Buzurukov

“If an individual makes their own decisions, it shows they can take part in the political, economic, and cultural life of society. A person who has a sense of ethics and self-respect, who can express themselves freely, must be intellectually developed and useful to their community.” — Saifiddin, returnee When Saifiddin speaks, there’s no…

“I know many rich Yaghnobis who live outside. But they are not so happy. They are always afraid of losing what they have. Here, I don’t have much — but I have peace.”—Maruf, returnee Maruf speaks slowly, with the weight of someone who’s seen two kinds of life and made his choice. He wasn’t…

“I studied for eight years. Served two in the Soviet Army. I had a job, a life. But my father said we’re going back — and that was that.”—Karimjon-aka, returnee When Karimjon-aka speaks, there’s no bitterness — but there is weight. A quiet tension between two lives: the one he started in Zafarobod, and…

“I don’t need much. Just a few tourists, a strong donkey, and the right weather. That’s enough to feed my kids.”— Firdavs, returnee There’s a quiet kind of pride in Firdavs’ voice. The kind that doesn’t come from riches, but from making something — anything — work. His village, Bedef is small. In winter,…

“I told him I didn’t want to go back. Not to that place. Not after all we had built. But he said, ‘We belong there.’ So we left. And I followed.”- Kurbongyl, returnee She remembers the heat of Zafarobod summers. The cotton fields, yes — but also the home they made. “We had a…

“There were no roads, no homes, no money. Only mountains. But also we had our people. And that was enough to begin again.” — Returnee, Bedef village When the Soviet Union collapsed, a door quietly opened. It wasn’t a wide door. It wasn’t marked. But through it came the quiet, determined footsteps of families…

There’s a certain kind of silence in the Yaghnob Valley that doesn’t exist anywhere else. It’s not empty. It hums softly with the sound of wind through wild grass, with the creak of stones under your boots, with the echo of forgotten songs carried down from the mountains. For Rahmatullo, it was the sound…

“We have TV, we have cars — but what does it matter if you can’t build a life here?” Musharif was born in Yagnob but grew up in exile. He has returned twice — once with his father, and once with his older brother — but each return was met with the same internal…

“To be Yaghnobi for me means to have rights and obligations… not just to live for myself, but for my community.” — Ahmad, agrarian Ahmad, a quiet but respected figure in his mountain village, speaks with conviction about what it means to belong — not just to a place, but to a people. His…