Come closer kid, I will tell you a story about my good friend Mahmood. Ask me what you want to hear more about, like the country or his tribe.

Mahmood, aged 24, was in the prime of his life. He looked over the vast plains of the Tundra with the firm and stone cold gaze, just as the former regime's soldiers did.

From a very early age he had a part in the labors of his large nomadic tribe where you were already passing things to the elders once you learned to walk. He was a child of a ruthless dictatorship. It wasn't one of brutality or of cold and efficient calculations. It wasn't driven by an ideological fervor. It was completely aloof to what being a human meant...