asked where I was from, and why I was here. Then he asked why

I wanted to stand closer, and I showed him my camera and my tripod,

and he was quite impressed. He then quickly ushered me past the

guards and placed me near the middle of the field on the edge, saying

I could not cross the line, or stand in front of the people in the

middle. The people who were sitting in the middle were the leaders of

the community, one of whom I recognized from seeing at the wrestling

match. They were all older, and looked like they had much importance.

They were sitting on a small set of risers, maybe 5 rows tall, each

on their own chair.

Next to them was a pavilion thing with a raised stage where

there was presumably someone doing announcements.

There was a long while to wait for everything to start, so I had a

small sit next to a Tangem that was parked next to the field. It had

a ribbon tied around it with a bow on top, as if it was a big

present. As I was sitting there, a Police/KGB officer came over and

started talking to me. He was pretty quiet, and he was surprised I

could speak Shughni. I spoke to him for a couple minutes, and offered

him some of my sunflower seeds, but he declined. Then we sat in

silence for quite some time just waiting.

There were more and more people showing up all the time, and

more people being let into the off limits area where I was. There

were a couple of older guys that came to check out the goat carcass

that was laying on the ground near to where I was standing to see how

heavy it was. They were not satisfied with the weight, so they went

and threw it in the canal to soak it with some water real quick to

make it a little heavier. Traditionally the goat would have been

soaked in water overnight so it did not just fall apart from being so

stiff when used.

This whole time there were people on the field walking around

with their horses, galloping across the field, sprinting, and

grooming them before the big show.

At last, it was to begin. The horses all lined up for a race,

which was to be 12 km, 4 times around a 3km track. There were a

number of girls, a couple smaller boys, and then some men and women.

The race was very fast, with one of the younger guys getting out

ahead first, but obviously pushing his horse too hard to start with.

Every time the horses came around the track the people went crazy

cheering for them. The race was over quite soon after it started,

with a guy from quite far away winning the prize. The prize was the

Tangem that was behind me, which was a very big deal. This gave this

man a job, as being a driver was one of the only jobs a lot of people

could get. For the runner ups there were carpets and other

miscellaneous things.

Next after some delay was the Buzkashi game. This is what

everyone came for, and people were very excited and loud about it. I

was now standing in the actual field, as the crowd of spectators

moved closer and closer in on the field. There were a couple other

photographers here, one of which I think was German, though I did not

speak with him. There was a film crew video taping it all, and of

course the people who had some other way of getting in close were all

over as well.

The game was very quick, not very organized, with lots of people

trading in and out. It seemed that all of the important older

gentleman who were still able enough to ride a horse got a shot at

the game. The feel of the game was more of an exhibition than a real

competition, but this did not seem to bother people too greatly.

There were even a number of women/older girls playing, which was cool

to see. It was not overly clear that there were set teams, or rules

even, but people knew when there was a score.

After some time, and many near misses of the crowd by the

players on their horses, there was a winner. This was probably less

than an hour after the match started. The winner won a refrigerator,

and the rest of their 'team' won carpets, which they all paraded

around the field most proudly.

The day had ended quickly, and it was time to find a way back to

Khorog. All of the taxis were full, and it took some time and a

little bit of walking to get back to town. I sat next to a guy who

spoke some English on the way back in the taxi. I walked most of the

way back home with him, talking about my experience there, and asking

him about his schooling. He was studying Geology at the university

there, which seems to be a very popular course of study.

I said goodbye, and walked the rest of the way home by myself.

This was my last night at my host family's home, and it was a

somber night. There was no celebration, no fancy meal, no extra

anything. It was a normal meal of soup and bread, of course with tea,

and some time of just sitting and talking. My host dad took a picture

of my host brother and I, who was not overly keen on having his

picture taken with me, and he put his head down so that the picture

would not get his face.

After supper I said my goodbyes to everyone, shook hands, and

went to get my bag to go. Shawqat came with me until the corner of

the street, then said goodbye there. It was a lonely walk the rest of

the way, it being already fairly late, and it was a walk that felt

final – a weird finality. I am not sure that I will ever see my

second family ever again, but I hope to.

Conclusion paragraph

Pamiris, a people living in a remote corner of a remote country.

A vibrant culture, very much alive and well. My time with these

people will forever be a reminder of suffering, rejoicing, learning,

growing, being humbled, and being shown how to love. My host family

was more than gracious with me, and I learned not only language from

them, but invaluable lessons of life. My time now seems short, but at

the time, it could not have felt longer. I dreaded leaving the Pamiri

people, I dreaded coming back to Canada. I longed for home, but did

not want to leave. I am glad to have had the opportunity to speak to,

live with, witness, struggle alongside, and experience the people of

this mountainous region. Though I am not a Pamiri, and will never be

Pamiri, I can now begin to see things as they do, and try to

understand their world view.