[In Xinjiang, a region larger than France Germany Spain
 |
The pigeon market in Kashgar
is one of the biggest in
claims he once sold a pair of
pedigree chicks there for $22,000. “Pigeons are like cars if
they’re rare enough,” he said.
Credit Adam Dean for The New York Times
|
KASHGAR, China Kyrgyzstan
On Sundays, an outdoor market
in the center of the city fills with ethnic Uighur men and boys engaged in a frenzied,
mercantile display of traditional male bonding. The objects of their attention —
many outrageously adorned in multihued and frilly plumage — appeared largely
unfazed by the prodding appraisals of crown, beak, wing and tail.
“You get kind of addicted,” said Azizjam Mamat, 27, a cellphone
company manager who started coming to the market when he was 8 and now owns 300
birds. “One pigeon gives the love of 10 women.”
The passion for pigeons
sustained the Uighurs,
a largely Muslim Turkic-speaking minority, long before China
Despite
a harrowing cycle of government repression and
bloodshed, the pastime has continued to thrive. It is also popular,
to some extent, among the ethnic Han Chinese migrants who have flowed into
Xinjiang by the millions, lured by generous state subsidies and economic
opportunities that stem from Beijing Silk Road trading route to Pakistan
But the scene at the Kashgar pigeon market, with its
predominantly Uighur patronage, highlights the entrenched divisions between the
city’s Uighur majority and the Han newcomers, most of whom live in separate,
recently developed neighborhoods across town.
Not a word of Mandarin was heard amid the din of negotiations,
interrupted by cooing from metal cages and the occasional flapping of wings. On
the roof of one stall, a man clutching a butterfly net in one hand crept
gingerly on all fours toward a perched escapee. Overheard, a flock of pigeons
wheeled across the hazy sky in balletic synchronicity.
In Xinjiang, a region larger than France Germany Spain
“Northern people don’t care about color, just how many flips a
pigeon can do,” Amrula Abdula, 30, a blanket salesman, said dismissively. “In
the south, we require both.”
Surrounded by green cages
containing dozens of fancy pigeons, Miradijan Matalip, 35, a postal worker, had
no problem parting with members of his menagerie — for the right price.
“This is a hobby that can make money,” he said, holding a
black-headed specimen worth $60 firmly behind the wings as he inspected the
inside of its beak. Mr. Matalip has kept pigeons since he was 6 and owns more
than 600, including four he said were worth over $15,000 a pair. “I keep those
at home,” he said.
The popularity of certain breeds can be fleeting. Pidayi Odikim,
66, a retired teacher, has seen countless pigeon fads come and go in his five
decades of keeping the birds. Still, many Uighurs see the costly and laborious
hobby as a rite of passage, one vital for teaching responsibility. “It keeps
boys off the streets and brings them to the roof,” he said.
Devotees claim Uighurs have been keeping pigeons for more than a
thousand years, though some say the special bond between man and bird has
biblical origins, with Noah and his faithful dove. “The pigeon has been a
valuable pet ever since,” said Muradil Sidik, 22, a construction worker and
collector who spends up to $50 each week buying birds.
Market forces have played an
increasingly important role among China
Such extravagantly priced
specimens were absent from the Kashgar market, but that does not mean Uighurs
are reluctant to pay handsomely. Yusanjan Abdur Rahim, 15, claims he once sold
a pair of pedigree chicks for $22,000. “Pigeons are like cars if they’re rare
enough,” he said.
If the scene felt far removed from the rest of China
Azizjam Azizdawut, 43, an
employee of the state-run electric company, said he has kept pigeons for
decades, including in his university dorm room. A member of a local pigeon
association, he remembers when the hobby became a sport in the 1990s. Back then,
racing distances in Xinjiang stretched up to 60 miles. These days, thanks to
decades of strategic breeding and rigorous training, the contests span more
than 300 miles over vast deserts and jagged mountains.
In 2013, several of Mr. Azizdawut’s pigeons won racing prizes, a
point of pride tinged with resignation. “Winning is an honor, but it was too
much work,” he said with a sigh.
As the sun rose higher, the crowd grew more frenetic.
Sun-creased men wearing blazers and doppas, traditional embroidered Uighur
caps, huddled around freewheeling negotiating sessions, occasionally offering
their opinions.
“He’s giving a good price,”
said a spectator, intruding into a knot of two haggling men.
“They’re very thin,” the prospective buyer replied, lightly
rubbing a gray wing.
After a pause, he took out a wad of cash and proffered the
equivalent of $60, which the seller firmly rejected.
The buyer walked away.
Jostling his way through the throng, Mehmet Torgun, 27, a
builder, had come to the market looking for a specific breed. Asked if he had
found it, he nodded toward a brown-and-white purchase that he had stuck
headfirst in the pocket of his suit jacket. Then he shifted to reveal another
bird stashed in the opposite pocket. The pair had cost him about $14.
“Business is good, so I’ve got more money to
spend on pigeons,” he said. “But sometimes two is enough.”