Buzkashi (Booz-kaw-she) is the national sport of our country. There are several versions of the game, but generally, it involves a team of riders on horseback or an individual rider (an every-man-for-himself version) trying to get a headless goat carcass into a goal on one end of a large field. The game mostly consists of a mob of riders trying to pick up the goat from the ground while staying mounted on their horses without falling off or getting trampled. Once one rider grabs the goat, he must try to keep the other riders from ripping it from his grasp, while breaking away from the mob to get the goat into the goal. The goal might be a large circle marked out on the ground or a large concrete container. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be any other rules. Teams/individuals are rewarded based on the amount of goals they make.
In late December, I asked my language helper (“A”) if he knew of any Buzkashi games happening. I really wanted to see one before we left for the States. Immediately, he said he knows a guy who plays Buzkashi - even won a few times - and that he would give him a quick call. “A” scrolled through his contacts and dialed a phone number. After some greetings and a few minutes of conversation, he hung up the phone and told me there was a game happening the next morning in a village about an hour or so away. I was excited… but given that it was already late evening, I was unsure if I would be able to find someone to go with me. Marissa was battling a cold at the time, so she wasn’t up to going. I threw the idea out on an expat chat group. No bites.
Realizing this might be my only opportunity, I reached out to my other language helper, “Davs,” to see if he wanted to join. An hour later, I got a phone call from him - he was interested, but skeptical if a game was actually happening. Buzkashi is traditionally played in the spring, but games are now played during the winter as well. After I assured him that I had trustworthy intel, he agreed. The next morning we met at 08:30 near my home and took a Marshrutka (sprinter van public transport) to the bazaar south of town. “A” had told me that from this bazaar, we could get a taxi to take us to the mountain village and that a local driver would most likely know where the Buzkashi games are played. Once at the bazaar, we asked a few people for directions before finding a shared taxi heading in the right direction. On the way, we began passing little utility trucks carrying Buzkashi horses. We were heading in the right direction! At 10:30 (after two hours of driving), the taxi dropped us off on the side of the road at the base of some foothills outside of a village where a mass of people and horses were unloading and preparing to play.
We headed toward the hills where a crowd of spectators were gathering to watch the game from above. It was quite the scene. There were food vendors selling drinks and snacks out of the back of their cars and people barbecuing shashleek (a type of kebab, very popular in the North). Enjoying the lively atmosphere, we slowly made our way through the pack of horses and people toward the hills. We asked some semi-official-looking people the order of events and details of the game and learned that the valley between the two hills was the main field with goals on either end, but that there wouldn’t be any boundaries during the game, so they recommended we hike a ways up the hill, so as not to get trampled. We followed their advice. It was a sunny but crisp January day, a little windy, but overall not too bad. Shortly after settling in, Davs went and purchased an RC Cola from a trunk vendor. I had packed some snacks and lunch to share while we watched.
We began to hear a man's voice crackle over a speaker system by the base of the hill from a large flat bed truck. I couldn’t understand anything, but Davs kindly interpreted for me. The announcer told spectators to clear the playing field and began rattling off the different prizes available for the winners of the game(s). Horses, TVs, livestock, and cash were up for grabs. By this time, a huge crowd of men on their horses had amassed on our end of the field. A little rough housing was happening, but as far we could tell, they were just warming up. As Davs and I continued to talk, we suddenly saw at the far end of the field a line of horses racing toward us. To our delight, a series of sprint horse races were underway to kickoff the start of the Buzkashi game. Again, before we really noticed it, the large mass of men on horseback began to bolt down the field. Looking up, we saw a man emerging from the mob holding on to a dark object - the game had begun! It was exciting to see the game in person, just as chaotic and bizarre as it sounds.
After about three and half hours, we decided to start making our way back home, as we didn’t exactly have predetermined travel arrangements. Making our way down the hill, we paid close attention to the game, so as to not be in the wrong place at the wrong time and get trampled. We headed back to the main road to find someone to hitchhike back with. After about fifteen or so minutes, a gentleman coming from the Buzkashi game invited us to hop in. He said he could take us to the next larger village that had public transportation back to our city.
As we mozied along, a typical conversation began. The driver asked if I knew Russian, why I was in Central Asia, how long I had been in Central Asia, when would I go back to America, where I live, and what I do for work. After he learned I was a civil engineer, he got excited and explained that he was in the construction business and owns a rock crushing company. He said he is always looking for expertise and he told me I should come work for him. We continued to chat back and forth, often with the help of Davs to interpret. After some time, the driver asked if we could make a few stops to look at some potential rock sources along the way. We said sure, and ended up stopping a few times to look at places he wanted to source material from. Eventually, he dropped us off at a little town thirty or so minutes away from our city. We bid him farewell and walked to a bus station where we were able to catch a series of Marshrutkas back to the city, arriving in time for dinner.
The day ended up turning into quite the adventure, but at this point, it doesn’t surprise me much. In most respects, it really was just another average day in our country. Maybe in the future, I might try to find a game closer (and a friend with a car)!
