Another one bites the dust

The very first impression of Kabul is not the traffic, the burqas nor the power generating hummingbirds – it is the dust. Gone are the clean nostrils I remember from Sweden, nowadays they function as a life-saving filter that keeps my lungs reasonably healthy and hopefully delays the infamous ‘afghan cough’. Initially mistaken for fog, the dust creates a mood-enriching blanket over the whole city which makes the very few existing street lights look even more spookily old than they probably are. It is however not only my aerial organs that get a beating – my clothes, bags and shoes have already turned grayish and avoiding embarrassing dust-smudges on your outfit throughout the whole day should be considered impossible. Our cleaners have nevertheless taken up the fight by using their most powerful weapon, water, to the extent that our floors make the poor Kabul River look skimpy in comparison. The piles of dust, however, never seem to disappear. They even get in your food, and putting a handful of apparently old pistachios in my mouth yesterday, I sure got to know what it’s like to bite the dust.