In war-torn Afghanistan, men on horses compete in a game of buzkashi – in effect, rugby with a dead calf for a ball. MH reports from the scrum
In Afghanistan, the national sport of buzkashi is a wildly popular diversion from ceaseless conflict. It offers young men a chance to win money, fame and the attention of warlords who dominate the countryside. But true success demands fearlessness and ded
It’s Friday and the snowy plains north of the Afghan capital,
Kabul, are thronged with spectators awaiting the start of a buzkashi match. This is the country’s national sport, in which horsemen fight for control of a 50kg headless animal carcass – a heavy, unstable weight, and rather more difficult to manoeuvre than a rugby ball.
With the Taliban gaining ground, any event that attracts a large crowd is a potential target for terrorism. Hired gunmen with Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders keep watch as stallions are offloaded from flatbed trucks. Heads turn when Abdulhaq Chrik, one of the country’s top riders (or chapandazan), struts out on a fearsome horse, vapour snorting from its snout.
When the summer’s fighting dies down each year, Afghans turn their attention to buzkashi, which is a war of a different sort. The word means “goat-grabbing” in Persian, but these days calves are more commonly used, as they are heavier and less likely to be torn apart by the stomping and pulling. The rules are simple: riders must lift the calf off the ground, evade the other competitors, sprint around a flag, and then drop the carcass into a scoring point known as the “circle of justice”.
Opposing riders can and will do almost anything to prevent this. Though most games are played without teams, alliances are sometimes formed to gain advantage. The skill, toughness and unpredictability of the sport have made it a fixture of Afghan life – and, perhaps, a metaphor for the country’s unstable politics.
Many of the big matches are now sponsored by regional militia commanders. In the 1970s, buzkashi had government support and teams of riders competed in purpose-built arenas under stricter rules. Then the Afghan-soviet War of the 1980s forced many chapandazan to abandon the sport and take up arms. The disruption continued until the ousting of the Taliban regime in 2001. After that, warlords backed
by the US and Nato siphoned money from a multibillion-dollar reconstruction effort into a buzkashi renaissance that they hoped would enhance their reputations.
ESCAPE TO GLORY
Abdul Rashid Dostum, an Uzbek warlord and the Afghan vice-president, is the most feared among them. In his northern stronghold, the burly Dostum has used buzkashi to project influence. He sponsors a team of top riders, with modern training facilities and a stable of around 50 imported horses. A chapandaz who wins at his events can earn thousands of pounds in a day, or go home with a new car – but Dostum’s temper sometimes steals the show. In 2016, he was accused of assaulting and abducting a rival at a match and allegedly threatened to use him as the game’s calf.
The atmosphere in Kabul on this winter afternoon is less fraught, but the sense of competition is equally intense. In a country where the average income is about £300 per year, the prospect of making this much or more in a single day is a powerful incentive for chapandazan
“The riders fight for prestige in a culture that prizes bravery”
such as Chrik, who grew up poor on a farm in Baghlan province. Success on the buzkashi field also gives riders an extraordinary amount of prestige in a culture that prizes bravery.
For the fans, the sport is a welcome distraction from everyday hardship. “In one of the world’s poorest countries, a place that is constantly in conflict, buzkashi is a way to escape,” says the Swedish photographer Casper Hedberg.
Early in the match, Chrik hoists up the carcass and thwacks his horse, Zarda, into a gallop. As they accelerate, he must tuck the calf under his leg to prevent theft and lean his body in the opposite direction to balance its weight. It’s a feat that demands core strength and focus. After a 200m dash, he rounds a green flag whipping in the wind, then charges back towards a scrum of a dozen riders blocking his path to the goal. With his whip between his teeth, Chrik weaves through the crowd and drops the calf into the circle drawn in the snow, prompting full-throated cheers from the fans. He collects this round’s prize: £70.
HISTORY OF VIOLENCE
No one is sure how buzkashi started, but historians speculate that it evolved from a training exercise among Genghis Khan’s Mongol hordes when they rampaged across the central Asian steppe. Today, variations on the sport are played throughout the region. In Kazakhstan, it is known as kokpar and the calf must be heaved into raised earthen goals; in parts of western China, it is played with yak carcasses.
Here in Afghanistan, it is a national obsession. Matches are held every Friday after prayers from November to March and last around two hours – or until the supply of calves runs out. Cool weather helps to ensure that the horses don’t overheat. If conditions are warmer, riders who can afford to change horses several times, giving them a competitive advantage.
