Alichor Village 24

Footie at sunset

The M41, leaving and reconnecting with the Pamir hw at Chorug and Kona Kurgon, cuts through Alichor village whose populations of 1,200 people is mostly invisible to us as we arrive in the hot afternoon. The trim houses are made of brick and mud, often painted an agreeable pastel colour. Many of them are in a state of incompletion or abandonment. A single telephone wire strung on sturdy wood poles traverses the town. There is not a tree nor bush to be seen, only dirt and the brown mountains that surround us in a hazy distance. No Internet.

Eitan makes a few fast friends in a scratch game of football. Shouts of Messi! and Ronaldo! can be heard by the ten or so boys as they shoot on goal and trash-talk each other.

We stay at a guesthouse run by the family matriarch Rahima, the former (stern) local english teacher for ages 4-11 (her English to be desired). Rahima's grandchildren run about spreading joy. They are dirty and loved. 

Rahima before her house.