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Authors: Omar Tyree
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over and grinned. “After all, you’re still a very pretty girl. You deserve to pamper yourself.”
“Stop it,” she told him. But it was true. Ramia could have easily become the pampered wife of a wealthy man, yet she would never allow herself to be kept, especially as a second or third wife. She treasured her independence.
Chapter 7
In the gray cement building that was directly across the street from Basim’s, an important meeting of the minds was ready to take shape between Saleem and a much wiser man. Saleem arrived at the fifth-floor apartment with his two followers and walked into an apartment in the building across the street from Basim’s. The apartment was much larger than anything Basim would pay for or could afford. Inside, several immigrant men sat in a circle on the floor. They were from various nations, and many of them had become construction workers like Saleem. These were men who believed that working in Dubai would greatly benefit them and their families back home. But now they knew better.
The practices of cheap labor, dishonor and negligence in Dubai had unnerved them all to the point of vengeance. These laborers felt exploited and demoralized. They had become perfect followers of the radical Mohd Ahmed Nasir, an Egyptian man in his sixties who held some serious intentions.
A group of Mohd’s loyal guard were in the apartment, standing armed and against the wall, while the laborers sat cross-legged on the floor complaining about dangerous working conditions and the poor pay. At the moment of Saleem’s arrival, there was disciplined silence inside the room. Out of respect for their worshipful elder, none of the new recruits dared to speak unless they were asked to do so. Mohd often made men wait in dead silence for long stretches at a time before he would even make eye contact with them, let alone allow them to hear his speech or his impressions of them. Such was his way of discipline, because men who spoke without being asked were not to be trusted.
Silence was a methodology of determining the anxieties and temperaments of those who claimed to desire leadership. An honorable student would not rush the teacher, and Mohd only desired to teach honorable men. So after nearly an hour of silence, reading the impatient stares and the stormy emotions of the men who sat inside of the candlelit room, Mohd stood from his seat inside of the circle and walked toward the window, where he stared down at the activities on the streets below them. Finally, he decided to speak.
“Even in righteous land, the selfish and individual pursuits of wealth allow poverty and want to eventually turn us all into victims of greed or criminals who succumb to our own desperate opportunities.”
His first words to them were well worth the wait, although some of the men could not follow his astute English and needed translations from those who could speak the various languages inside the room. So Mohd awaited their detailed translations before he would continue.
The man spoke as if he were an international dignitary, with a worldwide address to heads of nations. His delivery alone held the men captivated without even having to look at them.
In contrast to his armed and rugged guards, who wore dark, non-distinct clothes, Mohd was clean-shaven and noble in a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. He looked at peace and was very casual. He was not short, nor tall. He was not thin, nor stout. And he had no particular features that would distinguish him from the thousands of light-brown men who populated the various nations of the Middle East. Even his low-cut salt-and-pepper hair was barely noticeable. However, when he spoke, the man became magnificent.
He turned and looked into their faces to ask them all a question. “How many of you here will die in Dubai, or in your homelands, as old and beaten men without ever reaching your full potential as fathers, husbands, brothers or sons? How many of you will die without having a
“Stop it,” she told him. But it was true. Ramia could have easily become the pampered wife of a wealthy man, yet she would never allow herself to be kept, especially as a second or third wife. She treasured her independence.
Chapter 7
In the gray cement building that was directly across the street from Basim’s, an important meeting of the minds was ready to take shape between Saleem and a much wiser man. Saleem arrived at the fifth-floor apartment with his two followers and walked into an apartment in the building across the street from Basim’s. The apartment was much larger than anything Basim would pay for or could afford. Inside, several immigrant men sat in a circle on the floor. They were from various nations, and many of them had become construction workers like Saleem. These were men who believed that working in Dubai would greatly benefit them and their families back home. But now they knew better.
The practices of cheap labor, dishonor and negligence in Dubai had unnerved them all to the point of vengeance. These laborers felt exploited and demoralized. They had become perfect followers of the radical Mohd Ahmed Nasir, an Egyptian man in his sixties who held some serious intentions.
A group of Mohd’s loyal guard were in the apartment, standing armed and against the wall, while the laborers sat cross-legged on the floor complaining about dangerous working conditions and the poor pay. At the moment of Saleem’s arrival, there was disciplined silence inside the room. Out of respect for their worshipful elder, none of the new recruits dared to speak unless they were asked to do so. Mohd often made men wait in dead silence for long stretches at a time before he would even make eye contact with them, let alone allow them to hear his speech or his impressions of them. Such was his way of discipline, because men who spoke without being asked were not to be trusted.
Silence was a methodology of determining the anxieties and temperaments of those who claimed to desire leadership. An honorable student would not rush the teacher, and Mohd only desired to teach honorable men. So after nearly an hour of silence, reading the impatient stares and the stormy emotions of the men who sat inside of the candlelit room, Mohd stood from his seat inside of the circle and walked toward the window, where he stared down at the activities on the streets below them. Finally, he decided to speak.
“Even in righteous land, the selfish and individual pursuits of wealth allow poverty and want to eventually turn us all into victims of greed or criminals who succumb to our own desperate opportunities.”
His first words to them were well worth the wait, although some of the men could not follow his astute English and needed translations from those who could speak the various languages inside the room. So Mohd awaited their detailed translations before he would continue.
The man spoke as if he were an international dignitary, with a worldwide address to heads of nations. His delivery alone held the men captivated without even having to look at them.
In contrast to his armed and rugged guards, who wore dark, non-distinct clothes, Mohd was clean-shaven and noble in a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. He looked at peace and was very casual. He was not short, nor tall. He was not thin, nor stout. And he had no particular features that would distinguish him from the thousands of light-brown men who populated the various nations of the Middle East. Even his low-cut salt-and-pepper hair was barely noticeable. However, when he spoke, the man became magnificent.
He turned and looked into their faces to ask them all a question. “How many of you here will die in Dubai, or in your homelands, as old and beaten men without ever reaching your full potential as fathers, husbands, brothers or sons? How many of you will die without having a
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