Степи Казахстана

How to sing of the immense expanses what words to find in order to tell

about the pale steppe beauty about the sincere generosity of my people

about its age-old wisdom and kindness?

…According to an ancient legend in immemorial times the great Kazakh steppe

was stroken by an unprecedented drought people hunger and death. There

remained nothing living in the steppe everything around was dead. A lonely

traveler who lost his way could neither slake his thirst satisfy his

hunger. Only in one hearth fire hardly gleamed a sure sign of life. An

emaciated old man welcomed the guest with kind words and offered him the

rests of a thin soup.

The stranger was astonished by his action because the old man welcomed him

as the dearest guest giving him his last food thereby dooming himself to

sure death. But being a stranger in this steppe he couldn t know that the

old man couldn t act otherwise couldn t break the sacred law of

hospitality.

Yes it s legend but what a deep meaning is concealed in it what a selfless

goodness and unselfishness it goes about…

The steppe is the keeper of age-old folk customs the treasury of wisdom

of all generations which lived here. The steppe does never disclose its

secrets to the weak unimaginated ungifted it always tries its sons with

severe snouw-storms biting merciless winds heavy showering heat thirst

endless distances.

In the boundless steppes one often comes across dzhantak a leguminous plant

(Alhagi) which endures intense heat of about 60 C and sand-storms because

the length of its roots reaches 40 m.In order to live in the steppe and

not be a stranger in it the man must also take here deep roots which will

give him strength and faith.

…The Kazakh people will never forget how the ancient town Otrar which long

months resisted the iron hordes of the bloody Genghiz-Khan was seized. A

traitor the son of a man respected by everyone opened the town s gates. But

how could a viper be born from a falcon? As it turned out he has been taken

far away from his native town as a boy and returned as a grown man not

remembering his kinship not knowing its customs.

The steppe is our great teacher. Since olden days our fate is shaped in

our native land. If Your land where You have barefoot run all over every

nook isn t dear toYou if You don t honour the laws of Your people and don

t love Your home then You live for nothing on earth: Your heart will

shrivel You soul will become callous and Your land will never reward You

with its bounties beauty and abundance.

Dear reader open this album and You will see boundless blue distances

floods of rivers and lakes snow-white mountain peaks blooming gardens and

tilled fileds You will hear the dombra s low melodies about the beauty of

the Kazakhstan steppe about the kindness and generosity of my people.

Ученика 10 А Класса Торопчанина Андрея