Most likely, Qatar, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia funded 9/11. However, none of the terrorists are Muslim. al Qaeda is not a Muslim terrorist organization. They twist Islam into political ideology. That is not Islam.
Therefore Muslim terrorists did not cause 9-11. That is a simplification of facts that leads to Islamophobia. It is easier to say "Muslim terrorist" than "terrorists who twist Islam into their ideology.
We have no proof any of the terrorists were Muslim, except their names. However, mixing Islam with terrorism does not make that terrorism Muslim. It just makes it simple for mainstream media to say.
My guess is, 9-11 happened to keep oil prices high. It was OPEC sending a message: "Do not lower the price of oil."
So, yes I am saying most American soldiers killed in Afghanistan and in Iraq died so that Big Oil can reap profits from oil. This was not a war to free Afghans and Iraqis. This was an oil war.
The continuing War on Terror is merely removing unnecessary assets from the scene.
Just remember this when you are gassing up your SUB at the pump: you are supporting al Qaeda fighting in Syria. However, you are first supporting OPEC and its role in 911. Finally you are also supporting the War on Terror.
Then forget what I wrote.
Reference:
Bush knew about Saudi Arabia funding 9-11 plot and allowed it to go ahead: http://www.israpundit.com/archives/63592518
Iraq was actually invaded for its oil: http://www.oilempire.us/peakoil.html
Showing posts with label War on Terror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War on Terror. Show all posts
20140210
20130828
To the Children of the West (satire)
Dear Children of the West:
Can you ask the leader of your country to stop the War on Terrorism because it's not working?
The 3,000 deaths in the most symbolic form of terrorism ever called the 9-11 attack on the Twin Towers in NYC was, is and never will be worth the 100,000+ deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Those terrorists even missed the most vital nerve center of the West: the Stock Exchange backup servers. Had that been hit, we would have had the Crash. America's recovery could have been delayed, and the mortgage crunch in 2008 might have dragged on, leading to more poverty and homelessness for Middle Class America.
America would have been left unable to fund Israel, and the terrorists would have wiped it out by 2010.
By 2059, most terrorist bombings would have rendered most cities in the West inhospitable. By 2060, Islam would have had more forced converts and sharia law would have been imposed beyond Dearborn and Birmingham. The end result would not be pretty: by 2100, Muslims (4 billion) would outnumber Christians and Buddhists (3.5 billion) combined in a world with almost 8 billion people
So, I am saying 911 was better than the worst-case scenario. Unfortunately, 100,000+ people dead in the Middle East will never be worth the War on Terrorism, because it has never been 911 that was the real reason for invading Afghanistan and Iraq.
It has always been natural resources of the Middle East. Anyone telling you different on FOX is a CIA dupe. Wake up!
Now it is up to you, Children of the World, to call on your leaders to make war no more.
This public message is not endorsed or funded by the New Left or any other anti-war activist group. You may return to your regular diet of pop and corn chips to play your stupid XBOX game.
Can you ask the leader of your country to stop the War on Terrorism because it's not working?
The 3,000 deaths in the most symbolic form of terrorism ever called the 9-11 attack on the Twin Towers in NYC was, is and never will be worth the 100,000+ deaths in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Those terrorists even missed the most vital nerve center of the West: the Stock Exchange backup servers. Had that been hit, we would have had the Crash. America's recovery could have been delayed, and the mortgage crunch in 2008 might have dragged on, leading to more poverty and homelessness for Middle Class America.
America would have been left unable to fund Israel, and the terrorists would have wiped it out by 2010.
By 2059, most terrorist bombings would have rendered most cities in the West inhospitable. By 2060, Islam would have had more forced converts and sharia law would have been imposed beyond Dearborn and Birmingham. The end result would not be pretty: by 2100, Muslims (4 billion) would outnumber Christians and Buddhists (3.5 billion) combined in a world with almost 8 billion people
So, I am saying 911 was better than the worst-case scenario. Unfortunately, 100,000+ people dead in the Middle East will never be worth the War on Terrorism, because it has never been 911 that was the real reason for invading Afghanistan and Iraq.
It has always been natural resources of the Middle East. Anyone telling you different on FOX is a CIA dupe. Wake up!
Now it is up to you, Children of the World, to call on your leaders to make war no more.
This public message is not endorsed or funded by the New Left or any other anti-war activist group. You may return to your regular diet of pop and corn chips to play your stupid XBOX game.
20121119
9-11 Was Never the Reason for "war on terrorism"
Afghanistan wasn't invaded because of 9-11. It was invaded to get Osama bin Laden for terrorist plots in America predating 9-11.
After initial denial on Sept 16, 2001, Osama waited 3 years before claiming responsibility for 9-11, on Oct. 18, 2004. This date is important because it was over 6 months since Lt. General Petraeus had pulled out of Iraq, leaving behind a Stryker force and a small command centre at Mosul. By then Iraq was in the middle of a civil war that Petraeus couldn't stop when he left in February 2004.
