Included on this page:

Author's biograhy, definition of Hindu Kush, excerpt from article about the Kuchi (nomads of Afghanistan), map of Afghanistan, photograph of nomads, excerpt from article, "The Long Walk of the Kuchi,", article about buzkashi, the Afghan's national sport.

Copy and paste following link to go to excellent site about Afghanistan: http://www.afghanistanworldfoundation.org/aboutafghanistan.html

Biography

Writer and maker of documentaries and films, Siba Shakib was born in Iran. She grew up in Teheran and recalls learning early in life that "girls have lesser value than boys." She attended a German school in Teheran. where she received lessons in five religions and where she learnt different languages. Her higher education took place mainly in Germany where she completed her studies at the University of Heidelberg. Her work has taken her to many countries, but her attention became more and more concentrated on the war-torn Afghanistan where she worked before and during the command and terror of the Taliban. Several of her documentaries have won awards, including the moving testimonials she has made of the horrors of life in Afghanistan and the plight of Afghan women in particular.

With her international bestseller, Afghanistan, Where God Only Comes to Weep, the story of Shirin-Gol, Siba Shakib drew the attention of the world to the plight of Afghan women. The book was translated into 16 languages and won many prizes, amongst others the PEN prize. Told in unflinching detail to the writer, this is the story of so many Afghan women; a story of life under the Taliban regime. Set against the Russian invasion of 1979 and the emergence of the American funded resistance, it is the story of a woman’s struggle to face day-to-day living in the war-torn capital of Kabul. It tells of a husband’s opium addiction and its tragic consequences of rape, of enforced prostitution to feed a growing family, of attempted suicide. But most importantly it is a story of great courage, of human kindness, female friendship, resistance, determination and love. It is the moving story of a proud, brave and admirable woman in constant search for a better life, a life where her children have a chance of a future without poverty and fear.

In her second book Samira and Samir, she tells the extraordinary true story of a young Afghan girl following her heart in a man’s world. This tale of love and courage, and of a remarkable woman who finds her path in life, gives a remarkable insight into the extraordinary lives in Afghanistan that are lived out behind the headlines.

Since ISAF, International Security Assistance Force (UN mandated peace troops in Afghanistan) started their mission in Afghanistan, Siba Shakib has been working as an advisor to the NATO led troops. Her strongest plea here is "Neither bombs, nor war is a solution to anything." Siba Shakib is currently working on her next book and is adapting her books into films. When not travelling with and for her work, she lives in Italy, Germany and New York.

http://www.ukzn.ac.za/cca/images/tow/TOW2005/bios/Shakib.htm

What is the Hindu Kush?

A mountain range of southwest Asia extending more than 805 km (500 mi) westward from northern Pakistan to northeast Afghanistan. It is crossed by several high-altitude passes used as invasion and trade routes since ancient times. The highest elevation is Tirich Mir, 7,695.2 m (25,230 ft), in Pakistan.

http://www.answers.com/topic/hindu-kush?cat=travel

Who are the kuchis?

........................................................................ Afghanistan has a substantial number of nomadic people, often estimated at 10 percent of the country’s total population. They are primarily sheep raisers who live in tents and travel seasonally in caravans with baggage animals (camels, horses and donkeys) that can move the people and household goods long distances over fixed migration routes. They are commonly known as kuchi, a term derived from the Persian kuch, to move or migrate. In eastern Afghanistan kuchi is applied to all nomads who live in black goat hair tents (ghizhdi) and are seen as having a distinct culture, habitation and economy that sets them apart from the sedentary villagers whose lands they pass through.  Nomadic pastoralists play a vital role in Afghanistan’s domestic economy. They provide most of the country’s meat supply (particularly mutton) that is distributed for sale by butchers through the country’s many bazaars. The nomads are the major producers of dried yogurt (qrut), which is an important source of protein that can be stored indefinitely without refrigeration. Nomads near urban centers specialize in the sale of fresh milk and soft cheese. The annual wool clip supplies the needs of villagers who use the wool to make felt or spin yarn for rugs and carpets. 

