Post by goldenmyst on Jul 3, 2022 19:57:23 GMT -6
Fatima Finds Hope
Her family had scattered to the four winds after their village became a smoking ruin. So she wandered the desert in a daze. At the age of twenty when most are just starting off in life, she was a refugee. Finally, Fatima found herself more chaperoned than captured by the strangest soldier in an ISIS uniform. He opened the door for her as though he was a gentleman. He said, “Good afternoon. May I take you out for a bite to eat?” It was like he was escorting her on a date.
Fatima replied, “Thank you for the offer. However, my lunch date is just late. He should arrive any minute now. If I didn’t have prior arrangements I surely would take you up on your offer. After all, you seem like a nice man and no doubt we’d have loads to talk about.”
This was the most peculiar abduction she could imagine. It was as though she could just walk away and he wouldn’t pursue her. But she didn’t want to take a chance given these guys rap sheets.
Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape the cage of her ribs. The bearded man said, “Hey, my clothing is just camouflage. I’m not one of the bad guys. I’m here to take you to safety.”
She said, “Well when you put it that way, of course, I’ll accept your offer. My boyfriend is always late, which is one of the reasons our relationship is on the skids.”
The man gave Fatima a pillow to sit on because the road was bumpy. But there was a pleasant breeze upon her face. The man said, “It is a beautiful day for a drive to Kurdistan.”
She broke out in laughter. “You are dressed like an ISIS fighter. But now I see that is a ploy.”
“I’m an undercover agent whose mission is to help you on this fine spring day. My apologies but here is a one size fits all hijab. You must wear it out here, just until we cross the Kurdish border.”
Fatima said, “I can’t wait to let the flames consume that thing.”
He said, “In America women once burned their bras. Here women burn their hijab.”
She said, “What will they think of an ISIS fighter approaching?”
He replied, “Any Diva will agree the wardrobe must be right for the occasion. Mine includes the Kurdish Liberation Front uniform. But it couldn’t hurt for you to wave white flags.”
Fatima asked, “Do you roam ISIS territory looking for women to save?”
He replied, “The rescue gig suits me better than being a warrior. My rifles aren’t loaded. Surrounded by enemies a gunfight would be pointless.”
“Do you mean you’re unarmed out here?”
“Prayer is my secret weapon.”
When they arrived at the Kurdish outpost he said, “Farewell, my gentle lady. It was a pleasure serving you.”
Fatima replied, “You mean you’re not staying? Please, you’ve done your duty. Don’t let your legacy end in martyrdom. You must have a family. They need you alive. I need to know you are safe.”
“Don’t worry about me. One day when the dust settles down we’ll have some tea and remember this day. Until then keep your chin up and don’t let life get you down.”
Fatima replied, “You’ll be in my heart forever. I owe you my life but give me a goodbye hug.”
UN Peacekeepers took Fatima to a refugee camp where her family waited. A journalist said, “Hello Fatima. My name is Jamila. I am here to tell your story to America because Americans have too much fear-mongering and too little compassion for your people. We also believe men are the primary agents of war.”
“I refuse to bad mouth men because a man rescued me,” Fatima said.
“You were saved by a man from other men.”
“You are the first person in this camp to take an interest in my story. So where do I begin?”
Jamila said, “You are so young and brave. But your name will never be revealed to our readers.”
Fatima said, “If you can I’d like my real name in the headline for the whole world to see. The fact that I dug in trash heaps just for a meal disgraced only the men who blockaded our village and did nothing to shame me.”
Jamila said, “First, can I give you a hug?”
Fatima said, “When I am safely in America to speak to audiences of my travels then your hug will be welcome. Until then putting my words in print will be your kindness to me.”
Jamila said, “Tell me your story Fatima as a woman who endured a war zone.”
