Mambo

Last friday was the most genuine game I ever played: Chaotic, violent and magnificent altogether...

There were already lots of horses on the field when I arrived to the stadium. The crowd of spectators was gathering, and the place was already vibrating. One could feel excitement and frenziness in the air... Haji Abdul Rashid was stepping out of his big car and shaking hands with Shamuq. Shamuq had made it from Mazar to Kabul, he was obviously a guest of honor. His presence was a good hint this would be an interesting game.

Looking around, I noticed there were horses and riders I had not seen before: Badakhshan... Balkh... Great to have people representing the colors of northern provinces! This was another hint: the game will be difficult to handle. The referee will probably go crazy on his microphone to have riders stick to his orders. The more teams involved, the more chaotic. Kabul, Karzai, Khorassan, Balkh, Badakhshan, Pansheer...

By the time I got on my horse and rallied the field, there were something like 60 horses. 60 horses, 6 different teams and only one carcass... If you add the fact that you can't find two riders wearing the same tchapane - there is no standard uniform for each team - you understand that there all the ingredients for chaos.



Hai koooooooooooooooo! Yaaaah! The game actually started without the whistle of the referee. No team, free for all! Horses kicking, rearing, biting... Ouch! Riders punching, whipping, shouting... Arrarhrh! A rider managed to make his way through the hooves of the horses by diving in the middle. He lifted the heavy carcass... But too late, a bigger horse jumped onto him and ripped him of the trophee, mad hord of 30 horses running after him...

For an hour, I played in pair with Leo, an Englishman who wanted to get a taste of buzkashi. He was opening the scuffle with my big horse while I was trying to sneak in... The fight was overwhelming. Fast and furious.

The scuffle was getting more intense every minute. Horses were throwing opaque flows of steam from their nostrils. The air quickly got saturated, making it impossible to see anything. I could't even perceive the scuffle, it was litterally moving around me... Only the smell of sweat, earth and blood. Horses neighing, riders being pushed from one side to the other... A couple of times, the fog cleared off and I could see the carcass for a short flash of a second or two. I pressed in to reach it, acting like a magnet, but it vanished almost instantly. And I was back in the fog, blind.

After another hour of fierce disorganized combat, the scuffle dissolved... An angry tchopendoz galopped out of the field with the carcass and led the hord to the middle of the road. So we actually played buzkashi in the middle of the traffic. Cars and trucks horning, people scared off and running away... Crazy Afghanistan!

When the angry tchopendoz made it back to the hallal to score, a disapproving grumble came from the audience: The rider went round the mosque, not round the flag. "Hallal niist, bairaq nakarda!". Haji Rashid agreed, this was not a score. But the referee granted the point and handed the money to the rider. 100 USD, a lot of money!!!

That was too much for Haji Abdul Rashid. He became red with anger and shouted: Game over!!! In Afghanistan, games most often end up on an argument...