Wednesday, 19 September 2012

We Feel Sorry for the Everyday Muslim

It is pretty much a thankless task.   If a guy is just regular Mohammed, and comes and goes to work and takes the tourists for camel rides, and goes to church on Friday, and takes care of his family, looks after the elders, checks into the brick factory he and his brother operate, go home tired....he can still look around in fear.
     Are the Sharia nuts coming to drag his daughter off to the clinic for circumcision?  Is it true what that gossipy old woman said that she saw a Hezbollah agent talking to my son yesterday morning?   Will that thug from Hezbollah come again to-morrow to threaten my brother and me about the "tax" on our brick factory?   We have to pay 25% to the "war tax" so we can kill the Jews....?
     Three days ago, a Hezbollah took a digital picture of me with the tourists.   We were all laughing and putting the Gentile girl in the right place for the mare to stand up without the Gentile girl falling off on her way up.   The Gentiles maybe they were  Jews,   but they were American.  I charged them  30 dollars for three camels and they gave me 30 dollars and 20o Egyptian Pounds (32 / am.cur.)   I was embarrassed.  They were good people, the angel travellers that The Prophet said would pass by when there is need in my house.   But, the Hezbollah camera thug was still lurking at the curio stands, taking his rake-off.

     There are so many of them.  But yet, so many of us do not participate in their rallies, but we are watched all the time.  The preachers are not preachers.  They are spies and gossips.  But what do we do.   If a Copt brings me a Christmas thingy or some gift-plate for our Ramadan supper....the Hezbollah thugs are watching.  If we take them a little something for the baby on the Three Kings, the Hezbollah act like they are making notes in their little notepads.
     At any moment, when they are drunk with the liquor we do not use, they come and curse the Copt and his Saviour, and me for talking to him, and they call me a Jew-dog spy.  The thug does not even know the Copt's Saviour is a true prophet of Islam.   One pull of the trigger and my family is slaughtered.   And my brother's family.   My brother lives only six doors away.   We helped build each others houses.   They are nice...especially on the inside.  It is the tourist-angels.  That extra money.  My children can build a computer with their eyes closed, and my son can play the Spanish guitar. They are so full of life, but there is always fear in their eyes.   You do not understand the eyes that always watch and always see.   What would be life if we could be out of the view of the vermin?   And then, what if we help the American agents?  Then later the White House says..."We have people on the ground who spoke to Mohammed the Camel Driver, and he gave us the necessary information.   He lives at 222 Olive Tree Street, Cairo."
    What do we do?  We'll keep making good bricks, and waiting for Traveller Angels, and hope maybe things go back to a better normal, if God wills.

Prayer from Mohammed, the brick factory owner and tourists'-camel man extraordinaire.

El Gringo Viejo