It was late February 2002 that I went to my birthplace, the Gozara district of Herat, to see the same rows of shops lined in front of the old, white-splashed brick building of this administrative district, where my ancestral village, Siawashan is located.

From Gozara up to the city limits, the farmlands on both sides of the highway were reduced to skeletons of factories and brick houses, but some of the old structures still stood on their ground, including the Pol-e-Pashtun bridge on the Harirud (Herat River).

As a child I stood on the bridge during the flood season facing west towards Pol-e-Malan and gazing down into the murky and rushing waters imagining the bridge moving backward carrying me on its back. I loved this game of bridge riding and playing in the surrounding parks. It was the grandest bridge of my childhood memories, but now it was narrow and short to my eyes, the whole structure had shrunk by means of some magic, the passage of time.

I asked my driver, a very nice Kandahari fellow, to take me home via Darwaza-e Khosh. I found my elementary school Khwaja Taki, but it was not the same school of my memories. It too had shrunk into a small, indeed a very small one-story building with few rooms, clean and painted white.

Soon, I was home after 24 years, to meet my family and relatives who were waiting my arrival. I do not know what I was thinking at those closely approaching moments, I was lost in the abyss of past memories.

After days of meeting friends and family, I needed to venture into the city that I cherished. On my favorite day, Nowruz, the Afghan New Year and the first day of spring, I grabbed my video and digital cameras, and headed out. The day was beautifully calm, and pleasant.

Eager, I scrutinized every corner to see what happened to the ancient walls of the city, the citadel, the minarets, the ancient mosque, the ancient bazaars, the natural beauty of the land, and more than anything else, to the people and their ancient and rich culture. In this city of immense contrasts, I felt the brunt of an ancient culture struggling against the overwhelming tides of historical uncertainly. In the photos I share my glimpses of the city, village, and wilderness.