Most Kuchi simply shrug at the possibility of conflict with Western troops and walk on. The last Kuchi couple we meet exemplify this fatalism. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is intense, the air choked with dust. By the time we catch up to them, Gulmeena has tied a rope around her waist and placed the other end in the hands of her husband, Shinwari, who is almost blind. She is the first Kuchi woman we’ve seen up close: penetrating grey-green eyes, hair plaited with colourful beadwork, and a vividly coloured dress.

The two have been married for sixty years, Gulmeena says, and travelling free for at least seventy-five. Neither can remember their exact ages. Gulmeena came up with the idea of using a rope to help her husband along. “Sometimes I think I’d rather tie the rope to my dog,” she says, her eyes glinting mischievously. For five minutes, the couple talk with us, straining to pull some strands of history from their fading memories. But they quickly tire of the exercise and decide to move on. As they walk off, Shinwari stumbles along behind his wife, clutching the end of his rope. This is nomadic life—binding and, above all, enduring.