Serenity Now!

Many times in our lives we are put in situations where we have to deal with people from different walks of life. Ideally, we should never judge these people because we never know what their walk was like. However, on a day to day basis it is only natural to forget the skeletons of the past and just focus on the matter at hand. Here is a situation where the former ideology is made difficult. This is the story of an individual I have to work with.

This person is the pinnacle of negativity. He makes Darth Vader from Star Wars seem like Tinker Bell. Sometimes when I pass by him I get a chill from the coldness of the air around him. And do you know what baffles me the most? He acts like he cannot do anything about it.

He has been working at this institution for almost a decade now and unfortunately has never received a lump-sum end of year compensation (fancy lingo for an annual bonus). So, in a scenario such as this the individual with some shred of common sense would:
A) Change their attitude, work harder and make themselves and their achievements more visible to upper management so that they are remembered when bonus time comes around next year
B) Seek greener pastures elsewhere if that person feels they are being unfairly treated.
The decision? He decided to not commit to learning anything new. To not make the extra push or effort. On top of that he decided to be a total dick of a human being in general. The Archbishop of negativity. The nemesis of positive thought. The martyr for all those who hold a grudge. Add on to that an addiction to cigarettes and you get a pretty unhealthy outlook on life wouldn’t you say? Any comment is a negative one. Any story ends with someone getting hurt – comically or tragically.

Just the other day in the office he was sitting in his chair and I was typing away obliviously. “Jamil, Jamil”, his voice gruff and abrupt. The office was very peaceful and quiet.

“Don’t you just hate this shit?” he blurted out. Trying not to lose total focus from typing I peered from the corner of my eyes and asked calmly “hate what, buddy?" He continued, “this place, these people, the corporate mafia mentality, everyone fingering everyone else, akhh, blakhh, raaakhh! Don’t you just hate your life!?”

Now, despite how dire circumstances may be I prefer to adopt a positive spin on things. I always thought I had a fixed view when it came to matters of attitude and self-esteem but this guy was something else. Imagine you are a cliff and are constantly being bombarded by the treacherous waves from sea of dullness every day for over two years. Eventually, you’re going to crack! He remained there just looking at me. And I continued typing. And he remained there still intensely focused on the moment when I would give him an answer. I turned to him and he was just staring at me. He looked repulsed – the way someone would look after they had just swallowed a sandwich filled with poop and a lot of lemon juice. I thought about how almost every conversation initiated by this person revolved around a complaint, a quarrel, a twisted mind game, a friendly gesture with subliminal underpinnings or anything that just sucked in general. As I looked at his face which was now suspended in a state of disgust, I felt the sparks of life, benevolence and optimism fade away into the blackness of this human vortex. “Yes”, I replied. “Right now, I f****g hate my life.”

Turning back to my screen and brushing that cobweb of a conversation off my shoulders, I told myself 'this too shall pass'.

Keep Walking

I'd hate to sound like one of those movie junkies who has had 12 cups of coffee in 2 hours and just finished watching the matrix trilogy for the seventh time this month BUT we are being duped. Duped damn it! By this corrupt system called the material world. "Uh oh he's lost it", you're thinking. I haven't. Trust me. I'm just thinking. The kind of thought that is somewhere between Hamlet and the main guy in a Brave New World (i forgot his name).

For 22 years of our lives we are put in institutions that instruct us to think a certain way. To have to understand certain things in order to survive. Without that certificate of proof you are screwed. If you do not get those companies on your CV you are screwed. It's a rat race to just see the world and what it has to offer. Visas and politics and boundaries serve nothing but division. When I was a child I always wanted to explore the new. To find out what else there was. To just see and experience. Why should I or anyone have to be restricted by boundaries? Why do we have to pay to travel? I think it should be mandatory for kids in school to travel all the time, meet people their age from different cultures and backgrounds. Interact. Speak. Fight. Love. It would be like the revolution of the internet where information was unlocked to flow seamlessly around the world - only with people. Bringing people together. The same way Islam does. "Oh no he didn't bring up religion". Okay let me steer another direction. The same way respectable heads of state do (and there are very few who do!).