Why? Because the rebels loyal to Saddam Hussein were defending their homeland from an unprovoked invasion based on the rumor that Iraq had caches of WMD, none of which were ever found.
This fabrication of WND was helped by one of Iraqi American Ahmed Chalabi's contacts in his Iraq National Congress (founded in 1992 as a front to funnel US money into Chalabi's hands). It is possible part of this money was used in the $32 million offer to bank customers bilked of money in the 1970s when Petra Bank in Jordan failed to pony up 1/3 of its money in the Central Bank and Chalabi fled the country with his clients' money.
Since 1998 INC collaborated with Judith Miller of NY Times to plant stories of WMD in Iraq. This propaganda helped to convince the UN to go to war in 2003, not 9-11.
Other journalists that helped Chalabi include American Enterprise Institute's Iraq specialist Danielle Pletka, whoi defended him; and the Irish scriptwriter and commentator Eoghan Harris, who coached him on presentation techniques i.e. how to act in front of a camera.
However when Lt. General Petraeus left Iraq in February 2004, Chalabi commented on the WMD controversy, "We are heroes in error. As far as we're concerned, we've been entirely successful. That tyrant Saddam is gone and the Americans are in Baghdad. What was said before is not important. The Bush administration is looking for a scapegoat."
I guess executing Hussein wasn't enough for the Americans, so they went after a fraudster who's friends with DC, a Shi'ite Muslim who had a few papers on advanced algebra as graduating as a mathematician and a loyal Iraqi-American.
YES, 9-11 HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE IRAQ WAR or the AFGHANISTAN WAR!
Afghanistan was invaded to get Osama bin Laden, and to eliminate Qaeda militants.
Iraq was invaded to get its oil.
After initial denial on Sept 16, 2001, Osama waited 3 years before claiming responsibility for 9-11, on Oct. 18, 2004. This date is important because it was over 6 months since Lt. General Petraeus had pulled out of Iraq, leaving behind a Stryker force and a small command centre at Mosul. By then Iraq was in the middle of a civil war that Petraeus couldn't stop when he left in February 2004.
Why? Because the rebels loyal to Saddam Hussein were defending their homeland from an unprovoked invasion based on the rumor that Iraq had caches of WMD, none of which were ever found.
This fabrication of WND was helped by one of Iraqi American Ahmed Chalabi's contacts in his Iraq National Congress (founded in 1992 as a front to funnel US money into Chalabi's hands). It is possible part of this money was used in the $32 million offer to bank customers bilked of money in the 1970s when Petra Bank in Jordan failed to pony up 1/3 of its money in the Central Bank and Chalabi fled the country with his clients' money.
Since 1998 INC collaborated with Judith Miller of NY Times to plant stories of WMD in Iraq. This propaganda helped to convince the UN to go to war in 2003, not 9-11.
Other journalists that helped Chalabi include American Enterprise Institute's Iraq specialist Danielle Pletka, whoi defended him; and the Irish scriptwriter and commentator Eoghan Harris, who coached him on presentation techniques i.e. how to act in front of a camera.
However when Lt. General Petraeus left Iraq in February 2004, Chalabi commented on the WMD controversy, "We are heroes in error. As far as we're concerned, we've been entirely successful. That tyrant Saddam is gone and the Americans are in Baghdad. What was said before is not important. The Bush administration is looking for a scapegoat."
I guess executing Hussein wasn't enough for the Americans, so they went after a fraudster who's friends with DC, a Shi'ite Muslim who had a few papers on advanced algebra as graduating as a mathematician and a loyal Iraqi-American.
YES, 9-11 HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE IRAQ WAR or the AFGHANISTAN WAR!
Afghanistan was invaded to get Osama bin Laden, and to eliminate Qaeda militants.
Iraq was invaded to get its oil.
20101102
This is my 2010 Anti-War Statement!
Today I talked to my first war veteran, and started off by mentioning my birthday is on Remembrance Day.
Then, after some small talk, I got to the point, and we spent a moment discussing the Russell Williams case while staying focused on post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Because Williams plead guilty rather than subject his family and his victims' family to the prospect of a lengthy trial, we will never know what precipitated his complete psychotic break which might have occurred sometime between his last deployment in Afghanistan and when he murdered his lover.
Instead, he will eventually be put in the same prison in which the Ken of the "Ken & Barbie" serial killers has resided for the past 15 years or so.
You'll remember the ire that Ontario victims of the crime had unleashed when Karla Homolka was released early from jail for good behavior and complete rehabiliation.
Why do I mention Homolka in the same breath as Russell WIlliams? Because both people may have suffered PTSD and other disorders of the mind prior to their short reign of terror in Ontario.
Now for the good news: not all psychotic breaks are permanent. Indeed, with time and a determined plan for recovery, it is possible to overcome whatever behavior and mental negativities may arise because of that temporary psychotic break.
That Williams shows remorse shows that he has regrets. Yet I feel Ottawa owes war veterans more support especially with regard to mental illness to prevent future tragedies to our veterans.
War is hell; please give peace a chance by supporting our veterans for Remembrance Day. Lest we forget...
Then, after some small talk, I got to the point, and we spent a moment discussing the Russell Williams case while staying focused on post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Because Williams plead guilty rather than subject his family and his victims' family to the prospect of a lengthy trial, we will never know what precipitated his complete psychotic break which might have occurred sometime between his last deployment in Afghanistan and when he murdered his lover.
Instead, he will eventually be put in the same prison in which the Ken of the "Ken & Barbie" serial killers has resided for the past 15 years or so.
You'll remember the ire that Ontario victims of the crime had unleashed when Karla Homolka was released early from jail for good behavior and complete rehabiliation.
Why do I mention Homolka in the same breath as Russell WIlliams? Because both people may have suffered PTSD and other disorders of the mind prior to their short reign of terror in Ontario.
Now for the good news: not all psychotic breaks are permanent. Indeed, with time and a determined plan for recovery, it is possible to overcome whatever behavior and mental negativities may arise because of that temporary psychotic break.
That Williams shows remorse shows that he has regrets. Yet I feel Ottawa owes war veterans more support especially with regard to mental illness to prevent future tragedies to our veterans.
War is hell; please give peace a chance by supporting our veterans for Remembrance Day. Lest we forget...
My Advice to War Vet Suffering PTSD from Battle Fatigue
Go to your local veterans administration office in your dress uniform.
Ask for help because you did your duty to protect the world from terrorists.
Do not rant or rave.
Tell them what you shared here, however, document everything you do. Take notes wherever convenient, and learn how to make press releases.
Your story needs to be told not just to other war vets, but also to the world.
If your fellow veterans cannot help you to recover from war, then please be courageous enough to tell your message to CNN, talk shows, etc.
We need to hear to your story, and of your fellow comrades at arms!
War may be hell, but sharing your experience will help not only you, but also make the world cry for peace!
Ask for help because you did your duty to protect the world from terrorists.
Do not rant or rave.
Tell them what you shared here, however, document everything you do. Take notes wherever convenient, and learn how to make press releases.
Your story needs to be told not just to other war vets, but also to the world.
If your fellow veterans cannot help you to recover from war, then please be courageous enough to tell your message to CNN, talk shows, etc.
We need to hear to your story, and of your fellow comrades at arms!
War may be hell, but sharing your experience will help not only you, but also make the world cry for peace!
20100607
Militancy Arises Out of Fear and Anger
Out of fear for their survival as minority people, terrorists use their high energy to sublimate their anger through the use of violence.
At the root of their militancy are years of oppression by the majority.
However, oppression does not need to result in terrorism to counteract State oppression.
In the following article, I will quote from the source which has inspired this blog entry, and follow with a commentary.
http://www.countercurrents.org/boga071109.htm
Terrorist, Rebel Or Freedom Fighter?’
By Dilnaz Boga
07 November, 2009
Countercurrents.org
The ugly scar on his cheek gripped me. With a loaded weapon between his legs, his eyes searched the parched terrain from our jeep. We were hunting for the Reds – left wing extremists who boast of a Red Corridor in the heavily mined jungles of Gadchiroli, some 350 km from Nagpur, Maharashtra state in India. To break the ice, I asked him why he had chosen to be a commando in the dreaded C-60 anti-Naxal force. It was then that he revealed his story.
Suresh was a tribal from a hamlet in an impoverished district that copes with forest fires annually. He rarely visits home — that too only under the cover of darkness, always accompanied by the commandos to protect him from the Communist rebels.
In Gadchiroli scars run deep and a clash of ideologies is a bloody affair. A neglected tribal population is abandoned by the State. No electricity, water, hospitals or industry. Naxals win locals over with a bag of rice. People are trapped between the gun of the security forces and that of the Naxal – sides have to be taken.
Suresh’s only brother was a Naxal. So, I asked him what he would do if he came face to face with his brother.
"I will kill him," he replied calmly, fixing his gaze on me.
My bewildered expression prompted him to continue…
"Because if I don't kill him, he will kill me."
That day, my lines between ‘the good guys’ and ‘the bad guys’ blurred. I started to question beliefs on nationalism, civil liberties and history, and found that it was easy to be judgmental on a full stomach.
Commentary: Today's terrorist is yesterday's freedom fighter. 9/11 has colored the world with shades of gray, and the color of freedom is now the color of terrorism.
At the root of such violent conflict is anger and fear, both of which are justifiable when you consider the socio-economic background of the people involved in such militancy.
To call them terrorists, one needs to align with neo-conservative groupthink. For what is political oppression but the rezsultant suppression of those feelings of anger and fear until they grow into the conditions for tomorrow's terrorists when once they were fighting for their freedom?
As a Buddhist, I cannot condone violence that goes beyond preventing others from harming oneself. So, to kill another for the ritual abuse that is the physical expression of oppression goes beyond the use of force to prevent violence against oneself. Thus, the use of guns do not stop others from oppressing your people; it is the means to notoriety and the making of a name for the terrorist.