Because Afghanistan is very mountainous it can support a large number of livestock that take advantage of seasonal pastures that are unsuitable for sustained agriculture because they are either too high or too dry to plant grain. Nomads spend the winter in areas of lower elevation that are warm and in the spring begin their migrations to high mountain pastures that become fully available in the summer as snows melt. As summer ends, the nomads retrace their steps back to their winter quarters. The most important migration routes all converge on the Hindu Kush mountain range, with the exception of the northeast where they move toward the Pamir range...........................................

http://www.umsl.edu/services/govdocs/wofact2002/maps/af-map.gif

.     www.lettersfromkabul.com

Excerpt from

The Long Walk of the Kuchi

by Adnan Khan

Published in the July/August 2006 issue of The Walrus, aCanadian magaxine.

...... ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, The Kuchi (which means “nomad” in the Afghan Dari language) are Sunni Muslim tribespeople who travel the alpine routes between Pakistan and Afghanistan, guiding their herds of sheep and camels to the sparse grazing grounds scattered over rugged mountain terrain. Although there are close to 2.5 million Kuchi in this country of 31 million people, they are one of the least-understood groups in Afghanistan’s often violent ethnic stew, and for centuries have occupied a unique space in the intrigues of the region. The Kuchi and their forebears have witnessed the rise and fall of conquering dynasties, including the Soviets, but have never themselves been subdued. And now Canadian and other soldiers from the US-led coalition, who have come to impose order and democracy on Afghanistan, are crossing the Kuchi’s ancient trails. While the nomads have thus far been little more than a curiosity to the soldiers, the Kuchi are capable of extreme violence. They often survive by smuggling, and when roused to it, as they were in the jihad against the Soviets, they have significantly changed the course of Afghan history. Mindful of this, the Afghan government is determined to bring the Kuchi into the country’s evolving democracy.

Spring is a traditional migration period for the Kuchi, and Jegdalek is a transit point for families making their way from Jalalabad through Sappar to the grazing grounds in the north. After a night of rain, the sky is a clear azure. The Kuchi, we know, will be on the move. As they travel, they subsist on a diet of mostly bread, yogourt, and a heavy butter sweetened with sugar. They move in family groups of four or five people, with herds of up to a hundred sheep or camels. To protect themselves against mishaps on the trail, the families stagger themselves along the route. If you wait a few hours after encountering one group, another will arrive.

Barely fifteen minutes into our drive to Sappar, we meet a family preparing for the next leg of their journey. Their camp, with its traditional earth-toned kaidi tent, is set up on a hilltop. Unfortunately, the area is littered with rocks painted bright red, lined up three years ago by the Mine Action Program for Afghanistan in order to warn people that this is a minefield. Walking to the edge of the safe zone, I call out to the heavily bearded, stone-faced patriarch. “Don’t you worry about landmines” I ask when he comes over to greet us. “Mines” he retorts, “What can we do about mines This is our life.”

The Kuchi and their animals are often maimed or killed by landmines, and every family I meet has a story to tell about someone who has lost a hand or foot, and occasionally about lives lost. Misery has long been imposed upon the Kuchi, which is one of the reasons why they are so wary of outsiders. Thankfully Laoor, the patriarch, is willing to sit with us, though he warns that he has four dogs. “You don’t want to meet my dogs,” he says ominously. He calls on one of his sons to bring out a brown felt rug decorated in orange and white flower patterns. We walk into what we believe is a safe area in the minefield and take a seat twenty metres from the tent. The women stay a safe distance away; the dogs are nowhere in sight.

Laoor is thirty years old but looks considerably older. He offers us unsweetened green tea, an Afghan staple. Lumps of candy made from brown sugar, known as gur, are placed in a small plastic dish in the centre of the rug, and Laoor’s son performs the typical Afghan cleansing ritual of pouring a small amount of tea in each glass, swirling it around and dumping it out before filling them up again. It is a peace offering of sorts, indicating that we are welcome to stay awhile. After a few cups of tea, Laoor begins to open up.

The Kuchis’ life is difficult, he says. Any shift in the political realities of Afghanistan or Pakistan can disrupt their ancient routines. For example, like the Taliban, the Kuchi are Pashtun, and when the fundamentalist regime was in power, they were allowed to take their herds into the lush Bamiyan Valley of northern Afghanistan, the same region where the Taliban blew up two ancient statues of Buddha in 2001. But the local Hazara militia has now barred Laoor and his tribe from these rich grazing grounds, which are critical to the Kuchi barter economy. Now they make do with smaller grazing areas shared with other nomads—a situation that is taxing their herds, already drastically reduced by drought. “The Taliban was better than the government we have now,” says Laoor. “The people of Bamiyan bother us too much.”