There should be a class in school called.."whatever the hell you want". I read in an article recently that when kids are allowed to play by themselves (doing their own weird things), their sense of creativity is tapped and as odd as it may appear to us adults it is actually a very strong sign of intelligence. Industry was developed from a single wacky idea that nobody at the time thought would make any sense. I'm sure when Mr. Inventor showed Mrs. Inventor the first 'wheel' he designed she probably laughed in his face..and so did the townsfolk. Fast forward x years and BOOM! The world revolves around it - literally and figuratively.

My point is be yourself. Be free. Have your morals and uphold your principles. Run like Forrest did just because he wanted to. Make a mistake you know is going to be a mistake just so you really know why you initially thought it was a mistake. Live a little. Love a lot. Get your heart broken. Mend it. Become stronger. Get knocked the f**k out. Get right back up again. Keep walking. Never lose faith. If you are naive then be yourself. When you get screwed-over, learn. Never stop learning. If you are an optimist and you get screwed-over understand the pessimist but remain the optimist. Always live with that awesome quote from Coach Carter in mind:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Questions

• Why do we have a soul?
• Why do people manipulate others?
• Why do they kill others?
• We are all born from the womb and are buried in the ground after death. Hence, we are all one and the same. Why does life divide us all through status and class?
• Why are humans so inherently greedy? Why can most of us never have enough?
• Why do we hate? Is it because we have loved? Or our love was not returned?
• What would the world be without money? Would it me more peaceful or destructive? Would the context of human activity and function change?
• Why is a trader of electric money paid more than a teacher of young souls?
• Why is the goal of every corporation to grow indefinitely? Why can’t the goal be to just get by and be fine?
• Why do we destroy what we need?
• Why can’t we learn to live with nature rather than isolate it to vacations and getaways?
• Why do eclipses occur?
• What is the meaning behind the stars?
• What is love?
• Does romantic love exist or is it a cinematic illusion?
• Is there such thing as a soul mate? If no, so be it. If yes, is it worth waiting for?
• Why does a lie sting more than a punch in the face?
• Why does love enable us to feel on top of the world?
• Why does the colour of the world change with a small change in attitude?
• Why is the sunset so beautiful?
• Why is a sun rise magical?
• Why is the moon so mystical?
• Why is a kiss emotional?
• Why is there disease?
• What exactly happens at the time of death?
• Are dreams real?
• Is reality a dream?
• What happens to the body when one cries?
• What triggers a deep laugh?
• What chemicals paint a smile?
• What’s the point in animals?
• Why is the human brain such a mystery?
• Why does time cease to exist when we are asleep?
• Why are we so moved by music?
• What is inspiration?
• How can someone not believe in God?

Romantic Delusions: A Trilogy

Her 2 Options

As flowing rivers are shallow and fresh
Your lips are magnets, hot blood and flesh
Your eyes are enough for me to tell
Pour out a glass from my underground well

It has to be real so it can be right
Your sun can only shine so bright
Vaporize my surface; we’ll play in the sky
The night has come, we are still high

We either descend with cool sea breezes
Or like the rain, harsh air around freezes
I'm wishing for clouds under your light
The world’s asleep to our delight

Into the sea, far and deep
Feelings and thoughts, far and deep
Deeper and deeper my feelings for you
Dawn has come so what shall you do?



The Beacon

Swirling clouds have caressed your light
Midnight winds bring love to sight
Upon the cliffs, an island far away
Stairways to stars surround lovers who play

A spectacular volcano drowning in view
Frozen in time, it has paid its dues
And around its majesty the mists whisper a song
Of enjoying the moment, don’t question the beyond

The Santorini sunset what more can one say
Over painted rooftops, passed statues of clay
Boats are bellowing deep sounds that soothe
A wise man’s thoughts are his favorite food

On that day we came to part
Tears were shed, strength tests the heart
Let passion flow through your veins
The road ahead may bring many a pain

Back out to sea, pictures hold vivid
Fade to memory, more fog has thickened
Vultures circulate some distance over head
And two-legged snakes paint the pathway dead red

With time, critics and cynics crowd in between
With burning candles searching for kerosene
To sever our chord and pollute the course
But they don't know the power stored in the source

In my chest there is a beacon
And within it a candle that never weakens
But I will never see its mystical shine
Until the moment I look in your eyes



Steam

Carving canvasses and nourishing trees
I create colossal valleys shaped like Vs
I fill the troughs we call the great seas
Floating tenants need me to breathe

Sweeping from the heavens
I convert brown into green
Quenching a world’s thirsts
My being is their need

Your passionate flames
Burn brightly from below
Sparks kindle candles
That continue to grow; behold

Exhilarating yet dangerous
You put on quite the show
Inspiring and exciting
The surface of many souls

Dancing, ravaging, cooling or standing
My actions reflect feelings, my mood is demanding
Lighting, burning, spreading or yearning
Your life is your shine and survival means devouring

A pair of forces, you cannot deny
Each equipped to change your mind's sky
Sparks appear as two worlds collide
How long will the roads continue to wind?

Create and destroy go hand in hand
Volcanoes erupt yet make new land
And as missing pieces don't sum a whole
You'll flicker away and my currents will flow

Every so often a voice in me speaks
'She's not the one, this talk is not cheap'
For as long as that heat remains a still stream
Against my cheeks we'll always be steam.

From 10 to 10 in the Pen: A True Story

THE SITUATION

It seemed like it would be any other Wednesday. But little did I know it would end up being quite the opposite – filled with fits of rage, moments of laughter, clouds of confusion, and dirty carpets.

The phase one mechanism of my morning wake-up process (cell phone alarm clock) had backfired. Phase two, which consisted of someone coming into my room and switching off the air conditioning until I woke up in a discomforting pool of my own sweat, also failed. I had to be at the office by 10am. At 9.55am my eyelids mercifully gave way to light – followed by the first word to start this glorious new day – “Shit.”

Like a bolt of lightning, I leapt out of bed, washed up, got dressed and threw myself into the car. It was 10:01am and the whole trip takes on average 20 minutes. For some reason I was not accepting the fact that even if divine intervention made the road to work a straight line with no traffic – I would still be late. I was not thinking clearly (see second paragraph).

The road to work consists of 2 complementary roads of roughly equal distance. However, they are littered with traffic lights that can induce even long-term coma patients to get up and scream, “ Come On Moooove! God-Dammit!”. So to compensate for the heart-wrenching periods of pause I was cruising at speeds of over 140km/h until I reached the mid-point of the trip. That is when I heard the most annoying sound in the Middle East…(translated for the sake of amusement):

“Bah-Bah (police siren). Stop! You black Oodi. Hey you black Oodi stop! Stop Oodi that is of the black colour! Stop! Right here on the side”

My car is green.

I heeded his nags and parked. The cop car parked behind me. Then from seemingly no where a normal-looking Toyota Camry parks right in front of mine. Out walks a guy in full police uniform. “Bastard!”- I thought – I was reported by an undercover cop car. We’ll call him Lucifer.

Arguing would be a waste of time so I decided to take the polite approach. I thought he would be impressed with the good behavior, give me a ticket and let me be on my way. But no! This is Lucifer damn it! What does the prince of hell care about good behavior?! ‘So you admit you were speeding ay?’ he asked, chuckling while maliciously licking his golden canine tooth. He asked me to park on the service lane, and then took out a paper and prompted me to sign it. ‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘This is to certify that you do not want your car to be pounded?’ he replied. ‘Pounded?’ I gasped. ‘That’s right pounded. You’re going to jail for 24 hours (muhahahaha!)

CONVERSATION WITH THE DEVIL


Jimi: No way man! I admitted I was speeding but it was because I was late for work.
Lucifer: I don’t care you were speeding
Jimi: So give me a ticket
Lucifer: No you’re going to jail
Jimi: But why?
Lucifer: Cuz you were over 150. And that means jail.
Jimi: Look just give me the ticket and I will pay it right now. It’s too early for all this nonsense. Besides I was going 140 - max!
Lucifer: Nope
Jimi: Then how fast do you think I was going?
Lucifer: Umm..151
Jimi: What!? That’s ridiculous and you know it!
Lucifer: Mmm..hmm..151
Jimi: How do you know?
Lucifer: The radar
Jimi: OK then show it to me
Lucifer: Show you what?
Jimi: The radar
Lucifer: What radar?
Jimi: The thing that told you I was going over 150
Lucifer: (no response)
Jimi: I’m not joking here
Lucifer: (no response and drooling saliva)
Jimi: Hello?
Lucifer: Huh..uh..yes..you’re going to jail.

I soon realized I might as well have been talking to a pickled cucumber. I saw the book I was reading at the time lying in my passenger seat. I instinctively picked it up and locked the car door. Taking a last look at my car, I mumbled, “Goodbye Delilah. We will be together again in 24 hours.”


AIN'T NO SUNSHINE

The ride to jail was a lot longer than I expected. The back of the cop car was also very uncomfortable. I made all the necessary calls and just sat back and reflected for a few moments. There was no hope of getting out regardless of how high the connections go. I must admit the authorities were very strict on this one law.

But just maybe it was a good thing. Maybe I can serve as an example for other tardy people going to work. Maybe I inadvertently saved a life or two (including my own) by not speeding any further. Maybe..maybe not.


By the time I arrived at the facility my imagination had already taken over. Scenes from movies like Robin Hood and Gladiator where prisoners were suspended on barbaric beds and stretched to points of excruciating pain by dry ropes and revolving cogwheels– flashed in and out of my mind.

“Fahmy in cell number 3!” barked one of the officers. I was escorted into a large spacious room. There were two air conditioners (one of which was broken) and a group of about ten people all gathered under the one that was working. I must admit it did look pretty funny. The carpets looked really dirty and were stained with cigarette ashes, pieces of fruit and other unidentified objects. And all over the place there were small mattresses and bed covers scattered on the floor. I’m assuming this was for those who slept there from the night before. ‘Well at least they were nice enough to provide these things’, I thought. No sooner did the door slam open and a worker come in and start collecting them all, put them in a cart, and go back out – slamming the door behind him (Do you see a reoccurring theme yet??)

I was able to scavenge a mattress from him though. Parked it against the far wall and looked around. I sat and thought to myself. “Hmm…so I can’t leave this room for the next 24 hours.” I sat some distance from this group. They all looked pretty harmless but I was really in no mood to mingle. ‘So how fast were you going?’ asked one of them. ‘Apparently 151’, I replied. ‘Yeah I got that’, ‘Me too’, ‘And me’. 6 out of 10 people just happened to be traveling at 151km/h??! I immediately assumed Lucifer’s clan all added 1 km/h over the limit to justify their lack of judgment. Bastards! ‘So what do you guys do?’ I asked out of curiosity. Engineer, banker, marketing manager, truck driver, holy guy - all kinds of people from different walks of life. It was very odd – but at the same time comforting they weren’t psycho paths. We chatted for a bit about the experience then the door slammed open. ‘Alright gotta go.’ They all scuffled out.‘ SLAM!’ went the door’. Their time was up.

Alone again.

I picked up the book I brought with me and opened to the first page.



ROOMMATES

As time slowly passed, more and more ‘convicts’ would be led into the cell room. It was always fun to watch the expressions on their faces as the door closed behind them and they realized they were officially locked up. The two most common ones were: 1. The ‘f**k it – I’m here now, so I might as well just suck it up’ guy. 2. The ‘you haven’t heard the last of me motherf*****s, this isn’t justice’ guy. From there forth sprang a plethora of characters.

