Tundra. Reindeer. Spirits
A Dolgan woman wrote a novel in her native language, "And the Permafrost Melts." If the author hadn't translated the book into Russian, only 400 people would have been able to read it.
Ksenia Bolshakova was born in Taimyr in the village of Popigai (this about (at the very edge of the earth), but she spent her childhood with her grandparents and a herd of reindeer in the tundra. From an early age, she knew how to dress to avoid frostbite, helped adults care for the reindeer, rode a snowmobile—she was an ordinary child of the Far North. She also spoke her own language, Dolgan. The language is considered endangered, with fewer than 1000 speakers.
Ksenia grew up and went to study in St. Petersburg. From afar, she saw that her people and her language were rapidly disappearing, "dissolving into everything Russian." Due to her anti-war stance, she was forced to emigrate and, within a year, wrote the book "And the Permafrost Melts." The novel was written in Dolgan and translated into Russian. The book is available read the online.
NeMoskva spoke with Ksenia about her "icy" childhood, her beloved white reindeer Tugut, appeasing the spirits, and most importantly, how she helps preserve the language and hopes to stop the Russification of the Dolgans.
Not just about grandfather
A girl is riding with her mother across the tundra. They're riding a snowmobile, and the monotonous rumble of the engine and the same snow-white scenery lull the child to sleep. The girl falls asleep and slides into a snowdrift. Her mother doesn't immediately notice her disappearance, and the girl is forced to follow the sled tracks alone for some time. There's not a soul around for hundreds of kilometers, but she's not afraid. She knows her mother will return, and what bad could happen in her native tundra?
This is one of Ksenia's first clear memories. Others would form later. She approaches reindeer for the first time and is initially afraid to feed them by hand. Everyone around her speaks Dolgan, and the good-natured jokes and affectionate nicknames are also in that language. Throughout her preschool years, Ksenia roamed with her grandparents, Alexei Nikolaevich and Maria Afanasyevna. Ksenia's mother and four aunts also grew up in the tundra, then her mother moved to Popigai to look after her younger sisters, who were still in school. At age seven, Ksenia had to return to her mother in the village to attend elementary school, but there she lived solely on the hope of the upcoming holidays and a trip to the tundra. Ksenia has a sister and cousins, but none of them were so attached to her grandparents and the tundra.
One day, Grandfather found himself in light clothing, far from the balka (a mobile house on runners that replaced the chum), and a snowstorm began. He stubbornly moved to avoid freezing, while his wife and granddaughter waited for him at the camp for three days.
"As an experienced reindeer herder, my grandfather always prudently carried an axe and shovel in his sled. Near the ghosts of the ravines [people who had abandoned the camp only recently], he began digging for scraps of meat. The spirit of the earth heard the Dolgan son and sent him a liver. He ate it with Muoituruk [a dog]. From the old camp, it became clear which direction the camp was. The old Dolgan's strength was failing. There was nowhere to hide from the blizzard in the tundra. My grandfather dug a hole and stuck his four-meter-long khorey next to it. He lay down and fell asleep, swept by the blizzard," Ksenia recounts in her book about another childhood memory.
Grandpa returned safe and sound, only covered in snow and frozen from head to toe. Later, Ksenia thought about writing a book about those three terrifying days. When "later" came, she realized she had other things to write about. For example, about how her grandparents wandered the tundra for 40 years, but that was all they needed.
Aakoo Tugut and other unusual phenomena
— They knew how to survive in the wild tundra alone with the reindeer.я[The interviewee emphasizes the "I"], how to survive alone with the elements. It was their world, and reindeer were everything to them. They provided food, clothing, and transportation. My people have always lived this way. Then came the Soviet Union, collectivization... For a while, the state needed reindeer: they transported expeditions, geologists, and cargo. With the advent of civilization, the state no longer needed reindeer. There are some nomadic payments, but they can't buy anything, because prices here are two or even three times higher than in central Russia. The tundra is emptying. Reindeer herders are settling in villages, but there is no work for them there," Ksenia explains about the changes in the lives of her people.
The traditional nomadic way of life is becoming a thing of the past, so Ksenia tried to capture the details—they appear in every chapter. For example, about the games of reindeer herders' children:
“The maut [lasso] bites into my body. The shepherd Alyosha drags the fawn Ksyusha. I twist and kick. My cheeks, scratched by the snow, burn. Finally, I free myself from the bonds. My brother gathers the maut and chases after me, whooping. He throws the noose, but I dodge his throw. The reindeer look in bewilderment at the human fawn with its heavy antlers, wearing a reindeer fur coat, hat, and chorchokoots [soled high boots].
