The Favored Daughter by Fawzia Koofi

of war, and people die during war. The fact that Muqim’s death was murder meant little under the circumstances. Hundreds of people were being murdered every day, women were being raped, and homes were being looted and destroyed. Food and water were scarce. Justice was in even shorter supply.
    Mirshakay blamed himself for Muqim’s death. Not only had he failed him as a policeman, by not capturing his killers, but he felt personally responsible for his murder. As a police general he had a team of bodyguards. They would travel with him everywhere, and at night their job was to guard the house as he and his family slept inside. But because it was Friday, a day of prayer, observance, and family, and also such a horrible wet night, my brother had felt sorry for his bodyguards and dismissed them early, telling them to go home and be with their families. Muqim got home about 10 p.m., having been to the gym. He was soaked to the skin in the rain and was complaining about an eye infection. My sister-in-law fetched her kohl from her makeup bag. In my home province of Badakhshan women often use a type of kohl eyeliner made from herbs found in the mountains, and one of the benefits of the herbs is that they are very good for treating eye infections. So she put some on his eye, and then he went to bed. That was the last time anyone saw Muqim alive. If the bodyguards had been on duty, there’s no way the gunman could have entered the house, and he’d still be alive. Mirshakay’s rage ate at him, and he felt it was his fault his brother had been killed.
    One of the great questions we ask ourselves in life is “Why?” Why does anything happen? As a Muslim I have my beliefs. I believe them to be true, and they are a large part of me. I believe God alone decides our fate. He chooses when we live and when we die. But even that certainty doesn’t make the painful events and losses of my life easier to bear.
    With Muqim’s death we simply didn’t have any answers.
    Why would somebody kill such a kind, intelligent, gentle young man as my brother? He was a brilliant young student trying to make a life for himself. He wanted a career and a wife and a family. He wasn’t a threat to anybody. But his life was taken away in an instant. In Islam a dying person is supposed to recite the name of Allah three times before passing away. Poor Muqim didn’t have time to do that.
    And not having time to say a proper goodbye was something I was also becoming used to.
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    Dear Shuhra and Shaharzad,
    As you grow older you will learn about loyalty. Loyalty to your faith, to family, to friends, to your neighbors, and to your country. In times of war our loyalty can be sorely tested.
    You must be loyal to the true and good nature of your Islamic faith, helping and loving those around you even when you might feel you cannot.
    It is important to be loyal to your family, both those alive and dead. Our bonds of family do not cease at the grave, but we must also be careful not to remember the dead at the expense of the living.
    You must be loyal to your friends, because it is the action of a true friend. And if they are true friends then they will also be loyal to you, and ready to act when you need their help.
    You must be loyal to your fellow Afghans. There are many of us and we are not all the same. But you must be able to see past those ethnic and cultural differences and remember the thing that unites us together—Afghanistan.
    And you must be loyal to your country. Without loyalty to our country we have nothing as a nation. We must work hard and wisely to improve our country for your children and their children.
    Loyalty can be a hard lesson to learn sometimes, but there are few lessons more valuable.
    With love,
Your mother

SEVEN
    THE WAR WITHIN
    I was glad to be back in Kabul and was eager to resume my old life, or what little of it remained under what was now becoming full-blown civil war.
    We were still