Fattah was trying to gain back balance. Some lunatic had just hit his back, almost crushing the parts where he had an operation.
He looked up and saw some arab guy laughing at him, showing fingers, acting like the world belonged to them.
His vision and his hearing came back, he could recognize the faint arab cliche's the guys were talking about.
What were they calling him? Slave boy? Asian? Mata Sepek?
he couldn't quite register it, he understood more Hebrew than these dumb a** would think an "asian" guy knew possible.
Rising up his fragile body, a calm hand help on to his feet. it was his sister, Ayesha.
"You alright?"
Fattah gave a slight nod, determined not to show his weak side.
The "arab" strangers were still laughing and mocking. Now calling his sister things like, prostitute or whatsoever. Ayesha kept her ground, not wanting to find trouble in the middle of "the dessert".
The shouting and mocking from the Arabs suddenly ceased, continued by surprisingly another type of shouting.
"Go to hell! All of you! Get out of here!"
It was our mom, and she was showing her right hand with a clench fist and on her left hand, a hand bag with 'God-knows-what" accessories that would make your head splatter when it hit you.
The guys knew that whoever this angry lady was, she meant business, looking at how the way she dressed with a purdah on, she looked like a modern arab women.
One of the guys quickly made a dash, not wanting to take on the fury of this "women in the purdah".
Fattah almost laugh at the fury shown by his mom, even he wasn't afraid to debate with his own furious mum, and yet here the people whom has just punched him are fleeing at the very sight.
Rising on two by two, Fattah quickly tidied up what was left of him, his hair was almost in ruin, as if he would care, but the worst part was on his stomach. there's a red-bluish spot where they hit him. whoever these lunatics were they really were going to pay, no wonder americans think these guys are terrorist: arabs like to bully Americans, like him.
By time everything settled back the way it was, it looked like as if this whole commotion of "arabs like to bully asian" was and everyday chore.
The trio quickly departed, seeing that it is now almost late, way late, and not wanting to go through a "worst case scenario" all over again.
Sending his mom and his sister back, Fattah made the journey back to his house accompanied by their trusty "muraqib" Anas back to where he was staying.
He thought back at the current events.
He has been in Jordan now for almost a week, things looked appeasing to him.
JUST, Jordan University of Science and Technology took on the stage of his attention. As a place to continue learning, it seemed "here" was a good place. The facilities were there, everything looked ok, and most of all, he loved the food, the lamb chops, the rice and the camels. He might even be able to get taller than his elder brother, Ibnu Ahmad, always boosting how tall he is.
And then, on the looks of it, things didn't go the way they should, with the gang members bullying asian-americans, saying things in chinese which "God-knows" what they are saying.
Something has to be done about this...........................
For some weird reason, whenever some problem like this acquires, his family, would end up thinking it's up to them to help it out. Whether it be in knowledge (his dad), Education (mum), socializing and peers (sister), social problems and Dakwah(his brother), military (his younger brother) and the list goes on and on, with the specific things each member of the family wants to solve, they always think it's up to them to do it.
Guess he'll be needing more than just his "knowledge in comparative religion".
Hmmmmphhh, Well.
if it's not these guys, somebody has to solve it..............................................
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