Or how little Ksenia feeds the dogs large, but uneatable, burbots after her grandmother selects better fish for frying:
"A dog restaurant is opening! I chop frozen fish with an axe. From one fish comes the head, two pieces from the middle, and a tail. I arrange the chopped fish on a piece of plywood. The dish needs to be decorated; I'm running a restaurant, after all. I make round balls of snow and arrange them around the fish. I call the dogs, and they're already swarming around me. The prices at our restaurant are modest: paw shakes and hugs. Usually, my unpretentious customers even leave tips in the form of licks on their faces and hands. The dogs take the pieces and carry them home. No one cares about snow decorations. As the owner of a dog restaurant, I should think about this."
How ice fishing works, the details of warm and light clothing, what a diet consists of, how to cook blood sausage, even how to tame a deer to a saddle—everything is described meticulously, like a user manual.
Reindeer are the most important thing, the foundation of Dolgans' lives. Every nomadic family has one tame reindeer, which allows itself to be petted and hand-fed. Herd reindeer do not welcome such affection and may even kick. Dolgans call a tame reindeer aakoo. Typically, a calf that has lost its mother is tamed, but there are exceptions. A relative gave Aunt Ksenia a white reindeer—they named him Tugut (Little Fawn) and tamed him. As an adult, the bull did not hesitate to knock on the barn door with his hooves, demanding a treat, and his grandmother would cook a special fish soup, heavily seasoned with salt, for him. Aakoo played a special role in the family, as described in the book:
"Aakoo is endowed with special powers. He can cure any pain or ailment with his breath. The reindeer's nose is pressed against the sore spot, and he inhales the illness. After this, the aakoo begins to ache and waste away before our eyes. It is a person's duty to care for their healer, not to burden them. And so, people and reindeer lived, caring for each other."
There's also a chapter on deer slaughter, which is also quite detailed. When asked how such a spectacle affects a child's psyche, Ksenia replies: none at all.
"We grow up with the understanding that all of this is part of our lives. Otherwise, our peoples would not survive. It's an inevitability for the reindeer, as well as for any person who lives a subsistence lifestyle, just like in any village," the writer says.
Death is commonplace among nomadic people—in the tundra, it's always nearby. Tugut was mauled to death by wolves. The herd had wandered away from the camp in search of reindeer moss, and Tugut had decided to return to his people—on the way, the lone aakoo was overtaken by predators. One reindeer herder's wife emerged from a ravine in a blizzard to shake out ashes and never returned. When the storm subsided, the woman was found dead ten meters away—lost, unable to find her home in the thick white shroud. Aunt Ksenia was attacked by hawk chicks while picking blueberries. She screamed, and her family ran to her rescue, thinking a bear had attacked. And it could have been a bear, the terrified relatives were certain.
Spirits are frequently mentioned in the novel. When lighting a fire, they would place bread and butter in it and ask the fire spirits for protection. No matter how hard they tried to take away this belief—first under the Tsarist regime, forcing people to believe in another god, then under communism, forcing them to believe in Lenin—it never worked. Ksenia doesn't want to talk about it. She explains that the topic of Dolgan spirits is complex and very personal, not for a wide audience.
"Deer Childhood" is ending, and the book is drawing to a close. Ksenia and her friend Lulu fly off by helicopter to boarding school, where they spent seven years of middle and high school. There are no public schools in remote villages.
"I really missed my family," Ksenia recalls. "On the one hand, boarding school offers relative freedom, and the caregivers become our 'parents.' They don't have enough time to keep track of everyone. On the other hand, living far from your family isn't easy, especially at a young age."
Auntie places a cloth bag of native soil in Ksenia's hand, and the girls climb into the helicopter that will take them to Khatanga:
"The helicopter lifts Lulu and me above the tundra. A whirlwind engulfs the camp, blowing away our waving relatives. I clutch my aunt's gift tightly to my heart. I try to bury a piece of the tundra deep within my chest. I'm being taken far away from our lives, perhaps forever. But no one will ever be able to take away my tundra, my family, and my language."
"Indecent" language and the traditional: "They've come in droves!"
"When we first arrived at the boarding school, the kids from Khatanga started calling us 'churkas.' I read this explanation in one source: a 'churka' is someone who lives outside their own people's territory, a visitor. And I started yelling back: 'You came to our land, that's why you're called 'churkas!' That's how the kids squabbled. Sometimes even the teachers would snap at us: 'Why did you even leave your tundra? You're idiots, you're clearly brainless! You should just stay home and twist the reindeer's tails, and everyone would be fine!'" the interviewee recalls.