First in was this dude from Madinah. Who was he? A cop. What kind of cop? Oh, a traffic cop! A traffic cop who is in jail for a traffic violation. The irony does not end here. He went on bragging about how cops in Madinah were just better human beings in general than the ones in Jeddah. Given the situation I couldn’t help but agree. He thought of himself as the loner rebel who was good yet bad yet really good. I refer to him as Maverick. I liked the guy more as time passed simply because of the shit that would randomly come out of his mouth.

The clock ticked and every few minutes the door would swing open and another poor soul would find him self in the cell. There was the dopy bus driver, the religious sheikh, the shady asset manager, the lovable fat Egyptian marketing manager. Despite all our situations being different, I don’t think half of these people really belonged there. The most common reason was just being late for a meeting or an appointment. Their reasoning, like mine, was that 10, 20 or even 30km/h over the limit isn’t chaotic – at least not for a few seconds.

The good thing that came out of this situation was that for 24 hours all our lives were on hold. No appointments, no deadlines, no tasks, no projects – nothing. Why? Because we in jail baby.

So the options were to either:


1. Sleep
2. Look straight at the opposing wall in a zoned-out fashion. Kind of like a sleeping fish.
3. Smoke cigarettes
4. Talk to the guy on your right

However there was one more activity that I wasn’t aware of until the next in-mate burst on the scene. We could hear him shouting and screaming from outside then all of a sudden:

“Ooooooh you got me real scared now Mr. Policeman” said the loud, blaring voice sarcastically. “Quiet down son”, replied an irritated traffic cop.
“Haahahahaha” The voice laughed hysterically. “You’re just mad I’m faster than your donut-munching ass. And don’t get me started on that American washing machine you call a police car! I outran you on 10 other occasions. I felt sorry for you this time so I slowed down so you could do your job”

The cell door slammed behind him and he stood there still smiling to himself. ‘What’s up everybody!’ he said cheerfully.

“Let me guess you all were going between 150 and 180. Am I right?” Everyone slowly nodded. “Well I hit 250 so beat that bitches! Maahahahahahahaa! Ja’far was a young, rich, spoiled and not so sane guy. He definitely changed the mood in the room. “So what car were you driving?” I asked. “Porsche 911 Turbo baby!” His hair was long and scruffy and judging by his clothes his momma’s name must have been Zara. “Man what a rush!” he twitched as he spoke. “Those bastards got me this time. I’ve been caught 4 times now. 3 times in Jeddah and once in Tabook”.

It seemed like he loved being there. He looked around, lit a cigarette, took a deep breath and reflected for a moment – then reaching into his back pocket he whipped out a pack of playing cards. “Yala Balot haaahahahahaha – let’s go bitches!”. He gathered together a bunch of guys and they played Balot for the rest of the night. They were surprisingly quiet all night, however every now and then Ja’far would scream random things like ‘I eat you for breakfast!’ or ‘Here, take this get out of jail card – psyche!’ whenever he would win a round. Ja’far is what I called the pro-speeder. As far as auto speeding is concerned – he’s been there and done that - in the free world and the incarcerated one.

Then there was the sleep scavenger whom I referred to as ‘cockroach’. This guy, first of all, looked very shady. He was skinny with huge eyes that gave off a ‘stressed out-and –plotting-some-shit’ look. Any time someone got a good sitting spot he would persist in trying to scavenge it from them – then just act stupid like he didn’t mean it. I noticed that about him before he tried to pull his little trick on me. I left my cozy little spot to the bathroom then came back 2 minutes later to find him in my place fast asleep - acting as if he had been there all day. I shoved him with my foot and told him to bounce, he looked puzzled as if I’d woken him up from deep slumber and ignored me. I shoved him again with more force and he scurried off.