The Hazara have reason to mistrust the nomads. According to a report co-authored by Hussain Razaiat, chairman of the Afghan Multi-Ethnic Association, previous Pashtun regimes, dating back over 100 years to the reign of Amir Abdul Rahman, have offered land to the Kuchi for settlement in the Hazara-dominated regions of the north. The Hazara claim the Taliban, like the rulers before them, were using the Kuchi as a buffer between the Hazara and the majority Pashtuns. Since the fall of the Taliban, there have been outbreaks of violence between the Kuchi and the Hazara militias.

After leaving Laoor and his family to their departure preparations, we gingerly make our way out of the minefield and continue toward Sappar. The route leads off the wadi to a dirt track carved into rocky hillsides. At one point, a pickup truck filled with Afghan police officers stops. The group’s commander, who is dressed in a forest-green police uniform, happens to be Bashir’s uncle (no surprise considering my translator’s tribe controls much of the region, including the police force). “Your father called me from Kabul,” he tells Bashir. “He told me not to let you go any further. It’s too dangerous.”

http://www.walrusmagazine.com/articles/2006.07-international-affairs-the-long-walk-of-the-kuchi/

Buzkashi - an Afghan tradition thrives

By Lucian Kim

LEADER OF THE PACK: Northern Afghan horsemen play buzkashi, a traditional game in which players battle for control of a decapitated goat or calf carcass.
MAXIM MARMUR/AP

The dozens of turbaned horsemen on their prancing steeds assemble on a dusty field on the outskirts of this city in northern Afghanistan. Despite their shouts and cracking whips, however, the riders' intent is peaceful. As they do on most Friday afternoons after prayer, the horsemen have gathered for a friendly match of buzkashi, or goat grabbing.

Across northern Afghanistan, as well as in neighboring Central Asian states, this winter sport has been an enduring pastime for centuries. The object of the game is for a member of two competing teams to pick up the carcass of a decapitated calf or goat from the ground, carry it around a flag, and return it to a circle in front of the judges.

It is not surprising that a game that prizes courage, horsemanship, and brute strength would be one of the most popular forms of public entertainment here.

Buzkashi is sport reduced to its simplest form, with no contrived side-shows or complicated rules. And, as many things are done in Afghanistan, the seeming chaos of a buzkashi match actually follows a deliberate system that is not always obvious to the foreign observer.

During Taliban rule, many of the top players fled their villages or fought with the Northern Alliance. Others left the country. But now the pros are trickling back. Teams from local villages play each other. Sometimes matches are held to celebrate a wedding or the birth of a son; other times tournaments take place in which thousands of horsemen participate.

At the start of a round, the master riders, known as chapandaz, bunch up in a tangle of men and horses. Players in the midst of the fray stoop down from their mounts - whip in mouth - and try to grab the carcass, which can weigh up to 150 pounds. Suddenly, one rider breaks from the crowd, dragging the calf as he gallops across the field with his rivals in hot pursuit. Opposing riders use their whips to urge on their horses and to hit the rider with the carcass in order to steal it.

Admission is free to the couple of thousand men and boys who have come to cheer on the riders. Armed men futilely try to hold back the throngs by swinging their Kalashnikovs. Often the bystanders become unwilling participants in the game, as the riders charge headlong toward the sidelines, causing the crowd to scatter.

During the match, one chapandaz falls headfirst over his horse, but jumps back on his mount and continues the pursuit. At one point, a motorcycle with a little girl clinging to the back speeds across the field. Nobody seems to mind the three mounted US soldiers, dressed in desert fatigues, who ride with the mass of horsemen.

As the lead horseman with the calf disappears over an embankment and across the road behind the field, a medical student named Baryalai offers a running commentary: "It's not like a football game where there's out-of-bounds," he says. "Because horses are also taking part in this game, it's allowed."

For the owners of the horses, possessing buzkashi champions is a matter of prestige. For the chapandaz, too, glory comes before money. Here, corporate sponsorship is not a foreign idea. At this match, a trading company put up the prize money: about $12.

After the game, Amir Zoyer sits on the field and pulls off his long, pointy riding boots. The 40-year buzkashi veteran is also a local fighter. Once out of his boots, he clambers into a pickup truck, bristling with rocket-propelled grenades, and roars off.

from the January 04, 2002 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2002/0104/p9s1-wosc.html