Regarding the teachers, she clarifies: this didn't happen often, and, according to Ksenia, their behavior is understandable. Once in a boarding school, children become unruly, feeling free and impunity. Their parents are hundreds of kilometers away, and the teacher can't call them on the carpet, only talk on the phone, and then the mother will scold the child—also on the phone. This punishment didn't inspire fear, and the children continued to misbehave. Many years later, Ksenia says: this doesn't excuse the teachers, but they themselves become hostages of the situation.
It was also difficult because speaking Dolgan was forbidden in clubs, as if it were considered inappropriate. There were few Dolgan children at the boarding school, only from Popigai and Syndassko. Ksenia tried to stick with her own children and speak to them in her native language.
Ksenia enrolled in the Institute of Northern Peoples at the Herzen University of St. Petersburg. The faculty was all locals, with a few Russians—students who hadn't gotten the scores to enter more prestigious departments. They later transferred. There was no discrimination at the institute, but Ksenia felt it outside the walls. Sometimes, groups of young people she encountered on the street would shout, "Ni hao!" (a Chinese greeting), narrowing their eyes, mimicking the shape of northern peoples. During COVID-19, some avoided her, while others aggressively declared, "You've come here in droves! Why have you come here? Now it's because of you that we have a raging pandemic." Dolgan young men were regularly stopped on the street and in the subway for document checks, and denied entry to bars and other establishments, allegedly for failing face control.
Then the "special military operation" began, and Ksenia noticed that the Dolgans were being sent "behind the ribbon." What were they supposed to fight for? For foreign lands, an incomprehensible way of life? For the ambitions of those who disregarded the Dolgans themselves? She began attending anti-war protests with friends. One day, she was detained and charged under the "people's" Article 20.2 of the Russian Code of Administrative Offenses. The university learned of this, and at first, pressure ensued, then Ksenia was simply expelled, allegedly for academic failure. Her partner broadcast live for foreign publications at the protests and became increasingly fearful for his safety. The couple decided to leave Russia. Already in exile, Ksenia returned to school, completed a book, and planned two more.
No names, no deer, no permafrost
Ksenia managed to present her book at a UN session, she's studying remotely to become an IT manager, and her family has gradually calmed down after her arrest and expulsion. Only Ksenia herself is anxious and afraid—for her language, for her people, for her land. Industrial enterprises have been established in the Upper Dolgan lands, polluting the rivers, and fish are becoming increasingly scarce. Wild reindeer have changed their migration route and no longer reach the Lower Dolgan. Due to the lack of work, the indigenous people, as they did centuries ago, try to survive by hunting and fishing, but these natural resources are also being taken away by industrialists. The permafrost itself is melting—due to mining companies and the regular Siberian wildfires.
"So, thanks to the Soviet policy of sedentarization and collective farming, we lost our tundra. It is being taken over by new masters—industrialists who have no regard for us, the spirits, or nature. The era of the Dolgan reindeer herders is coming to an end, just as the era of the mammoths ended. But the time of industrialists will also come to an end. If only we could survive as a people until then. We have already served three hundred years in the prison of nations. If only we didn't melt away into Russians before these dungeons are torn down. If only we could live to see the time when the tundra is ours again," Ksenia concludes with desperate faith.
She's particularly concerned about "dissolving into the Russians." The Dolgans "held out for a long time," but eventually fell under the influence of propaganda and are now, by order from above, photographed in national costumes with "Z" slogans. Meanwhile, the Dolgans themselves don't even have national names anymore; those who weren't baptized with Russian names were given Russian names during the Soviet era.
Ksenia is working hard to preserve the language and to share stories of the Dolgan people's customs, mutual support, and warmth. The book is written in their native language, and the author assures that it will be read by no more than 400 native residents. Among the Dolgans who have not yet forgotten their native language, most of the elderly do not know the Dolgan written language. Therefore, the text is formatted so that one can read it in Russian and immediately see how it appears in Dolgan. Ksenia is also developing resources for language preservation, recently taught Dolgan to students, and plans to teach it to her future children.
"We often hear on television about how we 'care for indigenous peoples' and 'preserve their language,'" Ksenia continues with a chuckle. "In reality, this boils down to show-off celebrations designed to create the image that indigenous people still exist, with beautiful national dress and language. In reality, many have already forgotten it, and celebrations are just a way of saying something."
Fisherman's Day celebrations, for example, take place on the shores of the parasite-infested Worm Lake. No water is drawn from it, and no fishing is permitted. A nearby junkyard of rusted machinery can be seen, among which the skeleton of a rotting tractor stands out, symbolically enough. This is also mentioned in the book:
"The empty buildings, without their insides, remind us of our peoples without language and deer. Nearby lies a banner that hung on the administration building three years ago. The dirty canvas screams: 'Make your choice, vote for unity!' But was there really a choice in these elections?"
Photo from Ksenia Bolshakova's book "And the Permafrost Melts"