“We women have emotions which men don’t understand. But I must confess what is in my heart tonight. Just before my family escaped I had a puppy dog. I was too depressed to date men because of the stress of living in a war zone. But this puppy gave me love without needing me to talk. I kept him in a shoebox and fed him milk which he lapped from a bottle with eyes of love. Sadly dog food was a fading memory. Finally, the day came when my Mom took the bottle away from me. Tears came unbidden until I could cry no more. You see the babies needed the milk and we could no longer justify sharing it with my puppy. I watched him wither away until one night he howled. He’d always been a quiet canine until his last goodbye. I’ll try to be quiet now.”
Jamila asked, “Did he ever run and play?”
Fatima replied, “Never, the milk I gave him was barely enough to keep him alive.”
Jamila said, “He is waiting for you somewhere in a new body where food is abundant.”
Fatima said, “Forgive me being tongue tied. The
wail of the lady inside took me back to a mother in my village whose scrawny child wouldn’t eat even when offered food.”
Jamila asked, “What did hunger do to you? Could you sleep at night?”
Fatima replied, “Sleep was not a priority. I spent my evenings scrounging for food in the dumpsters. When starvation sets in even the tiniest morsel is a feast. I once competed with a cat over a tuna sandwich she was making quick work of.”
Jamila asked, “Who won the contest?”
“Honey, my hiss is a dead ringer for a feline when that hungry. She’d met her match.”
Jamila asked, “Here you aren’t famished. But do you ever miss the people you left behind?”
Fatima replied, “Oh darling, don’t you know I do? In fact, they are on my mind night and day. But I don’t miss the dress code. We Yazidis women wore the hijab to blend in but I couldn’t wait to watch mine go up in flames.”
A Red Cross nurse took Fatima on a ride to an American airbase where she was finally to fly a metal bird to New York. The sun glare from the sand made Fatima squint. But each bump was a mile marker on the way to Fatima’s dream fulfillment. At last the fat military transport planes were within sight. But suddenly smoke and fire from a roadside bomb swallowed them. Fatima was blinded by the smoke. But somehow she walked out of the sooty air only to emerge into clouds of cigarette vapor. The smog of tobacco made her cough. She found herself in an apartment with a man who puffed his ciggy like a junkie high on nicotine.
“Fatima the tar from this cancer stick has my voice raspy. Could you get me a glass of water to smooth my throat? Oh, maybe water isn’t what I need. Get me a shot of whiskey. It may not soothe my voice but perhaps I won’t care for a while.”
Fatima replied, “Your lungs must be black as a coal miner. They call them suicide sticks for a reason.”
“Don’t worry darling. I’ll give it up next time Lent comes around.”
“You aren’t Catholic and between the booze and cigs you may not make it to Lent.”
“Damn, I lost my lighter again. Honey, could you rummage around and find it for me?”
“Not on your life. I won’t aid and abet your habit.”
He said, “We’re all dying slowly.”
Fatima replied, “No need to speed it up. I will not be an accomplice to murder.”
“I’ll quit the stick when we get back to earth, I promise.”
Fatima replied, “You crazy coot, we are on earth.”
The guy retorted, “Listen, I know I ought to be in Bellevue. But the bellhop told me the only exit from this hotel leads back to earth. No kidding.”
Fatima replied, “If this is heaven don’t pollute it with chain-smoking.”
“Mint Juleps will provide a fragrant substitute for these coffin-nails once we cross the river.”
Fatima replied, “Are we going to where the magnolias bloom in spring?”
“Oh yeah, baby, south, where the mockingbird sings our song and pretty girls grow like blackberries on the vine.”
Fatima replied, “I better be your only blackberry or you’ll feel my stickers.”
Fatima hopes to play Ishtar in a modern adaptation of “The Epic of Gilgamesh.” As instructed she will remove an item of clothing upon descent through each of the seven gates of the underworld. But at the last gate when she is naked death doesn’t wait for her but rather lovemaking with the Lord of the manor.
Ishtar is the projectionist in the underworld Saturday Night movies and DJ for the adjoining dance hall where even women can be whirling dervishes and Sufi dancing is for couples. From there she hopes to be reborn as a tour guide for the great Ziggurat at Ur who makes cuneiform a first date topic.
