An Afghani

Friday afternoon – Driving north from the town of Shaartuz, a wall of dust follows us, one of the “Afghani” storms that periodically roll across the border this time of year.  It paints the entire sky in the same hue, a hard-to-describe color somewhere between yellow and orange.  The sun vanishes, and the mountains on either side of the road are dark forms below the curtain of dust.  Reaching Dushanbe, I look back and to the southwest the sun is setting in a hazy mixture of city dust, pollution and the remnants of the “Afghani”.  It is a shimmering orange ball that hovers just above the trolley wires and apartment blocks.


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