It's a great country. It's not a rich country but it has great

“It’s a great country. It’s not a rich country but it has great people, nice people. It’s my motherland. A lot of my life afterwards was in Russia but I love Kyrgyzstan. I love the culture and it’s different to Russia. Kyrgyzstan is a Muslim country and I have many Muslim friends.” — Dmitry Bivol

In these heartfelt words, Dmitry Bivol, the champion of the boxing ring and son of two worlds, speaks not of titles or triumphs, but of belonging—the deep, invisible thread that ties a man’s soul to his motherland. His voice, though calm, carries the tone of ancient truth: that greatness does not dwell in riches or splendor, but in people, in the warmth of culture, and in the bonds of friendship that transcend creed or border. In this declaration of love for Kyrgyzstan, Bivol becomes not just an athlete, but a philosopher of identity, reminding us that one’s roots are not measured by prosperity, but by heart.

Bivol was born in Tokmak, Kyrgyzstan, a land of mountains and vast skies—a place of modest means but rich in spirit. His words reflect the wisdom of a man who has seen both the glitter of success and the quiet nobility of simple lives. “It’s not a rich country but it has great people,” he says—and in that sentence lies a lesson that echoes through time. For the value of a homeland is not counted in gold or marble, but in the character of its sons and daughters. The soil of one’s birth shapes more than the body; it shapes the soul. Kyrgyzstan, humble in wealth yet mighty in warmth, gave Bivol the grounding from which he could rise to the heights of the world stage without losing his humility.

There is a timeless pattern in these words. The ancients, too, revered the bond between a man and his land. When Odysseus, weary of war and wanderings, longed to return to Ithaca, it was not for riches or luxury, but for the familiar hills, the language, the scent of home. So too does Bivol’s voice echo this eternal human yearning—to remember where one comes from, even when the world calls one elsewhere. “It’s my motherland,” he says, and in that single word lies reverence. The motherland, like a mother herself, gives life, nurtures the spirit, and expects only remembrance in return.

Bivol’s words also hold a rare grace: they honor difference without division. “Kyrgyzstan is a Muslim country and I have many Muslim friends.” Here speaks the heart of unity, the ancient wisdom that humanity is one, though it wears many faces. He was raised in a land where cultures and faiths intertwine, and he learned early that respect is stronger than fear, and friendship deeper than creed. In our modern age—so quick to divide—his testimony becomes a guiding light: to love one’s own without despising another’s. This is the mark not of nationalism, but of true patriotism, which cherishes home without closing the heart to the world.

In Bivol’s life, we see the weaving of two realms—Kyrgyzstan, the land of his beginnings, and Russia, the land of his destiny. Though his career and acclaim came in Russia, he never forgot the mountains of Kyrgyzstan, the people who smiled though they had little, the faith that bound communities together. Like a tree that drinks from one soil but grows toward another sky, he embodies the balance between origin and aspiration. His story reminds us that to love one’s homeland does not mean to be bound by it, but to carry it within, wherever life may lead.

The lesson, then, is this: never forget your roots, no matter how high you rise. In a world obsessed with wealth and achievement, Bivol’s humility shines brighter than any medal. Remember the people who shaped you, the land that taught you endurance, the culture that gave you meaning. Speak of them with gratitude, not shame. For the greatness of a person lies not in what they possess, but in what they honor.

And to those who wander far from home, let Bivol’s words be your compass. You may live in many lands, wear many titles, and speak many tongues—but your soul remembers where it first learned to dream. Cherish your motherland, whether it is mighty or modest. Celebrate its differences, and build bridges, not walls, between yourself and others. For in doing so, you embody the truest strength—not of the fist, but of the spirit.

Thus speaks the wisdom within Dmitry Bivol’s humble confession: that greatness is born not from wealth, but from gratitude, and that the noblest homeland is the one we carry faithfully in our hearts.