I was ten. On a Friday, after evening prayers, they came. They drove into our village in many trucks. I was outside the madras when they arrived. They stopped and got out of the trucks.

I had seen foreign fighters before. I had seen the Taliban, the students. They were mostly pashtun, like us. I had seen the Arabs, muslims from other countries. The Imam said they would help us throw out the crusaders.

When the infidels arrived the fighters went up into the hills. Father said not to get close to infidels, but I am not afraid. I had never seen someone who was not muslim. So I walked up to one.

He wore something like a coat, even though it was summer. They wore the clothes that infidels wore, little squares of different colors that made them hard to see from a distance. He was eating a bar something brown and offered me half.

He said words I did not understand. It sounded like “mar een zah” and “frenz”. I tasted the bar and it was sweet. He smiled.

Later, father beat me for taking food from an infidel.