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them.
    â€œThat’s him,” said Zafoona, a rare smile stretching her pale lips.
    â€œSalaam Alaikum!” exclaimed Uncle Amin, giving Habib a hug. Behind him lurked a boy around Fadi’s age, who leaned forward to give Zafoona a kiss on the cheek.
    â€œ Mashallah , Zalmay,” said Zafoona. “You’ve gotten so tall and handsome.”
    Zalmay blushed and mumbled something,
    â€œFadi, come meet your cousin,” said Zafoona.
    â€œ Salaam Alaikum ,” said Fadi. He reached out to shake Zalmay’s hand.
    â€œ Walaikum A’Salaam ,” Zalmay responded. “You, uh, have a long trip?” he added in a rush.
    â€œYes.” Fadi gave a weary grimace. “Really long.”
    â€œZalmay, help your uncle Habib with the suitcases,” said Uncle Amin. “Fadi, is that you? My goodness, you were a tiny fellow when I saw you back in Kabul. And, Noor, you have grown up into a young lady—no longer dashing around with pigtails and a runny nose.”
    Noor turned red and mumbled her Salaam s.
    Fadi froze. What if he asks about Mariam? Does he know? Then he remembered. His parents had called Uncle Amin from Peshawar, as they had all their relatives, to tell them what had happened.
    â€œWell, let’s go,” said Uncle Amin, leading them toward the wide glass doors that opened onto the curbside pickup area.
    â€œWait here and I’ll bring the car around,” said Uncle Amin.
    Half an hour later Fadi was wedged firmly in the backseat of a beat-up Dodge Caravan. He dislodged Noor’s elbow from his back and scooted closer to the door. He pressed his nose against the window, watching traffic as they exited the airport and merged onto Highway 101.
    â€œSo,” said Habib, “how is the family doing?”
    â€œAll doing well, Alhamdulillah ,” said Uncle Amin. “Nilufer is so excited you are here. She and my mother have been cooking up a storm all day.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Zafoona from the backseat. “It’s been too long since I saw her. She was the best cook out of the three of us. I was always more interested in my studies.”
    â€œWell, you were first in your class, as I recall,” said Uncle Amin, nodding. “Your parents were so proud when you were accepted to Kabul University. Especially your father, may Allah bless his soul.”
    â€œThat seems like such a long time ago now,” replied Zafoona with a deep sigh.
    â€œHow were things in Kabul when you left?” asked Uncle Amin. “We’ve heard that the drought this year was bad.”
    â€œVery bad,” said Zafoona. “Low rainfall ruined this year’s crops, and there have been food shortages. Many people have resorted to eating grass. Grass! Can you imagine?”
    Uncle Amin shook his head sadly.
    â€œThe Taliban came with so much hope,” said Habib, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes. “Now fighting with the Northern Alliance has flared up. They are all the same—power-hungry and arrogant.”
    â€œWhat is the problem with people?” said Uncle Amin, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “What has happened to common decency?”
    â€œWar, war, always war,” grumbled Zafoona. Fadi could see she was getting more exhausted by the discussion, and he squeezed her arm. He didn’t want her to get breathless and succumb to a fit of coughing.
    Zafoona glanced over at him with a smile and held his hand. She turned her attention back to the front.
    â€œMaybe it’s in our blood,” said Uncle Amin with a shake of his head. “Afghanistan has been invaded so many times. By the Persians, Greeks, Arabs, Turks, Mongols, British, and then the Soviets …”
    Fadi listened with half an ear. He’d heard it all before.
    â€œBut perhaps we are our own worst enemy,” commented Habib quietly. “We are always fighting, either with others or among ourselves. No one has defeated the