Kalash

The Kalash of North West Pakistan

The Kalash people live in three valleys close to the Afghan border in Chitral District, North West Frontier Province, Pakistan. For six months of the year, the only way to get up there is by plane from Peshawar. In the summer, a rough road leads across high passes covered in sleet and guarded by men with Ak47s.

There are about 4000 Kalash, the smallest religious and cultural minority in Pakistan. The origins of the Kalash are steeped in myth and folklore. Old tales, handed down from generation to generation, claim the Kalash are descendants of Alexander the Great. Around 500 years ago, the whole of southern Chitral was predominantly Kalash, but since then, most of the district has converted to Islam.

Yet, the Kalash who remain, speak their own language, have their own religious beliefs, customs and values that distinguish them clearly from their neighbors and Pakistan society.
They share their valleys with local Muslims as well as refugees from the war in Afghanistan. The Kalash valleys are forested up to 2000 m, in stark contrast to much of the surrounding Hindu Kush mountains, which are mostly barren and desolate. They grow corn, beans and potatoes. Walnuts, apricots, apples, pears and grapes also grow in the valleys and the Kalash make their own wine - something that attracts many young Muslims from the plains of tea-total Pakistan. A sophisticated system of long irrigation channels is maintained by the men. The women do most of the field work.

I visited the Kalash in May/June 1998 and attended ther magnificent Joshi Spring Festival to record the community's music for the British Library Sound Archive International Music Collection. Some of this music was subsequently released by playsound records in France in a collaborative effort with researcher/writer Samantha Murphy. The CD, I believe, is still available on the market in Europe, and, I am proud to say, the music of the Kalash is so wonderful and strange that in six years, this product has still not recuperated its costs.

It was very easy to stay with the Kalash. Despite their total marginalisation in Pakistan, clearly, this was a welcoming, open-minded and peaceful society. Even then, Pakistan was a sadly dysfunctional, mixed-up country. Every man seemed to carry a gun and be prepared to shoot his sister if she looked at another man. After Lahore, Islamabad, Rawalpindi and ten days in Peshawar, driving into the Kalash valleys was like entering a different world, not ruled by intense devotion to conservative Islam, fear and the power of the gun. Quite a few of the Kalash men spoke good English and the handful of guest houses they ran in the valleys were frequented by a eclectic collection of travelers - Afghani Mujaheddin with truck loads of chicken, Tajik regugee fighter veterans of the Russian war, a West Coast Hippy with a huge Om tattooed on his forehead, a former Korean parachute commando who played the flute and kicked ass like David Carradine, a Bavarian who dreamed of walking round Mount Kailash in Tibet while drinking the Kalash's entire wine harvest and a guy from Berlin who called himself Mr. Rainbow, dressed accordingly and liked to play mindgames with more innocent road companions.

The Kalash were courteous and acutely aware that their story needed to be told to outsiders. In one of the villages a Greek man had married a Kalash girl and a school with Kalash-speaking teachers was being built, with help from the Greek government. In another village, a Japanese lady had married a Kalash man and wore full traditional dress and jewelry. Some of the Kalash had given their children names they had heard from outsiders. I met a man called Manager, another called Engineer.

The spring festival, Joshi, is celebrated every year for several days in all the Kalash valleys in order to honor spirits and fairies who will protect their livestock and sheperds on their way to their summer pastures.

In 1998, Joshi was well prepared event that the entire community focused on. The Kalash women sewed richly decorated dresses, while the men were cursing the costs. Then the Kalash danced, and danced, and danced. For days and nights, men and women sang and danced in interweaving circles of human chains, pouring out identity and happiness. Standing in the middle for almost the entire time, drums to my left and right, was so elating and tiring, I had several transcendental experiences - at times I felt myself lifted off the dusty ground by the sounds these people were making.

A branch ceremony was held during the celebrations, with a village elder imploring sprits to guard the sheperds' journey. Everyone, young and old, local and stranger, held a branch of a walnut tree, while the shaman stood in a long purple coat, facing the sun, pleading with higher authorities.

Identity in the face of peer pressure. Amongst the Kalash, clothes signified independence. I went to the house of a Kalash family and was asked by the oldest man in the family to make myself comfortable in the garden. Suddenly, a woman, covered from head to toe in an Afghani style burqua rushed out of the house and ran straight towards me. As if to hug me. I had been long enough 'in-country' to know that this was crazy and dangerous and was looking around for Muslim neighbors. Just as the woman was about to fall on top of me, she pulled off the burqua to show the Kalah dress underneath and the entire family burst out laughing at the shock they had managed to give me. I liked these people, they had a sense of humor.

While Kalash men generally wore the Pakistani Shalwar Kameez and the Chitrali cap, the women had their own unique dress code, which, in 1998, was strictly adhered to. All women wore wide, black dresses tied round the waist with a colorful scarf. Around their necks, they wore thousands of yelow and red glass beads. The Kalash women also donned the shushut, a ringlike headdress with a long tail, richly embroidered and decorated with gleaming white cowrie shells, buttons and glass beads. On special occasions, such as Joshi, this was complimented by the kupas, a larger, flat headdress, similiarly decorated. Facial tattoos were still popular, even amongst young girls.

Like other tribal cultures, the Kalash believe that nature does not belong to them. They must ask permission to use the land through prayer and sacrifices in their temples. But this is only one of many facets of their culture that sets them apart fom their neighbours. A continuous culture clash is unavoidable - until the Kalash all convert, or until the dominant culture learns to leave a little bit of cultural, economical and spirtual breathing space for this community.

In 1998, remaining a Kalash was a struggle. Kalash who wanted to search for work outside the valleys were expected to convert to Islam. Some did. The goverrnment run schools taught the Koran and the curriculum never acknowledged the unique culture of the Kalash. The Kalash women enjoyed more freedom than their Muslim counterparts, which had led to continuing problems between young male Pakistani tourists, mistaking the relative independence of Kalash girls for promiscuity, and the local girls who felt harrassed by these unwelcome visitors.

The mountain valleys of Pakistan have been populated by all sorts of people over the last few thousand years. Many of the valleys were Buddhist at one point. The Kalash, whose numbers were increasing steadily in the 90s, were hoping for change. Some older people praised the British. I felt that the 3500 or so foreign tourists who visited the Kalash every year in the late 90s had a broadly positive effect on the community. Contact with outsiders gave the Kalash another perspective in their struggle to retain cultural independence from Pakistan and Islam.

Now of course, due to renewed conflict in Afghanistan, the war on terrorism and instability along the Pakistani and Afghhani border, tourism has ceased and the Kalash find themselves in the midst of an inflamed fundamentalist society under attack that sees few benefits in cultural tolerance.

The CD of the Kalash was released by Playasound Records in France in 1998 and is still widely available in record shops in the UK, France and Germany.