I was back in the Afghan town walking through dusty streets, brown dirt roads lined with twelve foot high dirty white daubed walls. The roads were wide enough for two cars but they were deserted except for street urchins in dirty white jellabahs, boys with dusty black hair who wanted to be your guide.
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As I walked around I took photographs and I would have liked to take people photos but the schools I passed had signs outside saying do not take pictures of the school children. You could recognize a school by its wooden gate and behind the gate, a better looking garden or trees.
Plus the mud was a deeper, orange brown, than the main streets.
I had passed a few of these gated, gardened schools when one urchin attached himself to me.
I wanted to shake him off because some foreigners take advantage of these street boys and I wanted to be clear that is not me. He took me into the side streets that splintered from the main road, uphill into covered markets that sold rugs, and which were more interesting than the deserted main streets.
But I did not want to buy anything so it was not long before we spilled back onto the road and continued on. Then he suggested food because he was hungry even though I was not. but I was not hungry except he was.
We stepped into an open dusty square, behind one of the white walls, and in the far left corner there was a trestle table where they were serving food. We walked up to the table and a couple of elders, already seated, shifted over to lend us space.
In front of them were plastic plates with white rice and a small amount of curry sauce. It was not much too eat but the urchin eyed a plate and I could have let him eat with me..
I wanted to make sure that everyone knew he was my guide but as we sat down the cook put down a clear plastic tub, one each in front of us with some translucent broth and the stalks of some small green herbs, dill or coriander, floating on top.
Photo via PxHere
