“Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbaaar!”
I remember the loud speakers blasting across the shabby mud walls in a violent and crackling blast. In pre-dawn’s sleepy haze I was roused with the first call to prayer which had become so familiar. Usually I would roll over and go back to sleep but not that day. I was leaving that hot, dusty town at least for the summer. Ramazan (the Muslim month of fasting) was approaching as was the heat of the day which would reach 40 degrees Celsius in the shade by noon. In a place where the climate is severe and life is difficult at the most basic level, Ramazan increases the hardship. It’s a good time to get out of the country but one which only foreigners and the rich can afford. Farewells are spoken in Dari (Afghan Persian) with local men who have become friends. One day I may see them again but this feels like abandonment of a sort. In my heart I sense that I will not be coming back here soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment