Guiding His Flock Through the Afghan Sky

Three seconds is all it takes. The flock, predominantly male, is already on its way back. The female hurries to a dark corner of the roof, seemingly embarrassed.

As the flock nears, hope dawns in Mohammed's eyes. All 28 of his pigeons are coming, plus one. Another man's bird has become confused, and joined Mohammed's flock. He sees the newcomer instantly.

"I know my pigeons very, very well," he says.

This is the moment he lives for. Based on the unwritten code of Afghan pigeon owners, if a stray bird lands on his roof, there are two options. Either Mohammed gets to keep it, or he can sell it back to the rightful owner for whatever the pigeon is worth -- some go for as much as $500 -- plus a finder's fee.

With the pigeons arching their wings and preparing to land, Mohammed tosses handfuls of seed onto the roof. With each handful, he chants in a low murmur: "Come. Come. Come."

They spiral downward, landing in a flurry of gentle cooing and jingling bells, several of which are wrapped around each bird's leg. The wayward pigeon begins to descend, too. But at the last minute, it pulls up again -- and then off to rejoin its flock.

If Mohammed is disappointed, he does not show it.

He simply waves his net, and the pigeons are airborne once again. He will make a dozen more attempts this afternoon to catch a new bird, and come up empty each time.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, Mohammed throws down several pounds of seed on a blanket and lets the birds feast. One is sick and has lost its appetite, so Mohammed takes its beak to his mouth and blows seeds down its throat.

Mohammed has tried to quit pigeon-flying. Fifteen times in as many years, he has sold the whole flock. And each time, a few of the birds return. Mohammed buys more to keep them company.

For a while, it looked like the Taliban would help him quit: They banned the sport. But Mohammed's birds kept flying, just a bit more stealthily than before.

At this point, it is doubtful he will ever be without pigeons. Ismail, the younger brother, certainly hopes not. "When I see the pigeons," he says, "my soul gets refreshed. They're beautiful."

With a chill setting in at 5:40, Mohammed opens the coops, and the dutiful birds go home for the night. In the dark, lonesome air, Mohammed descends his crumbling staircase, and does the same.

For video of Faqir Mohammed with his pigeons, visit www.washingtonpost.com/timezones.