IMHO it may be the ego which causes a terrorist to desire recognition so that his group's political agenda is served. Yet for all warriors, if one may call a terrorist a warrior, it is their own selves which is in need of conquest before they may truly conquer their enemies.
And the most expedient means of conquest is not through bloodshed but through peace.
Anyone in denial of this truth may believe that only through violence can one free oneself from oppression, yet the roots of oppression are belief in the permanence of the self.
Thus, as long as this belief is implemented through violent oppression and rebellion, no one is truly free of anger and fear.
As a result, it is up to world leaders to negotiate peacefully with terrorists for a peaceful solution to terrorism, both militant and State.
For the Decade of Peace came to a close in 2011, and peace is even further from coming to the Middle East.
Edited 20121124.1454
20070315
One in Four War Vets Suffer Mental Health Issues
Perhaps our anti-war sentiments are also part of the problem.
It's hard to tell what praise would do in the situation of a vet suffering PTSD.
Yet the problem is there.
And it doesn't just go away. Therefore we should listen to their stories.
It's hard to tell what praise would do in the situation of a vet suffering PTSD.
Yet the problem is there.
And it doesn't just go away. Therefore we should listen to their stories.
20070225
War and Violence Neither Muslim nor Christian
War and violence of any kind is a great disrespect to Allah and God.
Any person who represents a religion whose members preach violence do not know of Allah and God. Any Muslim faith that uses violence to promote their religion dishonors Allah. Any Christian or Jewish faith that uses violence and condones war dishonors God.
Thus any Muslim leader who wishes violent death upon anyone offends Allah. And any Christian political leader who starts a war offends God.
Even Buddhists know better than to promote discord, and always value harmony and peace. Small wonder people are discovering Buddhism.
May all Christians, Jews and Muslims come together in peace.
Any person who represents a religion whose members preach violence do not know of Allah and God. Any Muslim faith that uses violence to promote their religion dishonors Allah. Any Christian or Jewish faith that uses violence and condones war dishonors God.
Thus any Muslim leader who wishes violent death upon anyone offends Allah. And any Christian political leader who starts a war offends God.
Even Buddhists know better than to promote discord, and always value harmony and peace. Small wonder people are discovering Buddhism.
May all Christians, Jews and Muslims come together in peace.
20070223
American Recruiting Foreigners to Fight Their 'War on Terror'
Back in 2007, the Bush administration was recruiting non-citizens of America to help in his "War on Terrorism." The catch is, when they've served a day fighting for the US, their US citizenship will be
expedited.
So, this means if a visible minority, whether from Mexico, Jamaica, or the Middle East, serves in the US military even one day, then he will be rewarded with citizenship in the US.
I foresee a growing army of visible minorities willing to fight terrorism, just to be become an foreign-born American. Though, I agree with the article regarding conscription of illegal immigrants who can hack the often rigourous training of would-be soldiers.
Does Obama's adminstration still recruit visible minorities from friendly Western countries and Eastern allies?
The reality of the power of visible minorities is hitting white racists even south of the border where the world's most respected news magazine - The Economist of London - reported in its February 3 issue that a desperate U.S. Army is bending over backwards to recruit foreigners.
And we are not talking about white guys here - but about non-white guys. As the magazine reported: "Today, according to the most recent statistics, there are roughly 30,000 non-citizens on active duty and another 11,000 in the reserves. They come from more than 200 countries, with notable contingents from Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica and El Salvador. Several thousand are deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan."
The article spoke of the clear benefits of recruiting non-citizens, noting, among other things: "Some non-citizens come equipped with useful languages. It takes over a year to teach a soldier Arabic, Pashto, or Dari from scratch. Native speakers can be deployed much more quickly."
To lure these foreigners into the army, President George Bush issued an executive order that made them eligible to apply for expedited citizenship after serving ONE DAY on active duty.
Here's another interesting fact the magazine brought out: "The armed forces have tried to bridge the language and culture gaps that can thwart recruitment. During last year's World Cup, for example, the army advertised on Arab Radio and Television."
In fact, the Americans are so desperate that Max Boot of the Council on Foreign Relations has proposed that they recruit illegal immigrants and foreign citizens overseas.
expedited.
So, this means if a visible minority, whether from Mexico, Jamaica, or the Middle East, serves in the US military even one day, then he will be rewarded with citizenship in the US.
I foresee a growing army of visible minorities willing to fight terrorism, just to be become an foreign-born American. Though, I agree with the article regarding conscription of illegal immigrants who can hack the often rigourous training of would-be soldiers.
Does Obama's adminstration still recruit visible minorities from friendly Western countries and Eastern allies?
The reality of the power of visible minorities is hitting white racists even south of the border where the world's most respected news magazine - The Economist of London - reported in its February 3 issue that a desperate U.S. Army is bending over backwards to recruit foreigners.
And we are not talking about white guys here - but about non-white guys. As the magazine reported: "Today, according to the most recent statistics, there are roughly 30,000 non-citizens on active duty and another 11,000 in the reserves. They come from more than 200 countries, with notable contingents from Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Jamaica and El Salvador. Several thousand are deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan."
