Either you win or you lose, you live or you die.
But for the refugees crossing the bridge over the Vakhsh River to relative safety, the escalating civil war - which was only ever about keeping their home - is already lost.
"I do not know why they are fighting, who, or where", wept Lena Boldereva, seated atop her paltry pile of belongings. "I just know my mother cannot stop crying".
By chance, I had arrived at the north end of the bridge Monday morning just as so-called opposition troops on the other bank finished checking a band of some 900 refugees who are Kulyabi fighters - the enemy in this clan war which pits Tajik against Tajik. Having been released after much worry, a living wave of men, women, children, old people, dogs, cats and cows swept across my path.
Beneath the glaring sun, they carried, pushed, pulled and dragged a multitude of possessions. Everything was put to creative use: Baby carriages became wheelbarrows, pillowcases doubled as sacks and a stick became a pole for carrying bags. The refugees, most dressed in colorful traditional Tajik clothes, filed past with surprising determination. Many wept at leaving their homes, but most had given up weeks ago and were only waiting for a lull in the fighting to escape along the 12-kilometer road to the bridge, past some of the fiercest fighting in the region.
"For the last month we just sat in our house and cried. We were so afraid", said Shakhio Odrakhlima, 29, who fled Tuesday morning with her two children. Her husband stayed behind to look after their possessions. For much of the time, Odrakhlima was forced to remain inside her home with no electricity, water or telephone.
The refugees collected on the side of the road, most seated atop their baggage, and waited for buses to ferry them to Dushanbe where they could catch trains to various points across Central Asia. On Tuesday, Rakhmin Abuzhaborov, 25, was still getting used to the idea that when he crossed the Vakhsh River, he became another refugee of this escalating civil war.
"I was born here", he said, with his wife Shakhia and two children beside him. "It was so beautiful. Now there is nothing. I'm just so sad".
Abuzhaborov, an Uzbek of slight build who worked as a truck driver, called the war "their war", meaning the Tajiks, though until very recently he rarely made the distinction. He is taking his family to Fergana, where he has relatives. Still, he hopes one day to return to Kurgan-Tyube. "If it ever calms down, I will come back", he said. "But I am afraid that I will never see this place again".
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