The pretty girl of twelve stalks the rooftop with her mobile – refuge from younger brothers. In the madrassa the boys wash their clothes in the stone basin in the courtyard, jostle each other, comb through short hair for lice. Later they will pray. Two backpackers stop at a street stall. A cow wanders past. A mother watches her small boy on their low roof. Her mother leans on the terrace and watches the square below. Kites twist and dive over the tree, the temple carvings, the wild, squirming tangles of wire.
The streets were deserted when we arrived, but for the dogs and the wires.