Bruce
27-09-2005, 05:59 AM
Two Muslim mothers are sitting in the cafe chatting over a pint of goat's milk. The older of the two pulls her bag out and starts flipping through photographs and they start reminiscing.
"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He'd be 24 years old now."
"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the other mother cheerfully.
"He's a martyr now," mum confides.
"O! That's so sad dear," says the other.
"And is my second son, Kalid. He'd be 21 now,"
says the first Muslim mother.
"Oh, I remember him," says the other happily, "he had such dark, curly hair when he was born."
"Yes, Well, he's a martyr, too now," says the mother quietly.
"Oh! Good gracious me," says the other.
"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He'd be 18 now," whispers the first Muslim mother.
"Yes," says the friend enthusiastically. "I remember when he first started school."
"He's a martyr too now" says the Muslim mum, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says:
.
.
.
.
"They blow up so fast, don't they?"
"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He'd be 24 years old now."
"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the other mother cheerfully.
"He's a martyr now," mum confides.
"O! That's so sad dear," says the other.
"And is my second son, Kalid. He'd be 21 now,"
says the first Muslim mother.
"Oh, I remember him," says the other happily, "he had such dark, curly hair when he was born."
"Yes, Well, he's a martyr, too now," says the mother quietly.
"Oh! Good gracious me," says the other.
"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He'd be 18 now," whispers the first Muslim mother.
"Yes," says the friend enthusiastically. "I remember when he first started school."
"He's a martyr too now" says the Muslim mum, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says:
.
.
.
.
"They blow up so fast, don't they?"