Camel from Kyzylkum

From the eighth-floor view of our apartment, the horizon was open on three sides, and I could see far, far away. The biting desert wind was blowing through the city and falling stars streamed above the streetlights at night. The local weather center claimed that Zarafshan was the regional center of dryness. Sometimes, a very aggressive and strong wind called an Afghan (“Афга́нец”) would blow over Zarafshan. The name was coined since it always came from Afghanistan. This wind could occur in any season. In Afghanistan, it is called Kara-Buran, which means “black storm,” or body Shuravi, meaning “Soviet wind”. When an Afghan began, it carried huge clouds of sand and dust. We could see it moving on the horizon. It resembled an enormous hurricane wave in the ocean, only it was brown. These clouds of sand and dust rolled through the city, through our apartments. Invisible to the eye, barely running in the air, thin, caustic dust penetrated everything in its way, leaving furniture in the house covered with a thin layer of sand, and it would get into all of the pores of one’s skin. It had the distinct smell of sand. An Afghan passed through Zarafshan at least once a year, but sometimes more, and it became an unforgettable experience for me.