Buzkashi in Panjsher Valley

In wintertime we tried go to see buzkashi (goat grabbing in Dari), the legendary sport from times of Genghis Khan. The game is typical for nomadic people of Central Asia. In Afghanistan – in fact only in Northern regions - buzkashi season runs from October to March. We fail two times: once there is too much snow on the playground. It looks more promising the second time: even audience gathers, but at last one lonely rider gallops to the spot and informs us that all buzkashi players are in Panjsher Valley. I am disappointed: to live in Afghanistan and not to see buzkashi seems so silly...
My husband’s colleague Steven organized on Friday a trip to Panjsher Valley, the base for legendary Tadjik Ahmed Shah Massoud and his Northern Alliance. Both the Soviets and the Taliban were not able to conquer the Panjsher valley. The Soviets attacked nine times the valley and failed every time.
We start our journey at 6.30 a.m. After 2,5 hours drive we enter the valley through a narrow canyon. It is a magnificent view because there is a lot of foaming water in the river at springtime. The road has been renovated recently, so it is unusually easy ride over green hills. Lots of red-white-pink tulips are feast for the eyes as well. Instead of lovely small white shrine a new pompous one on Massoud’s grave is being built. We pass it at first, our driver asks for directions and locals tell him about buzkashi.
Buzkashi has two forms: the traditional game tudabarai and modern garajal, promoted by government. Traditional game involves hundreds of riders. Chapandazans (or expert riders) are a major force, but everyone has the right to participate as well. Such kind of game we see in Panjsher. There are two villages competing with each other and it seems that at least hundred of horses and players have gathered in the wide natural arena of the river loop.
By accident we arrived at the right time – it is 9 a.m. The sharpest observers are already occupying the best places – some branches of trees and roof of the nearby house. Crowd has conquered the roof of a nearby sea container – a great view and a safe place, as I see later. Players are gathering, horses are brushed, small boys are riding them to warm them up. I can feel anticipation in the air.
At one discretionary moment the game starts. The task is to ride around the flag that is some hundred meters away and to take the carcass of a calf to a certain point marked on the ground by chalk. I can see only chaos of men and horses, surrounded by a dust cloud. Next moment horses rush towards the crowd – it is a full-blooded feeling, but quite dangerous as well. Horses are coming like flood toward us. Riders can’t stop their horses so rapidly, so we have to run from their way.
I look around and see that some guys on the top of the minibus wave to me. I close to the bus, shouting: “Salam! Chi al dared? Man journalist astum. Edzjoza ast?” (Hello? How are you? I am journalist. Can I climb up? in Dari). The Afghans give me green light and I clamber to the roof of the bus. It is a good decision: I admire the beauty of the wild game and the skilful riders glued to horses backs. I am safe when horses stampede into the crowd and people dash apart as quickly as they can.