Along the Pamir Highway 1 – Tajikistan # 8 – July 2014

February 11, 2018

As we left the village of Morgh we had to wonder what would happen to Sheroz. This young boy, mute & deaf, was so intelligent but so handicapped. He knew how to write. What if he could learn brail and sign language?

As you travel overland through third-world countries, you most likely don’t have hotel reservations and you have no idea which fast-food restaurant you will stop at for a burger. Using our standby motto, (from John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charlie), “We don’t take the trip. The trip takes us”. A lot of that is about feeling, like, this is a good place to camp for tonight. Why? Because it feels right. That’s just how we felt one afternoon in the middle of the Pamir Mountains of Tajikistan when we stopped where we did—or maybe it was convenience — or maybe it was something else beyond explanation. Maybe destiny?

The Pamir Highway was finally better so we could enjoy some of the majestic views.

The Pamir Highway was definitely better now and we could take time from concentrating on the road to marvel at the glacier clad peaks on both sides. As we entered a wide valley we saw the perfect place to have a late lunch on a grassy spot just off the road. No sooner had we stopped that some people from across the highway, (I use the term loosely), came over to see what we were doing. Everyone was very friendly and fascinated by the world map on our truck. It was afternoon and we decided to camp in this idyllic spot. There apparently was a village nearby and it felt safe. The shallow stream in front of our camp widened out, a perfect place to back into and wash off some of the dust from the Wakhan Corridor.

We had just started to wash the truck when this young girl walked into the water, took the brush from my hands and started to help. We were amazed.

We had just started the process when one of the young girls who had been studying the map on our truck, walked out into the water, took the brush from my hands and started washing the truck with me. Monika and I looked at each other in amazement. What did this little girl think she was doing? We were total strangers from a strange country in a strange vehicle. We would later learn she was only 11 years old.

We both knew immediately that there was something different about her. She had a look in her eyes that said, “No fear! I can do anything”, “Who are you?” Her angelic smile, full of wonder, was captivating. She wanted to talk to us, but we had no common language and yet, she had found a way to communicate without words. It worked!

Kids are crossing a crude bridge over the side creek.

Later we were invited to her family’s home for chai which in this country usually includes more than just tea. We crossed the bridge and wandered up the dirt path. Villagers were bringing the goats back from their daily grazing and some boys were playing soccer in a dirt field. The house of the girl’s family was very simple, an example of the classic style homes we saw throughout the Pamirs.

Monika was presented with a traditional pair of socks fashioned with a hook and not a set of needles.

In case you wondered—I did—the Pamiris profess to the Nizari Ismaili Shia faith. They are followers of His Highness Prince Shah Karim al-Hussaini, Aga Khan IV. More about him later. Ismailis are seen as a reformist sect and more liberal in their interpretations of the Qur’an than other strains of Islam, guided in part by a tradition of tolerance embedded in the injunction of the Quran: There is no compulsion in religion. They have no mosques, minarets nor calls to prayer. Their house is the church. In 2015, His Highness, the Aga Khan IV, made it optional for women to cover their hair in public though many women still wear a beautiful scarf out of tradition, practicality and style.

The oldest sister studying to be a nurse insisted on a photo with Gary. He was flattered.

The inside of their home was clean and tidy with beautiful carpets on the floor and built-in benches along the sides where people sat or slept. Two uncles showed up with a bottle of vodka to accompany the tea and plates of cookies, candies and fresh vegetables that were offered. Mom and the kids all joined in the party. Monika had brought her computer and some non-verbal children’s games and everyone was entertained. In the background the young daughter with the mysterious smile was still absorbing everything and wondering. (We have avoided using her name at this point to protect her security as you will understand later.) The next day we wandered across the highway to watch the father working on a small addition to his garage. His technique was similar to that we had seen in other villages along our way, basically one handful of mud at a time on a framework of sticks and rocks. Sorry, no Home Depot or Lowe’s home improvement centers nearby.

Monika’s laugh was contagious for mom and dad.

We took some family pictures outside the home and made prints with our portable printer back in the truck. (This is a wonderful way to share and repay kindness since country folks seldom have the opportunity for getting a photograph of them or their families.) It was interesting that these people, like in many parts of the world, don’t usually smile for pictures, but we managed to get everyone in the mood. Monika’s laugh is contagious. Now we were no longer strangers. We were connected in a strange way. Yes, it felt good. People are such an important part of overland travel.

There was no escaping the magic of this smile of wonder, of confidence and self-poise, and only 11 years old!

This young girl had magic in her eyes. Only she, of all her family, wanted to sit in the truck. With a sly look, she seemed to know our hearts had been captured. As we drove away, the spirit of “The Magic Girl of the Pamirs” followed us. We had heard of a wonderful private school in the city of Khorog, three hours away on a road that is often closed by rock falls or snow. And even then, could her poor schooling to-date even allow her to pass the entrance test in math, writing skills, English and Russian? And where could she live for 10 or 11 months of the year so far from her family and friends? There were many problems to solve and we were thinking as we drove. There will be a lot more to this story.

: No sooner had we stopped that some people from across the highway came over to see what we were doing.

: This footbridge lead across the side creek of the adjacent river.

: It was an ideal place to camp for the night. Water-front property!

: We had just started to wash the truck when this young girl walked into the water, took the brush from my hands and started to help. We were amazed.

: The cool afternoon air of this high mountain valley was already dropping in temperature as villagers brought their goats in for milking. Our truck can be seen in the background.

: Their home was a traditional Pamir style. An irrigation ditch ran in front of the entrance which may have been their source of water.

: Our “chai” party was a full family gathering, including the “Magic” girl’s father and uncles. She left for a while to milk goats and came back with her work clothes on.

: Gary is tasting the local salty milk tea and thin bread.

: Always the linguists, Monika starts to learn Shughni, the local dialect. She already speaks 5 languages so what’s one more?

: Monika showed our family photos from California and our home. The older sister and mother spoke some Russian and German which were the only languages we could communicate with.

: Mom, oldest sister and the magic girl pose for a picture in the main part of their house.

: The uncle on the left is a teacher in the village.

: The “Magic” girl’s father was still a little reserved about who these strange people were.

: Building an addition to his little garage using the standard method of construction in this part of the world, mud, sticks and stacked stones.

: View of the inside addition of the garage/storage building.

: An interesting roof construction.

: The father was adding mud to the walls of his new building.

: This window was just installed.

: The little garage was the size of this Chinese minivan.

: We took some pictures of the whole family. Later we made prints with the photo printer in our truck. It’s a wonderful way to share photos with the locals.

: Mom was a very charismatic woman who spoke Russian well and also knew some German.

: The older sister was the only one who had studied one year of English and dad kept nudging her to translate.

: Mom and her two youngest.

: And finally, a family photo.

: Two smiles, two sets of dimples, both “magic”.

: They all enjoyed this photo session and we were happy to be able to give them prints to remember our great encounter.

: The oldest sister was studying to become a nurse. Everyone got a goodbye hug, even me (Gary)!

: No one else wanted to sit in our truck. Sorry, you can’t have Monika’s seat.

: She gave us that little mysterious look as we drove away. She knew she had captured our hearts without a word being spoken. We kept wondering how we could help her.