The article spoke of the clear benefits of recruiting non-citizens, noting, among other things: "Some non-citizens come equipped with useful languages. It takes over a year to teach a soldier Arabic, Pashto, or Dari from scratch. Native speakers can be deployed much more quickly."
To lure these foreigners into the army, President George Bush issued an executive order that made them eligible to apply for expedited citizenship after serving ONE DAY on active duty.
Here's another interesting fact the magazine brought out: "The armed forces have tried to bridge the language and culture gaps that can thwart recruitment. During last year's World Cup, for example, the army advertised on Arab Radio and Television."
In fact, the Americans are so desperate that Max Boot of the Council on Foreign Relations has proposed that they recruit illegal immigrants and foreign citizens overseas.
20061212
What Scares One Iraqi (fiction)
This is a work of fiction and accordingly is not realistic about Iraqis and Japanese. However, it is influenced by manga about modern day warrior women.
"What is it about America that scares me?" asked Sayyid, looking at me through the rear view mirror of his old Buick. We were speeding down a street thick with Iraqi men and women.
It was over a decade after George W. Bush's invasion back in March of 2003. On this particular day, a hot April morning in the year 2014, I was one of the first migrant workers to arrive by El Air from Haifa, returning after a previous stint as military nurse working with Iraqi medical staff.
Only a week ago, President Hilary Clinton had signed executive order pulling out troops from the occupation army left in Baghdad after the official coalition pull-out four years ago on November 12, 2010.
In those four years, the US made good its promise under former President Bush to hand over control to an Iraqi parliament fully under its thumb.
Baath subversives had been selectively culled over the past five years, rounded up into American-run interrogation camps. Nominally Baath Muslims and Baaths with a noticeably violent reaction to seemingly oppressive military occupation were placed together, resulting in only a handful of the uncommitted 'converting' to an Islamic fundamentalism that combined a fear mongering regarding Jewish conspiracies with a rigid mindset that negated the open-minded optimism of Sufi reforms.
Sayyid dodges a bearded man to back up on the curb of the road, shock leaving him mute while his fellow country men and women chant.
"Hilary!"
"No, how does America scare you?" I ask, grinning. Sayyid smiles broadly.
"I need not say. The crowd says who my heart fears most."
"Why, Sayyid? It was Bush who ruined Iraq and readied it while you were a child. Don't you fear the Bushes?"
"Yes, but when we asked to nationalize our oil and he refused, he sealed his fate. We had to use democracy in America to lobby earnestly for change."
I pondered Sayyid's word in momentary silence.
"The crowd is too thick." He shifted the old car into park, and then turned off the ignition. The Buick was black, the windows tinted gray.
"It is ok, Sayyid. Please tell me why you fear Hilary."
Sayyid smile, but kept his silence closed behind gold-fleck teeth.
"She has mastered Arabic and knows the Koran well, it is true." The young Iraqi stopped grinning, his dark face wrinkling into a scowl.
"But all this business wasn't stopped by her husband Bill when he came to power."
Instead, there were rumors the US military built biochem warfare munitions and sold it to Iraq via middlemen, at first openly when George Bush Sr. was CIA chief, and perhaps secretly during later administrations.
That was what had lost Iraq's confidence since every bomb meant less money to take care of children, the elderly and especially women.
Yet Hilary's administration supported a pull-out and worked towards that goal.
Saying as much, Sayyid merely said "Hilary wants the best for us."
"Why fear her?"
Shrugging his muscular shoulders, the Iraqi smiled.
"I know that this is sexist," he said, looking me in the eye. "She is a strong woman, but we Iraqi men fear her power over us because we have to treat her like an equal in a country where Baath influence has evaporated leaving a dirty feeling about women leading men."
I looked at Sayyid, and smiled. "I guess you hate women being on top, too."
Laughing, Sayyid replied "Not if she's my wife and emancipated." He winked at me.
With my left hand I reached out and put it on his shoulder.
In Iraqi, I said sweetly "So, let's get to the priest to bless this marriage, my dearest."
"Yes, my dear Sachiko!"
We drove slowly through Baghdad, following the crowds of people. To any prying eyes, they only saw a fellow Iraqi driving an Iraqi car with a woman in the familiar hajib, her face hidden as is the custom for unmarried Muslim women. When anyone threatening edged closer than comfortable, Sayyid would scowl and touch the Ruger in his lap.
Once a disheveled man, his beard spotted with gray and his eyes wild, rapped on the passenger window to attract my attention. Though my head dropped to my lap, Sayyid caught the bearded man's eye. Then he fingered his Ruger. When I looked up, no one was there.
"I would feel safer when we make it to the government office, my love."
Smiling broadly, Sayyid clasped my hand, his first firm affection semi-privately displayed outside of our apartments in the dormitory inside the Baghdad hospital compound.
A young girl in Western attire watched us through the front windshield, her eyes taking us both in. As we drove by, she flashed the sign for victory. Sayyid stopped the car and backed up. "That's the signal."
