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That morning we arrived in the narrow mud lane off Haji Baba Road in our usual procession of
brightly painted rickshaws, sputtering diesel fumes, each one crammed with five or six girls. Since
the time of the Taliban our school has had no sign and the ornamented brass door in a white wall
across from the woodcutter’s yard gives no hint of what lies beyond.
For us girls that doorway was like a magical entrance to our own special world. As we skipped
through, we cast off our head-scarves like winds puffing away clouds to make way for the sun then
ran helter-skelter up the steps. At the top of the steps was an open courtyard with doors to all the
classrooms. We dumped our backpacks in our rooms then gathered for morning assembly under the
sky, our backs to the mountains as we stood to attention. One girl commanded, ‘Assaan bash! ’ or
‘Stand at ease!’ and we clicked our heels and responded, ‘Allah.’ Then she said, ‘Hoo she yar!’ or
‘Attention!’ and we clicked our heels again. ‘Allah.’
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