There was nothing to see out there; no trees, no animals, no dwellings, nothing but mile after mile of rusty Mars-scape and the surprisingly decent, if entirely unmarked road we were on. It came as something of a relief therefore to discern a few splashes of colour and even some action, up ahead. ‘There is something happening at Silent Valley today,’ said Aziz, leaning forward from his back seat, squinting though the glare ‘- but I cannot see what it is – it may be a big accident...’ ‘Here, these might help...’ I said, passing him the beloved and extremely valuable pair of binoculars I never leave home without, the only tangible legacy I have of my famous forebear, the very same binoculars that accompanied him to the First Afghan War. Aziz was sceptical of their usefulness but Sheikh Ahmad was so moved by my tale of their provenance that he insisted on stopping the car to take a closer look at their solid brass fittings and anciently worn leather strap and case.