He cracked the window open, and shouted.
"Pardon Miss!" he said. "I'm taking my betrothed to the government office for official matrimony. Are you our guide?"
The girl smiled, and crowded close to his window. Men, who should have tried to attract her attention, and perhaps drag here away, never appeared. Instead, Sayyid waited for the crowd of men and women to thin out and motioned the girl to get in beside me.
"Hello, I am Aisha," she said, in Darmune dialect. "One of the moderns." As she turned to hug me in greeting, I noticed a small Roxana handgun, made of gray ceramics, gas-powered, popular among the young women.
"Sachiko," I murmured, only to see her eyes light up in surprise.
"My cousin, how is it that a foreigner has caught your heart?" she said, abruptly, her face a mirror of Sayyid’s scowl.
"My beloved was a nurse at the hospital in 2005."
For a moment Aisha's scowl became a puzzled frown. "Cousin, I was only a child then..."
"Think back, Aisha. You two have met."
Slowly, the young girl's frown melted into a smile.
"Saichi?" she said, warily. I squeezed her hand, smiling, tears in my eyes.
"Ai-chan, I am back."
It's funny how memories come back to tell us something about the past, especially warm ones.
Months after I fell for Sayyid, he'd taken me on the only visit to his village near Fallujah, where the Darmune tribe had achieved total dominance over the past 1000 years through revenge killings and technically illegal activities. That a doctor was once a thug is in itself a miraculous story. Even more stranger is that the doctor is so well respected in Fallujah of 2005 that he can escort a foreigner, female and under threat by violence by citizen and American troops. Yet I was young but not naive.
A child of eight had greeted us, and peppered me all kinds of questions. My grasp of Iraqi was inadequate then. Still, we bonded, Aisha and me.
As long as I wore the clothes other Iraqi women wore, my foreignness was hidden. Muteness and occasional Japanese exclamations could be explained as being simply mad. She taught me much of the Iraqi I needed to deal with Iraqi nurses and with vendors outside the hospital compound.
"Saichi-chan, my friend, I missed you. Because of our previous bond nine years ago, I regret my earlier outburst."
"Aisha-chan, I too missed you. Let's make today another adventure."
Sayyid smiled, and for a moment his face was free of scowls. Then the facade returned, his scowl matched by his right hand moving towards his gun.
"We're here. The marriage office."
To Aisha, he asked, "The priest is aware of Saichi not being Darmune, nor of any tribe?"
"He only cares for the American dollars to grease his palm, cousin." She smirked, and winked at me.
"Saichi-chan, has your dear Sayyid trained you with a Roxana?"
It was my turn to smirk, and rather than answer, I placed Aisha's hand on my right thigh, to feel the tanto in its sheath.
"Oh what good is a big knife with an AK-47 pointed at you?"
"Aisha-chan, you'd be surprised of my surgical precision!"
After the wedding we went out separate ways. Aisha melted into the crowd of roving men and women. We managed to get back to the hospital before Dyncorp mercs came on duty for the dusk to dawn shift. The UN observer troops nodded to us. At least one of them could credit either of us with saving their hides after a fire-fight with rebel troops who strayed too far from Fallujah.
Morning caught us in the operation theatre attending to another casualty of the civil war now dying out. Hilary might scare Sayyid, but to me she symbolizes a new way with the world. It's doubtful what she'd make of a Japanese nurse who's as handy with a tanto blade as with the autoclave.
After surgery, Sayyid takes me into his arms. "Well done, nurse!" he says. He smiles broadly, looking into my eyes.
"Now that we are husband and wife, my love, am I merely your nurse?" I ask.
"In the hospital, yes. As for our home in the dorm..."
My breath catches at the implication of his promises.
Later that night, I lay there as Sayyid snores. His trusty Ruger is on his nightstand, my tanto under my pillow. Outside, the gunfire is faint. More casualties in the morning, hopefully the blood bank will be resupplied...
Then my thoughts return to Hilary and what Sayyid said about her.
I know what scares Sayyid, but the only thing that scares me is losing Sayyid. With our security precautions makeshift and mainly for our peace of mind, we rely on corporate mercenaries at night time inside the compound with the UN troops guarding the perimeter.
No one here trusts the Dyncorp security officers. They seem too slow to respond to the rare security breaches, sometimes insulting the Asian medical staff and mostly trying to out think the quick witted Iraqi staff. We have documented the pilferage of drug supplies and sent our inventory lists to UN HQ encrypted. The master list is entrusted to the UN.
Despite all of this worry and complications, Hilary isn't big on my list of fears as the loss of the man I love dearly.
In the morning Sayyid nudges me. "Sachiko Hattori, wife of Sayyid the doctor... Awaken, princess..." I feign sleep, mumbling, "Please, sir, let me rest." My Iraqi has this Japanese accent, I am sure.
To the UN troops and Dyncorp merc, Sayyid is Doctor Sid. To me, he is Sayyid Muhammad-as-Darmune, a reformed juvenile delinquent who escaped petty tribalism to become a skilled surgeon, putting broken bodies of military men back together in a triage center in Baghdad.
