Buzhkazi

Every place has their hardcore sports fans. For the Kiwis, for New Zealand, its rugby (watch the All Blacks in action, that’s all I will say). For much of the world, it is soccer, or futbol, especially the English Premier League (my wife has been a Man U fan longer than I have known her, even while she cannot stand Sir Alex Ferguson). For the U.S., I believe it is football (some historical buffs say baseball, but the steroid scandal has really stained our national pastime).

In the Southern United States, it DEFINITELY is football, specifically, college football. If you think Americans have lost their religious identity, drop into Death Valley, or the Swamp, or waltz Between the Hedges in Athens, or listen to ol’ Rocky Top in Knoxville, or see the Eagle fly in Jordan Hare Stadium, or, if you are really brave (and really hungry) visit Dreamland Barbeque in Tuscaloosa on Crimson Tide gameday. Win or lose, some of the best BBQ in the U.S., but if you are not drenched in crimson, you may be drenched in something less savory. Passion and religion are alive and well as people cheer on their team. Don’t believe me? You should have seen me in the heartbreaking fourth quarter of the LSU-Tennessee game.

Afghanistan is no exception. They go crazy for their national sport too. Only difference? Instead of using a bat, or ball, they use horses, and either a goat or a calf. The night before the match, they kill the animal, decapitate it, and then sew the neck shut. They then soak the animal all night in water, so that it will not explode the following day with all of its abuse. BTW, I have pictures of all of this stuff, but the internet connection here really, hmm, well, to be as delicate as possible, it BLOWS. If you want to see pictures from me, you may have to wait until I burn some CDs for everyone.

Buzhkasi is an excuse for a holiday. Everyone who is anyone (that is, everyone who is anyone and male -- no women were anywhere to be seen) will be out where the horses and riders go after it. Men and kids are out hawking candy, watermelon, sodas, water, Afghan long bread (it’s reeealllly good), almonds, all kinds of stuff. The Bamyan Mayor makes a speech. The UN makes a speech. The Deputy Governor makes a speech. Everybody makes a speech! This is worse than an election rally (I found out later that the Joint Electoral Management Body, the organization overseeing the Sept. 18 elections, organized the event. Now it makes sense!)

Finally, the horses hit the field. In theory, there are two teams, Yakawlang District’s finest against Bamyan City. In reality though, Buzhkazi reflects Afghan society, because the situation can change with a blink of an eye, as alliances change and attitudes shift. The whole thing looks like merry chaos to everybody on the outside.

Anyway, the object is to carry the goat from one side of the field to another, and then to drop it in a circle in the center of the "field." One rider grabs the goat, and immediately almost falls off his horse. Turns out this was on purpose -- riders try to stay very low to avoid getting hit by the other riders’ riding crops. We see a mass of horses, riding crops lashing this and that, and lots of dust. (Did I mention there is dust here? I’ll have to write about that another time.) They run one way, they run that, more whipping, more dust, more galloping, more dust. Like with pro hockey, fan and field interaction is pretty intense. A lot of fans run around the field taking pictures. Occasionally, the riders charge straight into the stands (ok, there are no stands, it is just up the hill where people are sitting). No time to go get that beer and pretzels, or you miss your chance to play!

Buzhkazi can go on for days (it’s like cricket in that respect, i.e. pernicious). It only took me thirty minutes to start glazing over, however. For one, the entire event began in the middle of the day. At least at this point in September, it’s still pretty hot in the daytime! Second, I must confess I am from the MTV generation, and our attention span has to be broken up into definable segments, else we switch to Playstation and hook up Madden. (Remember when that word meant a coach first, not a videogame? That means you’re old too.) In other words, my attention wandered, but leave it to the Afghans to snap it back.

People have told me that the Afghans usually play buzhkazi in the winter, because the heat can be too hard on the horses. These horses run full tilt at their riders’ behest. There is no holding back. (Some of these horses are little more than bones stitched together in some skin bag.) Well, I guess it was inevitable. One rider pushed his horse too hard, and the horse finally went down, not to get back up. Did the rider try to get water for his horse? Did he try to find a vet? (There are vets in Afghanistan.) Of course not. This rider proceeded to begin beating his horse, flogging it to "encourage" it to get back up. As the horse was dead, this proved not to be a successful strategy. It did not stop the guy, though. I always thought flogging a dead horse was just one of those expressions, but now I have seen it actually happen. Yikes.

Once the horse died, the audience began to dissipate, most paying more attention to the dead horse, some getting in the way of the other riders, some just going home. At some point, without anyone noticing, one team got the goat into the middle circle, and Bam! Game over. Everybody packs up, on Chinese motorcycles, bicycles (with plastic flowers on the front of every one -- I’ll get you a picture), donkeys, wheelbarrows, and of course, on foot, and heads either to home or to Friday afternoon prayer. A good time was had by all -- all that is, except for the horse.