Her family had scattered to the four winds after their village became a smoking ruin. So she wandered the desert in a daze. At the age of twenty when most are just starting off in life, she was a refugee. Finally, Fatima found herself more chaperoned than captured by the strangest soldier in an ISIS uniform. He opened the door for her as though he was a gentleman. He said, “Good afternoon. May I take you out for a bite to eat?” It was like he was escorting her on a date.
Fatima replied, “Thank you for the offer. However, my lunch date is just late. He should arrive any minute now. If I didn’t have prior arrangements I surely would take you up on your offer. After all, you seem like a nice man and no doubt we’d have loads to talk about.”
This was the most peculiar abduction she could imagine. It was as though she could just walk away and he wouldn’t pursue her. But she didn’t want to take a chance given these guys rap sheets.
Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape the cage of her ribs. The bearded man said, “Hey, my clothing is just camouflage. I’m not one of the bad guys. I’m here to take you to safety.”
She said, “Well when you put it that way, of course, I’ll accept your offer. My boyfriend is always late, which is one of the reasons our relationship is on the skids.”
The man gave Fatima a pillow to sit on because the road was bumpy. But there was a pleasant breeze upon her face. The man said, “It is a beautiful day for a drive to Kurdistan.”
She broke out in laughter. “You are dressed like an ISIS fighter. But now I see that is a ploy.”
“I’m an undercover agent whose mission is to help you on this fine spring day. My apologies but here is a one size fits all hijab. You must wear it out here, just until we cross the Kurdish border.”
Fatima said, “I can’t wait to let the flames consume that thing.”
He said, “In America women once burned their bras. Here women burn their hijab.”
She said, “What will they think of an ISIS fighter approaching?”
He replied, “Any Diva will agree the wardrobe must be right for the occasion. Mine includes the Kurdish Liberation Front uniform. But it couldn’t hurt for you to wave white flags.”
Fatima asked, “Do you roam ISIS territory looking for women to save?”
He replied, “The rescue gig suits me better than being a warrior. My rifles aren’t loaded. Surrounded by enemies a gunfight would be pointless.”
“Do you mean you’re unarmed out here?”
“Prayer is my secret weapon.”
When they arrived at the Kurdish outpost he said, “Farewell, my gentle lady. It was a pleasure serving you.”
Fatima replied, “You mean you’re not staying? Please, you’ve done your duty. Don’t let your legacy end in martyrdom. You must have a family. They need you alive. I need to know you are safe.”
“Don’t worry about me. One day when the dust settles down we’ll have some tea and remember this day. Until then keep your chin up and don’t let life get you down.”
Fatima replied, “You’ll be in my heart forever. I owe you my life but give me a goodbye hug.”
UN Peacekeepers took Fatima to a refugee camp where her family waited. A journalist said, “Hello Fatima. My name is Jamila. I am here to tell your story to America because Americans have too much fear-mongering and too little compassion for your people. We also believe men are the primary agents of war.”
“I refuse to bad mouth men because a man rescued me,” Fatima said.
“You were saved by a man from other men.”
“You are the first person in this camp to take an interest in my story. So where do I begin?”
Jamila said, “You are so young and brave. But your name will never be revealed to our readers.”
Fatima said, “If you can I’d like my real name in the headline for the whole world to see. The fact that I dug in trash heaps just for a meal disgraced only the men who blockaded our village and did nothing to shame me.”
Jamila said, “First, can I give you a hug?”
Fatima said, “When I am safely in America to speak to audiences of my travels then your hug will be welcome. Until then putting my words in print will be your kindness to me.”
Jamila said, “Tell me your story Fatima as a woman who endured a war zone.”
