Rhythmless Nation

Zabi Sherki, 21, was jailed for singing with other revelers on his wedding night in Kabul. "We sang very quietly, but the police came inside and beat us," he says. Upon his release two months later, Sherki fled to Peshawar, Pakistan, and joined a band that plays at weddings. Those who cannot escape devise other ways to rebel. Shopkeepers sell cassettes on the black market, musicians bury their instruments for retrieval later, and drivers blare their stereos in remote areas. In a tiny flat in Kabul, with the shutters drawn, Naveeda crouches before a kerosene lamp and whispers the lyrics of a popular love song to her family--softly, so that no one will report her. "We're like dead people," says her brother Nadir. "When the evening comes, there's no electricity, no radio, no TV, no cinema."

Many Afghans refuse to keep quiet. In a cramped studio off a busy thoroughfare in Peshawar, a few musicians sitting on faded red carpets take up instruments while they await customers. On the walls are photos of the band's performances. Zar Wali smiles broadly as he begins to play the harmonium. "My beloved country," he sings in his native Pashto, "this Afghanistan, is very dear to me." The anthem is sweet--sweet enough to make him briefly forget that he is in Pakistan.

--Reported by Hannah Bloch/Peshawar and Ghulam Hasnain/Kabul