A memory from Afghanistan

Post 27 of 36

hill boy_flickr by_PAPYRARRI

I remember when I was quite small I went to the mountains to collect wood for my mum for the fire. I was holding a stick and there were some goats around me. The mountains were soooo green and beautiful. I collected the sticks but they were wet and when I brought them home, my mum said “don’t bring the wet ones because I can’t burn them on the fire! Please bring the dry ones.”

My country was so beautiful, but trust me, the countryside is not like that now because you know, when a bomb blast hits somewhere, then nothing will grow there after that.

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