Monday, July 4, 2011

Celebrate Kalash Annual Spring Festival Joshi

The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO
The fair-skinned, light-eyed Kalash—who number around 3,000—dwell in haphazard wood and slate structures. Despite religious taboos, interactions between men and women are more open than elsewhere in the region. They brew apricot wine, carve totemic symbols and disperse fragrant clusters of sage throughout their homes. They greet each season with collective prayer in the form of chanting, singing, drumming and dancing. In mid-May 2011, the Kalash held their annual spring festival, which they call Joshi. PHOTO: CHEREE FRANCO

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