then laid claim to, at will, whenever the mood struck. But this was a big day, an important day, for all of them.
It would be petty to spoil it over this. In the spirit of things, Laila let it pass. “I get your point,” she said.
“Good!” Mammy said. “That’s resolved, then. Now, where is Hakim? Where, oh where, is that sweet little husband of mine?”
It was a dazzling, cloudless day, perfect for a party. The men sat on rickety folding chairs in the yard.
They drank tea and smoked and talked in loud bantering voices about the Mujahideen’s plan.
From Babi, Laila had learned the outline of it: Afghanistan was now called the Islamic State of Afghanistan.
An Islamic Jihad Council, formed in Peshawar by several of the Mujahideen factions,
would oversee things for two months, led by Sibghatullah Mojadidi.
This would be followed then by a leadership council led by Rabbani, who would take over for four months.
During those six months, a loya jirga would be held, a grand council of leaders and elders,
who would form an interim government to hold power for two years, leading up to democratic elections.
One of the men was fanning skewers of lamb sizzling over a makeshift grill.
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