Kabul is not kind to drivers. It's a city still expanding between mountains from which rival warlords used to lob ordnance at one another, and the legacy of those men who once laid waste to what was below remains here, on the streets, in the craters they left behind. Here, being a driver means knowing intimately -- feeling, even -- the history of a country and its conflict, as it's written in every little dimple in the street. And you can learn a lot about the place from the people who spend their days navigating it.
Read the rest of Jeffrey Stern's essay in The Atlantic.
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