Jihad was another forbidden word. According to her, there wasn't even a war out there in the provinces,
just skirmishes against troublemakers stirred by people she called foreign provocateurs.
And certainly no one, no one, dared repeat in her presence the rising rumors that,
after eight years of fighting, the Soviets were losing this war.
Particularly now that the American president, Reagan, had started shipping the Mujahideen Stinger Missiles to down the Soviet helicopters,
now that Muslims from all over the world were joining the cause:
Egyptians, Pakistanis, even wealthy Saudis, who left their millions behind and came to Afghanistan to fight the jihad.
“Bucharest. Havana,” Laila managed. “And are those countries our friends or not?”
“They are, moolim sahib. They are friendly countries.” Khala Rangmaal gave a curt nod.
When school let out, Mammy again didn't show up like she was supposed to.
Laila ended up walking home with two of her classmates, Giti and Hasina.
Giti was a tightly wound, bony little girl who wore her hair in twin ponytails held by elastic bands.
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