The shelling knocked down power lines, pulverized entire blocks of shops and homes.
Laila heard that Pashtun militiamen were attacking Hazara households, breaking in and shooting entire families, execution style,
and that Hazaras were retaliating by abducting Pashtun civilians,
raping Pashtun girls, shelling Pashtun neighborhoods, and killing indiscriminately.
Every day, bodies were found tied to trees, sometimes burned beyond recognition.
Often, they'd been shot in the head, had had their eyes gouged out, their tongues cut out.
Babi tried again to convince Mammy to leave Kabul.
“They'll work it out,” Mammy said. “This fighting is temporary. They'll sit down and figure something out.”
“Fariba, all these people know is war,” said Babi. “They learned to walk with a milk bottle in one hand and a gun in the other.”
“Who are you to say?” Mammy shot back. “Did you fight jihad? Did you abandon everything you had and risk your life?”
“If not for the Mujahideen, we'd still be the Soviets' servants, remember. And now you'd have us betray them!”
“We aren't the ones doing the betraying, Fariba.” “You go, then. Take your daughter and run away. Send me a postcard.”
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