Passing on a narrow path, I peeped into this boy's basket. Mustard, and other greens. "Is this your dinner?" I asked curiously, imagining a beautiful salad. "No," he grimaced, "it's for the donkey."
Bamiyan, Afghanistan
Passing on a narrow path, I peeped into this boy's basket. Mustard, and other greens. "Is this your dinner?" I asked curiously, imagining a beautiful salad. "No," he grimaced, "it's for the donkey."
Bamiyan, Afghanistan