THEY emerged into the crisp morning and looked around their town, knowing war had visited them again, trying to figure out how. Even for the citizens of Kabul, accustomed to misery and uncertainty and crumbled lives, this was a difficult day.

''I don't understand why the people of Afghanistan are such unlucky people," said Mirza Mohammed, leaving the city yesterday morning.

Things appeared normal, as normal as possible in a capital that has endured so many years of war. The markets opened as usual. Nothing visible was destroyed - or even damaged. Little appeared overtly amiss.

But many shaken residents were trying to make sense of the attacks, which were aimed at crippling the ruling Taliban's air defences, and they braced themselves for an extended conflict.

"Both sides are strong. America is not afraid, and Osama (bin Laden) is not afraid," said Fida Mohammed, a bus driver who normally lives near the airport. He has moved to his brother's house at the other end of the city.

"This fighting may be long," he said. "American people are eating chicken, and all we want is a piece of bread - and still we are in trouble."

A spot check of four hospitals turned up no evidence of casualties.

The attacks had come at about 9pm the night before as curfew was approaching, and few Afghans were on the streets. Five thunderous blasts sounded; anti-aircraft fire lit the sky. The city quickly went dark.

In a once-upmarket neighbourhood, where many Taliban leaders have homes, bearded soldiers piled into the backs of pick-up trucks.

They sped through the city's streets in the minutes after the explosion, beginning a swift, harsh security crackdown. They screamed at drivers to halt, demanding to see identity papers.

For more than 30 minutes, Taliban anti-aircraft guns thundered ammunition into the darkness, the only light visible. The city calmed down after an hour or so. The streets were quickly deserted, except for the occasional car.

After an hour, with the curfew firmly in place, electricity returned. By midnight, lights glowed in homes across Kabul; people were still up. A bit later, a lone aircraft dropped one bomb on Kabul's northern edge. Then the city went dark again.

Yesterday morning, Mohammed Jalil, who lives in Kabul's north-west section, close to Maranjan Hill, the site of the tomb of former King Mohammed Zaher Shah's father, said the first bomb had been dropped there.

"Oh my God - we don't know what is happening in this country," said Jalil, who works as a waiter.

He looks after an extended family, including his sister-in-law, whose husband was killed after the Soviets invaded, in 1979.

"Now we are afraid we will make another sacrifice - this time by American rockets," he said.

His son, Hamid, 12, said 20 pieces of shrapnel shattered the windows of their house.

Over the loudspeaker of the Wasir Akbar Khan mosque, a local cleric scorned the leaders of other Islamic countries, saying that they had forsaken Afghanistan.

Some families were on the move, especially those living near the airport or other targets. Some said they were going to the countryside, some to houses in other parts of Kabul.

Mirza Mohammed was preparing to leave with his four children.

"We were very afraid. We didn't sleep," said Mohammed, who lives near the airport on the northern edge of Kabul.

Jan Mohammed, 45, worried about the future. "I can't go anywhere," he said. "All I have is what I grow.

"What if a bomb falls on our house? We will be killed. Everybody hid in the basement last night. Where are the poor people of Afghanistan supposed to go?"