Pamir Stoics
Murghab was once part of the Soviet Union. Today, China's influences turn the place with 7000 inhabitants into a junk shop, and the dream of tourism from the West remains vague. A place forgotten by the government.
Long black hair, a dishevelled beard and a cowboy hat: Bobur could have escaped the filming of an American western from the sixties. With the hunting knife in the shaft of his leather pants, he looks dangerous, although the eyes in his furrowed face look good-natured. In the workshop next to his house is his blue-painted motorcycle. It is emblazoned with the words "Lone Wolf" and "Big Boss", blank CDs glitter in the sun between the spokes. The Symbolic of freedom.
On the bazaar of his hometown, Murghob in Tajikistan, a few old containers from Soviet times serve as market stalls. The metal reflects the early morning sunbeams, over the roofs of the desolate concrete huts dense smoke rises all around, it is heated with dry branches. Bobur burrows helplessly in the shop window of a trader. Sweets, headphones, soap - everything "Made in China". He wanted to buy fresh fruit, but it is in short supply. To supply his family, Bobur has to resort to Chinese products whose quality is disastrous. "My children have no prospects here," says the 44-year-old.
The container bazaar is the centrepiece of Murghob, the small town in Berg-Badakhshan with around 7000 inhabitants, a region in southeastern Tajikistan. It is located far away from the political and economic centre of Dushanbe, the capital of the Central Asian Republic. Most inhabitants of Murghob live in great poverty. Located in the middle of the so-called roof of the world, the Pamir Mountains, the region is a paradise for high mountain fans and adventurers. Swiss tour operators advertise it with its unspoiled beauty. There is potential in it.
But Bobur does not believe in it. In his opinion, there are over 3600 meters above the sea is not much: the soil is infertile, the climate harsh, electricity and water are scarce. "There's no work here. Very few people can afford to study in the big cities," he says. Many young men went to Russia and worked in construction. "Some leave their families here and never return." Bobur makes his way home. It is cold, as always in Murghab. The average temperature in the village hovers around zero degrees Celsius. In January, the thermometer drops to a pleasant 20 degrees. There is almost no rainfall all year round, water has to be pumped from wells. On the outskirts of the city, there is an old Soviet hydroelectric power station and some people help themselves with solar cells, but there is no comprehensive power supply. At night it is flickering dark.
Bobur's house, a simple low building, is not far away. He lives together with his wife and two daughters. It's his second marriage. "My first wife was Russian. When the Soviet Union collapsed, she took our two children and fled to Russia. I never heard from them again," he says. For Bobur, emigration was never an option. "When I leave Murghob, I get sick within a few hours. I get a headache and feel miserable as hell," he says. Bobur is an ethnic Kyrgyz, the people have lived in this area for generations. "I was born here, my parents and my brother are buried here. I will never leave this place." Bobur is proud of his homeland. "In Russia, although you have a job. "but society discriminates against you and you work yourself to death for little money," he says. He is a hunter by profession and learned the trade from his brother before he died. "The area is teeming with yaks and rare sheep that deliver juicy meat." But since Bobur has heart problems, he only goes hunting when the family's meat supply is running low. He earns money as a seller of telephone cards in the neighbouring village. Most of them have left.
Among dozens of tools, power cables and other odds and ends, a few pin-up girls hang on the wall of Boburs garage, next to a picture of him and his first wife. The motorcycle hasn't been running for months. Bobur does not want to scrap it. Before the Russians came to the region in the middle of the 19th century, only a few Kyrgyz nomads moved around. Then came the Russian Revolution, and soon after that, new borders followed: In 1924, the area became part of the Tajik SSR. Murghab became a strategic point because of its proximity to China in the east and Afghanistan in the south. Soldiers were stationed in the village, vehicles in transit to Dushanbe or the Kyrgyz trade centre Osh were serviced here.