“We women have emotions which men don’t understand. But I must confess what is in my heart tonight. Just before my family escaped I had a puppy dog. I was too depressed to date men because of the stress of living in a war zone. But this puppy gave me love without needing me to talk. I kept him in a shoebox and fed him milk which he lapped from a bottle with eyes of love. Sadly dog food was a fading memory. Finally, the day came when my Mom took the bottle away from me. Tears came unbidden until I could cry no more. You see the babies needed the milk and we could no longer justify sharing it with my puppy. I watched him wither away until one night he howled. He’d always been a quiet canine until his last goodbye. I’ll try to be quiet now.”
Jamila asked, “Did he ever run and play?”
Fatima replied, “Never, the milk I gave him was barely enough to keep him alive.”
Jamila said, “He is waiting for you somewhere in a new body where food is abundant.”
Fatima said, “Forgive me being tongue tied. The
wail of the lady inside took me back to a mother in my village whose scrawny child wouldn’t eat even when offered food.”
Jamila asked, “What did hunger do to you? Could you sleep at night?”
Fatima replied, “Sleep was not a priority. I spent my evenings scrounging for food in the dumpsters. When starvation sets in even the tiniest morsel is a feast. I once competed with a cat over a tuna sandwich she was making quick work of.”
Jamila asked, “Who won the contest?”
“Honey, my hiss is a dead ringer for a feline when that hungry. She’d met her match.”
Jamila asked, “Here you aren’t famished. But do you ever miss the people you left behind?”
Fatima replied, “Oh darling, don’t you know I do? In fact, they are on my mind night and day. But I don’t miss the dress code. We Yazidis women wore the hijab to blend in but I couldn’t wait to watch mine go up in flames.”
A Red Cross nurse took Fatima on a ride to an American airbase where she was finally to fly a metal bird to New York. The sun glare from the sand made Fatima squint. But each bump was a mile marker on the way to Fatima’s dream fulfillment. At last the fat military transport planes were within sight. But suddenly smoke and fire from a roadside bomb swallowed them. Fatima was blinded by the smoke. But somehow she walked out of the sooty air only to emerge into clouds of cigarette vapor. The smog of tobacco made her cough. She found herself in an apartment with a man who puffed his ciggy like a junkie high on nicotine.
“Fatima the tar from this cancer stick has my voice raspy. Could you get me a glass of water to smooth my throat? Oh, maybe water isn’t what I need. Get me a shot of whiskey. It may not soothe my voice but perhaps I won’t care for a while.”
Fatima replied, “Your lungs must be black as a coal miner. They call them suicide sticks for a reason.”
“Don’t worry darling. I’ll give it up next time Lent comes around.”
“You aren’t Catholic and between the booze and cigs you may not make it to Lent.”
“Damn, I lost my lighter again. Honey, could you rummage around and find it for me?”
“Not on your life. I won’t aid and abet your habit.”
He said, “We’re all dying slowly.”
Fatima replied, “No need to speed it up. I will not be an accomplice to murder.”
“I’ll quit the stick when we get back to earth, I promise.”
Fatima replied, “You crazy coot, we are on earth.”
The guy retorted, “Listen, I know I ought to be in Bellevue. But the bellhop told me the only exit from this hotel leads back to earth. No kidding.”
Fatima replied, “If this is heaven don’t pollute it with chain-smoking.”
“Mint Juleps will provide a fragrant substitute for these coffin-nails once we cross the river.”
Fatima replied, “Are we going to where the magnolias bloom in spring?”
“Oh yeah, baby, south, where the mockingbird sings our song and pretty girls grow like blackberries on the vine.”
Fatima replied, “I better be your only blackberry or you’ll feel my stickers.”
Fatima hopes to play Ishtar in a modern adaptation of “The Epic of Gilgamesh.” As instructed she will remove an item of clothing upon descent through each of the seven gates of the underworld. But at the last gate when she is naked death doesn’t wait for her but rather lovemaking with the Lord of the manor.
Ishtar is the projectionist in the underworld Saturday Night movies and DJ for the adjoining dance hall where even women can be whirling dervishes and Sufi dancing is for couples. From there she hopes to be reborn as a tour guide for the great Ziggurat at Ur who makes cuneiform a first date topic.
