Afganistan
The seemingly impenetrable isolation of Khorog and of the surrounding region of Gorno-Badakshan is a source of pride for those who manage to eke out an existence here. In the rest of Tajikistan they are known as Pamiris, people of the mountains. Their culture, religion and even their language set them apart. Pamiris speak an Eastern Iranian language distinct from Tajik (a Western Iranian language related to Dari). They are not Sunni muslims like other Tajiks, but are mostly members of the Ismaili sect. They have no official clerics and don't worship in mosques. Like the Ismailis of northern Pakistan, they consider the Aga Khan to be their spiritual leader. People even tell time differently here. They talk about "Khorog time," which seems to be one hour ahead of "official time" or "Dushanbe time."
During Tajikistan's civil war in 1992, Pamiris sided with the democratic opposition (the losing side) and were subsequently cut off even more completely when government troops regained control of the country. This status was acceptable and even desirable for Pamiris who favored increased independence for their region (Gorno-Badakshan is usually identified as "semi-autonomous"). But then food supplies began to run out. Pamiris living elsewhere in Tajikistan became the targets of death squads, and began to pour into Gorno-Badakshan seeking protection. The Aga Khan Foundation provided a crucial lifeline during the war and, along with the United Nations' World Food Programme, continues to prop up the local economy. Unemployment has long been a serious problem here. A 1991 study found that nearly half the total population of 161,000 had no job.
Music is one thing Pamiris have in abundance. Music is an important part of life in Khorog, the way it can be in other secluded places marked by hard times. (Think of banjo players in America's Appalachian Mountains, or the Mbaqanga street musicians in South Africa's townships.) Mamadato Tavaloyev, 63, is a sitar-player who comes from a musical family and has in turn fostered a family of musicians. His wife Bejoda plays drums; his son Roslan plays sitar; and his daughter-in-law Tachmina dances. When asked why the melodies he plays tend toward the melancholy, he says, "We grieve when someone is born here, because life is so hard. And we rejoice when someone passes away. I try to connect my music to people's lives, to the hardship of living close to nature."
Tavaloyev says his music helps him "talk with God." From the window of his house he can look across the river to Afghanistan, where music and dancing have been forbidden by the Taleban regime. The Taleban see music as an affront to God. Tavaloyev says he is not afraid of people who want to outlaw music. He is afraid the music he plays will die out on its own. "This music goes back 250 years -- it is the soul of the Pamiri people," he says. "People used to take the time to learn to play. They studied hard. Now young people are letting the traditions slip from their grasp. This music survived the Soviet regime, but now I think that in 30 or 40 years, it will vanish, totally disappear.
"I'm not blaming young people," he adds. "They prefer to listen to the music they hear on the radio or television. Young people like young music. I'm interested in some of it, too, but I prefer my old music." Tavoloyev has done his part to keep Pamiri musical traditions alive. He has made hundreds of recordings. He has travelled around the world. "In all the travelling I've done, I'm always happy to come back to Khorog. Several times somebody tried to convince me to move somewhere else, but my family didn't want to go, and neither did I. I grew up here. And this is a great place to catch fish. Besides playing music, fishing is my favorite thing to do."
Mamadato Tavaloyev spends more time fishing today than playing his sitar. He stopped touring in 1992, after he had surgery on his eyes. He has also stopped taking on students. The rest of the family hasn't been working lately, either. Tavaloyev's son and daughter-in-law met while they were performing in a theater troupe called the Pamiri Ensemble, but the troupe disbanded after their leader died. Now the whole family lives off Tavaloyev's small monthly pension, and whatever he catches in the river. "Money doesn't matter. It's like the Russians say: 'Better to have 100 friends than 100 rubles.' I have many friends."