Because of the hostile climate, the population was particularly heavily subsidized. Electricity, water and regular food deliveries were secured by the state. With the end of the Soviet Union, this all ended abruptly. Since the opening of the border with China 13 years ago, new goods have been pouring into the country. The Tajik government also leases smaller parts of the country, which are particularly rich in raw materials, to the Chinese. The ancestral population fears that the area will soon be exploited by the overpowering neighbour. "The government seems to have forgotten us", says Bobur. From a distance, the thunder of engines can be heard. Bobur points to the big trucks with Chinese flags above the windshield, roaring over the torn asphalt of the only highway. He shakes his head resignedly. "Since the Kulma Pass opened, Murghob has been filled with Chinese garbage flooded. Food, care products, electronic devices and toys," he enumerates and adds annoyingly: "I believe that's where my heart problems come from."
Back at the bazaar. Razan, a woman with tanned skin, red headscarf and good-natured eyes, is standing in front of her shop. Her container is full to bursting with textiles and bits and pieces, outside are some wooden boxes with apples and pears that Bobur had overseas before, tiny and already a little lazy. Razan is leafing through a small booklet, which is filled with names and numbers. It is a list of the debts the inhabitants of Murghob have made to her. "Meanwhile, I'm several thousand dollars short. I could survive a few years with that", says the 40-year-old and turns back to a sock she is knitting. "The prices for food and textiles have fallen sharply in recent years. In the beginning, I had a small box of goods. Now it's a big container, but the value of my shop has remained the same," she says. The people in Murghob are poor. "At least they are honest, so far I have always got my money in the end," she adds.
Unlike most people in Murghob, Razan leaves the village in winter. As soon as the temperatures start dropping in October, she and her mother move to the town of Khorogh. It is the capital of the Berg- Badakhshan region with about 30 000 inhabitants, about five hours drive from Murghab. "My children have long since grown up and have houses in Chorugh," she says. In the beginning, Razan's mother was reluctant to leave her home in Murghob, but the extreme height of the village and the cold are too much for her.
Because of the enormous height, the poor supply and the hostile climatic conditions, the people in Murghob rarely live to the age of 60. That is ten years less than the average of the country. "Actually I only come up here because of the longing of my mother", says Razan with a smile and tilts his head. "Maybe the tourists can help the people here", she says and points to the now finished sock. "There are more and more of them. And foreigners love our traditional products.
Tourism could become the new hope for Tajikistan. A good example is the "Hotel Pamir", which stands out architecturally from the rest of the city. The building has a majestic size, striking glass fronts and a cleanly painted facade. It is the only hotel far and wide, apart from a few private accommodations. Tahir has been running it for several years. He is 26 years old, slightly chubby and even behind the reception desk he always looks as if he had just got up a few minutes ago. But when, as now, guests enter the hotel, life comes into him. He explains in good English the conditions for an overnight stay, also German would be familiar to him. "For example, there was a crazy guy from Spain. He cycled through all of Europe and is now continuing on to Mongolia," he counts Tahir after the guests have gone to their rooms. A stay in a shared room costs 20 dollars, which is a very high price by Tajik standards. Tahir finds it justified: "We can only open the hotel in summer. In winter there are no guests, and many employees return to their homes during the cold days. On top of that, there are high operating costs from the generators and food supplies," he explains. If he had his way, the people in Murghob would be able to do much more from tourism. "For some time now, we've been experiencing a tremendous increase in visitors from all over the world. Whether from Europe, China or other former Soviet states: this place fascinates people. Unfortunately, there are no major tour operators who want to settle here permanently.
In fact, by 2015, Tajikistan's tourism is expected to grow by 94 percent. Only Paraguay was even further ahead. This is why the country is often compared to Iceland: because of the variety of picturesque landscapes and because it's teeming with hot springs. Tourism would be the chance for the crisis-stricken country. But the country's government has not yet recognised this, Tahir says. "President Emomalij Rahmon thinks that tourists only come to Dushanbe, the capital, to see the magnificent presidential palace or the second-highest flagpole in the world. He seems to have no idea how beautiful the Pamir region is. The last rays of the sun disappear behind the hills above the city. Two shepherdesses lead a flock of sheep back down into the valley. Within a few minutes, thick clouds cover the hills of Murghab, a strong wind comes up, light snowfalls. Individual vehicles still roar along the roads, people go home on foot. Here and there the display of the mobile phone serves as a flashlight. In the middle of the village, there is a forgotten statue of Lenin. His arm is outstretched, nobody listens to him anymore.
