Kuchis and Camels

It’s for days like these that I got into this line of work, though I haven’t had many days like these lately. We motored across a vast plain with a traveling clinic, bouncing over dirt roads, seeking Kuchis to interview. While the doctor ministered to the Kuchis and distributed medicines, we interviewed the men about their sheep trading practices. The Kuchi tents were spaced far apart, and most of our day was spent getting from encampment A to encampment B, only to discover the men at encampment B were all out shepherding. But I didn’t mind. The scenery was spectacular, tents stretched along a wide valley beneath snow-covered mountain peaks, the green of the valley just beginning to fade to desert. And for a sound track: the grumble of camels and bleat of sheep.

In spite of two western women suddenly appearing in their campsites, unannounced, the Kuchis were remarkably hospitable. We couldn’t leave an encampment without drinking tea with the nomads, stretched out upon thick wool carpets. It was a good thing I was partnered with a serious researcher who knew what she was doing, because as I lounged beneath one tent, baby sheep penned with chicken wire near my feet, smoke from an aromatic fire drifting past, my mind kept drifting along with it: I couldn’t believe I got paid for this sort of thing. In short, I was so busy enjoying the moment that I was having a hard time keeping my mind on the job at hand. But in spite of that, we did get the job done.

I wish I could have spoken to the Kuchi women, but our translator was male so he couldn’t help us. They wore colorful, beaded clothing, and were clearly interested in us, peeking out from their tent and grinning, but we simply couldn’t communicate. Picture taking of Kuchi women is also forbidden, though occasionally the older women will allow it. From a touristic perspective, it is all very charming, but I have to say it’s a brutal lifestyle, especially for the Kuchi women, and once again I’m thankful I was born in 20th century America.