The expansive green meadows dotted with thousands of sheep and the snow-capped Tien Shan mountains in the background feel like a world away from the Navruz celebrations in the busy streets of Samarkand. Few visitors head to the remote mountain villages but today, people from all over Central Asia (and even a Slovene and a Mexican!) are rushing here to spectate the horse game of buzkashi.
It is early in the morning, and we are welcomed into the home of one of the buzkashi horse riders. The table is already waiting for us, filled with more food than we could possibly eat and more tea that we could possibly drink, but we are told that this is all for us! Uzbek people are famous for their warm hospitality. They would never allow their visitors to go hungry to the games. The ubiquitous non (an Uzbek flat bread), cooked vegetables and egg omelettes are the first dishes to arrive, but the meat-lovers in the family get a hearty portion of goat meat. As we enjoy the delicious meal, a lively conversation starts – our generous hosts make it clear that they are as curious about us as we are about them and the game we are about to witness.
“Do you have any children?”, the matriarch of the family asks. This is a universal question that, for us, is usually followed by “When are you planning to have children?”. The answer “Not yet” never seems to satisfy anyone, so the family proceeds to ask about our countries, if it’s hot or cold where we come from, and more importantly, what we normally eat as vegetarians (a concept that is completely unfathomable to many people in Central Asia!).
Our hosts urge us to take some dessert. There are Russian candy bars that look suspiciously like Snickers bars but without the familiar taste of nougat and peanuts. As we finish our first Uzbek “Snickers” bar, Diyor, the head of the household, asks us if we have ever seen the horse game. We explain that this is our first buzkashi, and he invites us outside and proudly explains that his son will be participating in the village’s competition for the first time. As we carry a huge DSLR camera, we are asked to take numerous photographs with him and all the family members to mark this important occasion. Meanwhile, Diyor fondly remembers how his son started riding family donkeys already before he could walk and how he finally bought him a small horse a few years back. But this year, he is finally ready to ride the house’s prized stallion and try to win the game of buzkashi, not only for his family’s but also his whole village’s honor. Central Asian people take buzkashi very seriously – it is a game where men prove their courage and horse-riding skills.
Buzkashi is a centuries-old sport like no other. The rules are simple: carry the 25-kilo goat carcass to the designated circle on the grounds. Hitting other horses (or players) and even pulling the carcass from another player are allowed. The ends justify the means here.
The first round is about to begin. All the men from the villages gather around what is soon to become the arena of an exciting game, while women with young children hang out in the background.
Loud music is blasting through the speakers, but suddenly there is silence, and while the village elder announces the promised reward for the winner of the first round, hundreds of horsemen from Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Afghanistan, and even Turkey approach the arena. In this game, where you come from is unimportant, all that matters is your horse-riding ability. The goat carcass is placed on a tractor and is driven into the distance while hundred of horses follow it, awaiting for the drivers to drop the carcass, marking the official start of the round. All of a sudden, horses swarm around the dropped carcass and cover everything in a cloud of dust. It is hard to see what is happening. Spectators are cheering and encouraging their riders. For a quick moment, we can see Diyor’s son lifting the goat’s body onto his saddle and trying to race away. But he is not fast enough. Within seconds, a young Afghan rider emerges from the masses of horsemen, dragging the carcass at his side and dropping it in the centre of the designated circle. The first round is over, as the villagers applaud the skillful player and the elder announces the modest prize (a few thousand Uzbek som).
The goat is lifted on the tractor again and driven away to another edge of the arena. The second round is about to begin. The stakes are higher with each round. The game was organized and most of the rewards sponsored by a rich Uzbek politician – this year, the main reward that everyone wanted was a car, but there were several other smaller prizes like carpets and blankets, enough for 10 rounds of buzkashi. So the horsemen have to play strategically to make sure they and their horse don’t tire too early.
A few more rounds take place. But as the final round approaches, a wealthy villager suddenly announces that he will pay the winner of the last match an additional 30 million som (approximately 3,500 dollars). The horse-riders know that this is the match they have been waiting for. This is their chance to show off their skills, bring honor to their families and earn a handsome sum to improve their lives as farmers, maybe even send their children to study in top schools. Diyor’s son is rushing to the carcass in the distance but a foreign rider on a rare thoroughbred horse makes it to the carcass first. A few horsemen try to surround him and steal the carcass he is carrying. Diyor’s son is among them. With a little support from his father that is riding along him, he pulls the carcass from the foreigner and starts galloping at full speed towards the circle. But his stallion is no match for the fast thoroughbred horse that catches up to him from the side. As they are quickly approaching the circle, their hands are grabbing and pulling at the goat while leading their horses with reins clenched in their teeth. Everyone holds their breath.
Suddenly changing direction, they charge towards the crowd of spectators while still pulling at the carcass. There is no stopping for their horses and villagers start to flee from being trampled by the hooves. After a sudden turn, the riders are rushing back to the middle of circle, covering other riders in their dust. The larger and stronger foreigner finally manages to snatch the goat out of Diyor’s son’s hands. Within seconds, he dropped it in the designated circle. He is declared the winner of the grand prize, a brand new car and the surprise award of 30 million som. The villagers start to murmur. He is a well known, professional buzkashi player, coming all the way from Turkey. His name is Mehmet, and he participated in hundreds of buzkashi games all across central Asia. He managed to obtain quite a wealth for his family by winning more than a handful grand prizes. Nowadays, few Turkish horsemen play buzkashi, but those that do, invest heavily in tough and fast thoroughbred horses. Simple village horses are no match. This was Mehmet’s last competition, and the prize is a befitting farewell to his prolific career.
But even if Mehmet’s buzkashi ride was his last, the game is far from over. Many of the horsemen will now head to other games in Uzbekistan and beyond. They will seek to improve their horse-riding skills as they face new challengers with the ultimate goal of becoming the best buzkashi rider in all of Central Asia. Few sports are as gut-wrenching, terrifying and fascinating all at once as buzkashi is. It presents a unifying force for all Central Asian nations – when it comes to buzkashi, it doesn’t matter where you come from, just how good your horsemanship is.
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