When I left Ainura’s container-shop at the Dordoi Bazaar in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan, I found the market eerily quiet. I had not noticed the passing of time, while she generously shared her life story with me.
Walking towards the mini-bus stop at the square in front of the bazaar, the echo of her words mixed with the end-of-day soundscape at Dordoi: the heavy slam of container-shops’ metal doors and the resonant clang of heavy padlocks clicking into place.