Lastly, I can’t help but remember this one guy who was thrown in. I called him the ‘pathological liar’. Like the rest of us, he obviously didn’t want to be there. But the brother couldn’t just accept it. He would just keep coming up with the most random and bizarre reasons to get out. “Umm officer…I was rushing because I had to see my mom in the hospital. Surely there is no shame in that. Only honor!”. Then he would play the guilt card: “What if your mommy was in the hospital for a grave illness? Wouldn’t you rush to see her?” “Quiet down” replied an officer outside. “Just forget it boy, and find a seat like the rest of us” replied Maverick. The guy looked back in the cell with a spaced-out gaze and looked back to the jail door. “Officer my brother got shot and he needs me to take the bullet out of his right leg so he can drive to see my mom in the hospital!”


A PRECIOUS COMMODITY

Now from my recollection of most movies and TV shows about prisons and prisoners, cigarettes were always a big deal among inmates. In some movies they were even a source of monetary currency. It was like saying ‘I’ll give you 8 cigarettes for a strawberry cheese cake’ or ‘200,000 packs of Marlboro lights for a Bentley’. I never really understood why this product was such a hot commodity. But I got an idea during this experience. In one word – boredom. If you weren’t tired or didn’t feel like schmoozing with Abu Yusuf next to you – then it was just really, really BORING! So boring that you would want to kill your self. Since killing your self would be a pretty rash move (what with the media and eternal hell and so forth), indirectly harming yourself with cigarettes was the next best thing! Occasionally an inmate would get a random idea to prolong his will to live. This could be anything from a conjugal visit to eating an Al-Baik jumbo shrimp sandwich. So given this enlightenment, an inmate would transfer this desire to die in exchange for something that would get them closer to the desire to live. Thus, the prison cigarette trade is born! It all made sense!

Anyway, I digress. The room had a cold, crisp feeling to it and was tinged with the faint scent of cigarette smoke. However, there were no ash trays lying anywhere. Apparently smoking was not allowed in the premises. But every now and then a guy would whip out a pack from under his mattress and light up. This continued for a while and helped some of the guys get by. As always though, seemingly good things came to an end.

Suddenly, the door flung open. But nobody walked in.

Silence…

We could hear some shuffling and whispering outside. You could cut the tension with a knife.

Slowly but surely we heard the heavy boots of an officer slowly stroll in, keys rattling with every step. Immediately, everyone with a cigarette in his hand got rid of it one way or another. By accident someone flung it right in his path. He stopped, looked down at the burning stogie, and trampled on it with his boot in one big thud. He then looked up at the direction from which it was thrown and paused. (I couldn’t help but whistle a theme song to one of those old cowboy movies – and pictured dry tumbleweed blowing across the cell room.) ‘Is this yours?’ he asked a guy. Petrified, he replied ‘umm no.’ A puff of smoke came out of his mouth as he replied. ‘Ok get up’ said the cop. He frisked him up and down and found nothing. ‘Move!’. He then reached under the mattress and found a pack. Slowly but surely he moved around the room, frisked every single person and checked every corner of the room. By the time he reached the exit door, he had confiscated around 15 packs. He went outside.

‘Hey look what I found’ he said to one of his colleagues. His voice was deep and dull. ‘Hehehehe. Nice one’, said another officer with a high-pitched squeaky voice. ‘Um the door is open I think they can still hear us’, said the dull one. In walks the smaller, skinny officer.

He looked like a tooth-pick caught in a trench coat. His facial expression was one of a small guy trying to look tough – but not pulling it off very well. He cleared his throat and looked around at us all sitting on the floor. It appeared as though he wanted to say something authoritative. He then glanced back outside at his colleague and said in a deliberately loud, sleazy tone, ‘destroy the packs in front of them’. With a sly, arrogant expression, he gazed around the room challenging anyone to disobey the no smoking rule again. He really felt his words carried a lot of weight.

The room echoed silence.

