The echo fills the valley, descends the paths, collides with the arid cliffs. Each summit, each stone seems to howl with the same guttural timbre. On a tiny plateau over 1000 meters above sea level, erected on "his" mountain, Abdoul Manan Niazi points his index finger to the sky. The rebel Taliban with the long white beard is so full of his own words that an aide-de-camp sometimes has to bring him a glass of water to dip his lips in. He finally finishes his speech. "God is great!" (God is the greatest), then chant his soldiers, brandishing their weapons in turn towards the azure.
The specter of civil war
Around the chief, there are around a hundred: armed to the teeth, ammunition slung over their shoulder, their scarf only lets glimpse their jet eyes. Some are seated in front of him, on a pink child's blanket decorated with hearts and teddy bears. Others, standing on the steep slope, lean on a machine gun or on one of the many barred white flags of the shahada, the profession of
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