An older, white-bearded lawmaker sits at his desk in Afghanistan's Wolsi Jirga, Parliament's lower chamber, telling others about a report detailing a U.S. attack that left several civilians dead. A stir goes up in the chamber as his voice rises. 'We send this report to President Karzai as well!' Another minister of Parliament, this one with a salt-and-pepper beard, takes up the discussion as others talk, lean into each other's desks, joke, laugh and mill about the chamber. It's the start of a daylong vote that is critical to the formation of President Hamid Karzai's government after his re-election. Only 5 years old, Afghanistan's new political scene can bear a striking resemblance to Congress and state legislatures in America. Saturday's proceedings could have been a day in the life of a U.S. legislative body, right down to the video cameras, sharp debate and the photo that runs in the next day's newspaper. Lawmakers of various ideologies form alliances, cut deals and manage to get along with a collegial nature despite their differences. After the day's session opens, the Wolsi Jirga's speaker, Mohammad Younus Qanooni, makes a somber request on behalf of a member of Parliament whose aunt has died. 'Raise your hands and pray for her,' he urges, and many lawmakers do. Members of the assembly represent this Texas-size country's 34 provinces, and the colorful clothing worn here, including the green-and-black striped chapan, a winter coat worn by men from the north, including Karzai, hint at Afghanistan's complex mosaic of tribal people. Back in Florida, you might detect the same diversity in the Spanish-accented voices of Cubans, high-pitched intonations of transplanted New Yorkers, baritones of African Americans and the southern drawls of Tallahassee natives as they debate in the House and Senate. There are differences with U.S. statehouses, to be sure. Politicians here tend to have beards and wear turbans called lungi or the pakol, a flat, thin cap favored by the mujahedeen during their long war with the Soviets. Members do not have push-button voting systems built into their desks. They wave red or green cards. Green is yes. Red is no. The atmosphere is informal. Lawmakers sit in maroon theater seats behind long wooden desks. The Parliament building itself looks run-down, inside and out. Those entering the grounds work their way through a maze of tight security. Men armed with Kalashnikov rifles are everywhere. Still, the elected leaders of this country conduct themselves with a certain grace; or it just might be good, old-fashioned sucking up. An MP representing a nomadic tribe compliments Speaker Qanooni for bringing order to a tough process. 'Thank you very much because you are organizing the session very well,' he said. 'I have never seen organizers like you.' Laughter fills the room. As in U.S. national politics, women are greatly outnumbered by men, and those in the Wolsi Jirga dress far more conservatively, wearing headscarves that cover their necks, ears and most of their hair. On this day, one who dares to let her scarf down is chastised by a fellow lawmaker, a man who raises his red card to object. The Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan requires women to cover their heads. If it is contrary to American notions of freedom, it's nothing new to Afghans. The Wolsi Jirga and Mishrano Jirga, or upper house, are a fragile experiment in representative government, and Saturday's session is a bigger deal than most. Lawmakers are voting to confirm 24 members of Karzai's Cabinet, and it is a contentious, complex affair. The vote is done in secret, each member marking off a set of thick yellow papers behind a tall partition that looks like a confessional. After voting, they place the documents into one of two plastic tubs. Like their legislative counterparts in the U.S., the government in Kabul is bitterly divided, and this vote will underscore the point. When it ends, the Wolsi Jirga will have rejected 17 candidates. 'This is a very historic day in Parliament,' Fawzia Koofi, a one-time Karzai supporter and one of the nation's most prominent female MPs, said outside the chamber, which was built during the late 1960s. 'We need to stand by our nation because the expectation of the Afghan people is that this is not a Cabinet that's going to address the people's (issues) -- security, corruption and poverty,' Koofi added. The secrecy in this vote irritates some, including Afghanistan's former planning minister, Ramazan Bashardost, who came in third during last year's presidential election. 'If you are honest, that vote shouldn't be secret. If you want the nation to know about it, it should be open,' he said. Another MP, Shokria Barikzai, agreed. 'We have to show the people we are representing. They should know when we are voting,' Barikzai declared. Qanooni chimed in: 'In the Constitution, they didn't mention that it should be secret. They just said vote.' Many similar exchanges follow as voting on the Cabinet takes up a long afternoon. But there's also a sense of camaraderie and humor in this divided house. Bashardost, widely admired by people on the street, is an iconoclast. When called to vote, he uses the moment to stand before the assembly and raise the issue of members of Parliament holding more than one passport. It's not the first time Bashardost has brought up the matter, and it won't be the last. 'The dual nationality issue hasn't been resolved!' Perhaps a third of the lawmakers have left for lunch, but the decibel level here rises nonetheless after the outburst. One lawmaker, leaning into the microphone, offers a light-hearted retort that sparks chuckles throughout the chamber. 'Do you need an AK-47?' 