12.26.2004

Quiz Time 8

Today's question is:

What credentials do those people employed at the CID, the Pubic Prosector and the Courts of Justice have?
The fact that this is a short question doesn't mean it is a trick question. It is just for you to read it and re-read it and re-read it again.

Candle in the Wind!

It is raining outside.

It is a cold night.

I really can't go to sleep tonight.

I don't know whether it is the sound of the rain and the wind outside... or are there other sinister forces out there. I don't seem to know anything anymore. It all seems to look, taste and feel the same.

One second sweetie. Let me peep outside. Do I see a police car full of mercenaries? Are they watching me? Is the internet line tapped? Can they see what I am doing now? Can they see me scratching my nose? Now, you retards, can u see me showing you the middle finger?

As I press my face against the window pane, I can feel the chill going up my spine.

Is Ahmed feeling the cold too? Is it damp in his dirty infested cell? Is the worn out towel warm enough for him?

When Ahmed was arrested by the authorities, it was summer. May 7, was a warm and balmy night. It was an annoying night I remember too well.

He was kidnapped from outside his Muharraq flat. He had come back shopping with his wife and son. They were waiting for him outside.They circled him and like a criminal took him away. It was a silent and quick "sting" operation.

His wife didn't even know what had happened. She waited and waited and called and called and called.

Ahmed had disappeared.

She looked downstairs to see where he had gone. Her car, the car they came in from shopping, was there. His car wasn't. Where would he be at this time of the night, the heavily pregnant wife asked herself.

Silence.

There was no answer. She was too worried. Too scared. Too naive. Too Bahraini to think in a rational way and raise the alarm bell.

She waited for three days before telling anyone that Ahmed had been kidnapped. Three days!

Ahmed has been in his cage eversince.

His son asks about him every day. At school, they are now teaching his son the letters in Arabic and English.

A is not for Apple. A is for Ahmed, he tells his teachers and his classmate.

What do we teach this little boy who has to sing the national anthem in the morning assembly every morning?

That his country has no respect for human rights and cares not for you and your longing and your mother and her pain and your grandmother and her misery?

I think the rain has stopped..but I can hear some footsteps outside. Lemme check it out. Hang on there. I will be back.