Most riders have day jobs as farmers or mechanics, but training takes place throughout the year to maintain the strength and agility needed to handle 450kg horses under constant physical assault. Their fitness regimens include weightlifting, rudimentary bodyweight exercises and distance running for endurance. Fuel is also crucial: big platters of oily rice and kebabs are staples of any chapandaz’s diet. Some supplement meals with protein powders, which became available when Western forces arrived to fight the Taliban; others opt for hot milk and honey with fresh egg whites.
Great horses are almost as prized as great riders. The best animals are imported from Kyrgyzstan and can cost as much as £50,000 (though the former vice-president Mohammed Fahim, a lifelong buzkashi devotee, was reputed to have paid £70,000 for a single steed).
Owners take care of these horses as if they were family members. They are fed on wholegrains, kept in heated quarters and exercised daily by dedicated trainers. “Only my banker and I know how much money I have,” says one prominent buzkashi team owner. “But everyone knows my horses.”
On the field, a rider’s style of play is determined by his bulk and the size of his horse. Most prefer a larger mount, which allows them to charge through the scrum and jostle for the inside position. Once there, however, it can be difficult to reach down far enough to grab the calf. In this position, riders use a technique called the
“Hoisting up the carcass while riding is a feat of core strength”
chakka-gir, or “hand theft”. Once a rival lifts the calf off the ground, the “thief” seizes his moment, using precise timing and momentum to wrest it from his grasp.
This is a technique made famous by a rider called Gulbuddin – known to all by his first name. Gulbuddin has achieved what few of the riders here today will go on to do: he made his reputation in Mazar-e-sharif, “the citadel of buzkashi”. Gulbuddin, a Pashtun, holds a rare status in that he has fans from across Afghanistan’s ethnic divides. As with most chapandazan, his road to glory was not an easy one. When he first rode a horse, aged 10, he fell and smashed his forehead. At 15, he started competing in matches in his village and eventually made it to Mazare-sharif. There, a wealthy businessman invited him to ride for his team on a black stallion no one else could handle.
The horse, Qara, soon became synonymous with Gulbuddin. On seeing
them approach, other riders would often drop the calf rather than risk the humiliation of a theft. Gulbuddin says he earned more than £20,000 a year in their run together. “When I had the calf in my hand on Qara, no one had a chance,” he fondly recalls.
But success in the sport has its drawbacks. Gulbuddin made many Tajik commanders jealous, and at one match he was ordered not to touch the calf. When he later pushed his luck, he was given a beating and death threats followed. Gulbuddin backed off.
Violence at buzkashi venues has become a pervasive problem. Some riders now seek their fame and fortune elsewhere: Afghan buzkashi teams have competed at the World Nomad Games, an Olympic-style biennial extravaganza of traditional sports. In the 2016 Games, held in Kyrgyzstan, the Afghan team came sixth overall – not bad, considering it only had four riders and competed against teams of 12, under unfamiliar rules.
HIGHER PLAINS
Chrik has had to fight to keep his buzkashi dreams alive. When the Taliban was at the height of its power in the late 1990s, he fled from his home north of Kabul to the Panjshir Valley, home to resistance fighters who defied two decades of Russian and Taliban occupation. The valley is among the most popular locations for buzkashi in the country, the dramatic landscape making it as inaccessible as it is beautiful.
It was on these high plains that Chrik cultivated his skills as a chapandaz. Only when the country was liberated from the militants’ grasp did he return to the capital to make his name.
Yet the spectre of war has never gone away. A resurgent Taliban and Islamic State militants now control roughly half of the country, and bombings in the capital have killed hundreds. As Western governments withdraw their troops and financial support from the country, there are fears of another civil war. “I pray I never have to experience that again,” says Chrik.
Yet the creeping violence has not dimmed buzkashi’s appeal to a new generation of chapandazan. As today’s competition comes to a close, fans start to disperse and horses are ushered away from the battleground. Young amateur riders Abdul Whazir and his brother Jawad load their horse, Toroq, into their family truck to travel the 80 miles back to their home in Panjshir, as they do every week. Others will ride their horses home.
Zakir Mohammad Zaman, the teenage son of the family who sponsors Chrik, watches his idol dismount. His three brothers play the sport, too. He accompanies Chrik to each of the matches in Kabul and spends every free moment around the horses: riding, training and learning tips from the older riders. “Buzkashi is my life,” he says. His dream is to become as famous as Chrik, and he’s far from alone. In a land that straddles old and new, staggering beauty and brutal violence, buzkashi’s allure endures.