Inshar'Allah On a July evening in Kakarak The guests come in their finest clothes and jewelry They will celebrate the wedding of Abdul Malik with dancing, singing, and a feast. In keeping with Afghan tradition one hundred pairs of shoes are left at the front door. The guests come in their finest clothes and jewelry. The men fire AK-47s into the air in celebration. The women stew lamb in cooking pots. Musicians play mellow music for those who care to listen. Some party-goers sit on the flat-topped roof. Children play and set off firecrackers. The men fire AK-47s into the air in celebration. U.S. aircraft drop seven 2000 pound bombs. The first rocket hits the women’s section. The second rocket hits the men’s. A little girl watches as her mother’s head is severed from her neck. U.S. aircraft drop seven 2000 pound bombs. There are two gaping holes in the front of the house. The wedding guests are all running. A farmer loses his wife and three children. His drinking companions are cut down next to him. A little girl has blood all over her party dress. There are two gaping holes in the front of the house. Abdul Malik buries his father on a hill, among the fresh graves piled with white stones. In keeping with tradition the dead are buried quickly. “I can’t even remember which one is my father,” he says, tears running from his eyes. Abdul Malik buries his father on a hill. “The killed all of my dear ones,” he says. His yard is littered with blood and human remains, all that is left of his wedding day, In keeping with Afghan tradition, forty pairs of shoes remain at the front door.