To the rest of the world we are both unknown, except to our immediate families.
A year passes. Once I was visiting my mother at the mausoleum of our home city's crematorium. Now I am back at ho
"Oh Mother, your pride and joy, surgical nurse, first of the volunteer wave of Japan's finest medical staff, outsourced to Iraq due to our military commitments to NATO, is married."
Then I returned to Iraq.
Since 2010 Father never writes, his body a frail husk in the old age home. I'm not even sure where his mind is these days. All my hard earned cash after local expenses gets sent electronically to my bank in Tokyo. The old age home takes out their legally proscribed amount and the rest of my funds accumulate interest.
If I were to die tomorrow, then SDF will notify next of kin, arrange the funeral expenses, and travel costs will be taken out of my estate.
If Sayyid dies tomorrow, his staff would start arrangements alien to me, with Aisha taking care of details of customs so alien to me. As of yesterday I am the spouse of an important citizen of the Iraqi Commonwealth of Tribal States, a Japanese national with a father who does not worry about me and a mother who never will.
And still I am scared of losing Sayyid to death. I have seen death countless times at the surgery bed, but am afraid of waking up from my matrimonial happiness to discover him gone forever.
Yet Sayyid is still afraid of President Hilary and what her policies imply for Iraq. The civil war, the violence, the corruption... This doctor-soldier, who has seen blood outside as well as inside this hospital, is my husband.
Yet he reaches for his gun when the gunfire is too near.
And what of Aisha? Will her Roxana fail her in the middle of a sticky situation, brokering a ceasefire in a country not noted for women warriors such as her?
I open my eyes and look up. Sayyid’s smile is reflected in mine. He's dressed in doctor's scrubs, with his Ruger hidden in a pack on his back.
"Still afraid of Hilary?" I ask.
Sayyid’s smile fades, and he scowls. "Only what she represents."
"What about me with my big knife?" I ask.
"Run from knife, rush gun." He grins, his dark face beaming. His close cropped hair suits him. I get up. My scrubs are all neatly laid out on the divan.
Out of the shower, I restrap the sheath to my thigh, neatly sliding the tanto into it. Sayyid is on his cell phone, his voice loud and booming.
"Tell the Dyncorp pig to leave my staff alone," he bellows.
Recently the security guards have made a game of cornering a nurse and rubbing up against her. Respecting decorum, none of them have aggressively asserted themselves, save for the younger ones who clearly state in English, "Please leave me alone." One orderly, Sayyid’s cousin from Fallujah, even reported the incidents to the UN commander.
So Sayyid took matters into his own hands, being the doctor with the most seniority here. He has been negotiating with the Dyncorp executive in Baghdad over the past month to reprimand the supervisor guarding our hospital complex. Negotiating, because the idiot didn't see a problem with this sick game of cat and mouse played by bored, lonely men. Lately, the negotiation gets strained.
As I get the scrubs on, Sayyid utters an expletive, a curse implying revenge for dishonored relatives. He's hung up the cell phone minutes ago, but is upset.
"Dear one, ready and reporting for work!" I shout as I join him in hall leading to the exit from our dorm.
The electronic lock on the door of our room had clicked shut when I left. When we leave the building it's just a quick jaunt from there to the shuttle car driven by a Dyncorp mercenary, his beady eyes ogling me. Reluctantly, Sayyid ignores this impropriety and just scowls. I can smell the decayed sweat on the guard's body, and feel nauseated. But as a precaution I make a mental note to visit the Obs ward. Jasmeen wants me to take a pregnancy test.
Was it weeks ago that I returned?
Later on today, I also have to return to the Nanotech ward, where Doctor Noguchi wants me to take a refresher course on Iraqi while nanobots restructure my short term memories and the language centres of my brain.
Being pregnant or injected with nanobots doesn’t scare me as much as losing Sayyid, I tell myself.
And he's just worried about a woman president of America!
Noguchi's nanobots and I worrying over my positive test at Obs gets me nauseous. However, I'm breathing deeply now, in the gym, keeping my reflexes sharp as this tanto blade whistling through the air. No Dyncorp merc spying on me, only a UN trooper outside the building, protecting me from corrupt corporate lackeys of America.
Hey Hilary! I yell in Japanese. Think you can take me one-on-one!
Quickly I spin, and kick to block the imaginary thrust of Hilary, the both of us naked. Her breaths are short, gasping. Her katana easily misses me. I dodge and feint, my nausea forgotten.
You scare my husband! I yell, sliding my blade up to slide the length of her blade, burying it deeply in her heart.
Spent, I return to reality around me. No Hilary, just me alone in the gym. I wonder what the UN trooper from Canada thinks of this crazy Asian broad. As I dress, the nausea grips me. I rush to the showers, vomit, and clean myself up.
Later, Jasmeen is monitoring my blood. "It's the nanobots, Sachiko. All he's done is shift your dialect to match Sayyid’s. But there are markers I have never seen before."
