Another environmental disaster has occurred in the Atyrau Region – and this time the authorities will not be able to blame it on natural factors. The Bukharka Channel in the Ural delta has almost completely dried up, not because of drought or climatic changes, but, seemingly, as a result of deliberate actions by officials and developers. This water artery, which for three centuries ensured the outflow of floodwaters into the Caspian Sea, has today turned into a chain of dried-up sections, partially built over with residential and commercial properties.
Until recently, along with the channels Peretaska, Yaitsky, Zolotoy, and Primorsky, Bukharka formed a complex system of the Ural delta – a natural mechanism that had regulated flood control for centuries. First appearing on maps of the Caspian Sea in 1731, in the 19th century the river was navigable and supported local fishermen. The system functioned properly until it was simply forgotten about in the 21st century. The shallowing of the Ural and the Caspian required constant land reclamation works, but these practically ceased.
By 2017, Bukharka had shrunk to 12 km in length, with a depth ranging from 30 centimetres to a metre. In summer it became heavily overgrown with reeds, but during floods it still managed to perform its functions. In 2020, a resident of the Atyrau microdistrict Kokarna drew attention to the fact that one of the internal settlement roads had been laid directly across the riverbed of the channel, ending abruptly on the opposite bank. The builders did not bother to install culvert pipes – the road literally cut the river in half.
According to local residents, the asphalt embankment was actively used by lorries that carried materials resembling construction waste into the steppe, and brought back soil. The banks of Bukharka turned into spontaneous dumps, the riverbed became clogged with rubbish, and heavy machinery churned up the surrounding areas. As a result, the upper part of the river from the Ural to the road dried up, and the lower part turned into a stagnant body of water.
In January 2020, a concerned resident even wrote a letter to the regional governor. Officials, citing data from the city administration, stated that no works for building the road on Bukharka had been carried out at all, and that the law does not allow them to check unidentified persons. A perfect vicious circle was created: the road supposedly does not exist, although it lies in plain sight; the violators are formally unknown, although machinery worked for months; it cannot be checked, because there was officially no violation.
By 2024, the acting governor of the Kenozek rural district, Kairat Khabiyev, admitted that the river is suffering from shallowness. The only source of water remained an artificial canal from the Peretaska channel, but even that, according to Mr Khabiyev, depended on discharges from the Atyrau Thermal Power Plant. The management of the plant, represented by its president, Maksat Alenov, stated that it had nothing to do with the critical state of Bukharka.
And quite recently, in May 2025, activist Nurlan Zhunasov reported that a hydraulic structure had appeared in the Bukharka area, which had finally blocked the riverbed. But the most interesting thing is that someone even managed to obtain an official permit for construction on the site of the former river.
The city administration hastened to offer explanations, reporting that the disputed plot of land, covering 0.75 hectares, had been allocated back on 2 May 2013, but that the object itself supposedly had no connection with the cessation of water flow in Bukharka.
According to available information, the plot in question belonged until 2023 to a certain Ryszhan Akzhanova for the construction of a shop, a café-bar, and a tyre fitting centre. Incidentally, at the time this plot was granted on short-term lease, Mrs Akzhanova was already at the respectable age of 63. It is also interesting that the building itself bears little resemblance to the declared shop or tyre fitting centre – it looks more like an ordinary private house. But the main question is another: how could a plot of land be allocated in the riverbed of an active river?
Ordinary satellite images from Google Maps clearly show where exactly Bukharka is interrupted. This occurs at the border between the village of Taskala and the city of Atyrau, and further upstream, right up to Street No. 24, where the disputed plot is located. Little remains of the river there. From this, we can assume that the process of developing the river lands went on for more than one year. First, a road was laid across the riverbed without water drainage structures – supposedly temporarily. Then the banks were turned into dumps – probably happened spontaneously. Later, a plot in the dried-up riverbed was allocated for construction – well, the land seemed free, after all.
The environmental consequences extend far beyond one dead channel. Bukharka was part of the flood control system – now spring waters will look for other paths, creating a threat of flooding for residential areas. Fish spawning grounds have disappeared, bird nesting sites have been lost, and migration routes have been disrupted. Approximately 200 private houses and 8 peasant farms have lost access to the water body.
But the most outrageous thing about this story is the brazen demonstration of how, in Kazakhstan, any natural object can be 'privatised' with impunity. The scheme is refined to jeweller-like precision: the watercourse is blocked under the plausible pretext of road works, and the riverbed is filled in 'for technical reasons'. Each stage is formally legal and has a bureaucratic justification, but together they yield an openly criminal result. And the most cynical part is that it all happens in full accordance with the letter of the law. We could observe a similar situation on the coast of the Ural itself, where lawful works for sand extraction are actively carried out. In much the same way, minerals are legally extracted on the banks of the Ishim, and extensive agricultural activity is conducted without any problems near the Astana (Vyacheslav) Reservoir.
The questions raised by the disappearance of Bukharka require a serious investigation. Who made the decisions to allocate the land plot in the riverbed? On what grounds were the construction permits issued? Why did the regulatory authorities remain inactive for so many years? The answers to these questions will help to understand whether the death of Bukharka was a tragic accident or the result of a carefully thought-out scheme.
The editorial board of FBRK has sent official requests to the competent authorities in the hope of learning the true circumstances of the disappearance of Bukharka.
To be continued…