amistad

"I feel like a tourist in my own country", I said [...] Farid snickered. Tossed his cigarette. "You still think of this place as your country?"

"I think a part of me always will", I said, more defensively than I had intended.

[...] He pointed to an old man dressed in ragged clothes trudging down a dirt path, a large burlap pack filled with scrub grass tied to his back. "That's the real Afghanistan, Agha sahib. That's the Afghanistan I know. You? You've always been a tourist here, you just didn't know it."