‘Hey f**k you!’ said an anonymous voice in my head. I could've sworn I heard someone else say the same thing from another part of the room. Either way, the officer's moment was over as fast as a premature ejaculation.


VISITING HOURS


I don’t know if it was out of an act of defiance or just a nicotine rush but a group of us all put our heads together to think of new ways to get cigarettes back into the cell. We found some hiding spots such as inside the broken television (which teasingly hung from one of the top corners), in the fabric of the mattresses, and in the crotch area. Within a few hours visitors would come, bringing food and coffee back into the cell. Two of my buddies came in with a bag of McDonald’s. They passed it to me through the jail door bars. ‘We left you a gift in the Big Mac box’. ‘Cheers, guys’ I replied. ‘No problem. Now put your hand up on the bars; hold up the McD’s bag with the other and say cheese’. They took a photo with their cell phones, had a good laugh and left. God bless friendship.

I went back to my spot, finished my meal and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights from the Big Mac box As fast as they were confiscated, the cigarettes found their way back into the cell. The primary vehicle of infiltration was food bags and coffee cup holders. But you would be surprised by how creative some people can be when the challenge is to break the law. Within an hour the number of cigarette packs that had been confiscated had found their way back into the cell – in double the quantity.

Apart from food and hidden cigarette packs. All kinds of random products were being imported into the holding room - pillows, blankets, sleeping bags, phone chargers, pajamas and books. If I wasn’t sunken in my book I was making small talk with Abu Abbas, the middle-aged Egyptian manager. He turned out to be a very nice guy. The funniest thing was hearing him on the phone with his kids and trying to explain to them that he was in jail and that he couldn’t take them to the toy store in half an hour because he is not allowed out.

GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK

Sleeping was painful. No pillow, no covers - just a dirty duvet laid out over the even filthier floor. I envied this one guy. He came in with a clear-cut strategy. Fully equipped with a sleeping bag, pajamas and an old school alarm clock, he was going to sleep for 24 hours straight. He made it to about 20 hours but I gave mad respect for pulling it off anyway. At around 2am I passed out with the knowledge that by 11am, I could be out.

1 camel, 2 camels, 3 camels, 4 camels…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…



WHERE AM I?


The weather at the beach was simply beautiful. People were playing volleyball and laughing and clapping every time the ball went off court. A young married couple was walking along the shore with their 2-year old toddler who was playing with a small fire truck. The sound of jazzy house music was echoing from the speakers that were allocated all over the beach area. I was lying down tanning and enjoying life when suddenly that cute brunette with the green eyes who always smiles at me waved hello as she walked by. A moment later she came over and lied down next to me putting her arms around me as we both flirted with one another and gazed up at the perfectly sunny blue sky. We closed our eyes – thoroughly enjoying the moment. I felt a sudden poke in my back. “Ooh getting frisky are we babe?” And then another – but more painful. And then came a smack across the top of my head.

“What the....!?!?”

I opened my eyes and found ‘cockroach’ sleeping and snoring in my face – his breath smelling like an animal farm. Then pushing him with all my strength he went rolling over until he almost hit the wall. He was dead asleep, looking like he had just been attacked by a can of Raid.

It was Thursday morning around 10.30a.m and I realized I was still in the cell. I got up and propped my back up against the wall. My whole body was ridiculously aching. Wiping the sleep from my eyes and looking to my right I saw chubby Egyptian Abu Abbas just sitting there in his wife-beater. He turned to me and smiled saying “Sabah El-Khair ya ostaaz Gameel”.
“I bought you zis coffee.” “Thanks” I replied. “Ta7t amrak ya basha” he said. I got up to leave and he grabbed my arm. “Talata Riyal!” he said sternly. “Umm..ok here you go.”

Typical.


Finally, by 11am the guard called my name. The door flung open. I heard the birds chirping as I walked out and left the facility. I didn’t really care I was free. Ok I did. A lot. All I could think about was going home to shave, have a shower and a good breakfast meal. Then I went to the beach to look for that brunette with the green eyes.