"Things used to be simpler before the UN repeal of gene technology in 2009."
That was when Hilary felt the itch to be president. By 2012, she had the job. A lot of countries also had female leaders, due to the glitch in 2010 when world leader, all of them male, made the foolish decision to prove the first batch of nanobots safe by taking them, and ended up like my father, senile and drooling.
It is only in the third world countries that men were spared, but the women of privilege survived those experiments to be quicker witted and the equal of their male peers.
Nanotech senility was traced to an engineering glitch, in spite of the rumors of a feminist agenda. How laughable! Nanotech just affects men and women differently.
Maybe that's why Hilary scares Sayyid. Nanobots, the nanotech senility. Obs had me donate eggs, in vitro, a cloning. Sayyid is even afraid nanobots can burrow through latex.
Still, I am afraid of losing him. I lost my father to nanobots.
All Hilary is a symbol of the ascendancy of women in the aftermath of the failed decade of peace that ended in 2010.
As I vomit in the bathroom of our dorm room, this epiphany comes to me...
What scares one Iraqi pales before the fear of one woman who loses the most important male figure in her life.
It makes me wonder how Bill is doing in that geriatric clinic, drooling and nodding off while his wife conquers the world...
"What is it about America that scares me?" asked Sayyid, looking at me through the rear view mirror of his old Buick. We were speeding down a street thick with Iraqi men and women.
It was over a decade after George W. Bush's invasion back in March of 2003. On this particular day, a hot April morning in the year 2014, I was one of the first migrant workers to arrive by El Air from Haifa, returning after a previous stint as military nurse working with Iraqi medical staff.
Only a week ago, President Hilary Clinton had signed executive order pulling out troops from the occupation army left in Baghdad after the official coalition pull-out four years ago on November 12, 2010.
In those four years, the US made good its promise under former President Bush to hand over control to an Iraqi parliament fully under its thumb.
Baath subversives had been selectively culled over the past five years, rounded up into American-run interrogation camps. Nominally Baath Muslims and Baaths with a noticeably violent reaction to seemingly oppressive military occupation were placed together, resulting in only a handful of the uncommitted 'converting' to an Islamic fundamentalism that combined a fear mongering regarding Jewish conspiracies with a rigid mindset that negated the open-minded optimism of Sufi reforms.
Sayyid dodges a bearded man to back up on the curb of the road, shock leaving him mute while his fellow country men and women chant.
"Hilary!"
"No, how does America scare you?" I ask, grinning. Sayyid smiles broadly.
"I need not say. The crowd says who my heart fears most."
"Why, Sayyid? It was Bush who ruined Iraq and readied it while you were a child. Don't you fear the Bushes?"
"Yes, but when we asked to nationalize our oil and he refused, he sealed his fate. We had to use democracy in America to lobby earnestly for change."
I pondered Sayyid's word in momentary silence.
"The crowd is too thick." He shifted the old car into park, and then turned off the ignition. The Buick was black, the windows tinted gray.
"It is ok, Sayyid. Please tell me why you fear Hilary."
Sayyid smile, but kept his silence closed behind gold-fleck teeth.
"She has mastered Arabic and knows the Koran well, it is true." The young Iraqi stopped grinning, his dark face wrinkling into a scowl.
"But all this business wasn't stopped by her husband Bill when he came to power."
Instead, there were rumors the US military built biochem warfare munitions and sold it to Iraq via middlemen, at first openly when George Bush Sr. was CIA chief, and perhaps secretly during later administrations.
That was what had lost Iraq's confidence since every bomb meant less money to take care of children, the elderly and especially women.
Yet Hilary's administration supported a pull-out and worked towards that goal.
Saying as much, Sayyid merely said "Hilary wants the best for us."
"Why fear her?"
Shrugging his muscular shoulders, the Iraqi smiled.
"I know that this is sexist," he said, looking me in the eye. "She is a strong woman, but we Iraqi men fear her power over us because we have to treat her like an equal in a country where Baath influence has evaporated leaving a dirty feeling about women leading men."
I looked at Sayyid, and smiled. "I guess you hate women being on top, too."
Laughing, Sayyid replied "Not if she's my wife and emancipated." He winked at me.
With my left hand I reached out and put it on his shoulder.
In Iraqi, I said sweetly "So, let's get to the priest to bless this marriage, my dearest."
"Yes, my dear Sachiko!"
We drove slowly through Baghdad, following the crowds of people. To any prying eyes, they only saw a fellow Iraqi driving an Iraqi car with a woman in the familiar hajib, her face hidden as is the custom for unmarried Muslim women. When anyone threatening edged closer than comfortable, Sayyid would scowl and touch the Ruger in his lap.
Once a disheveled man, his beard spotted with gray and his eyes wild, rapped on the passenger window to attract my attention. Though my head dropped to my lap, Sayyid caught the bearded man's eye. Then he fingered his Ruger. When I looked up, no one was there.
"I would feel safer when we make it to the government office, my love."
Smiling broadly, Sayyid clasped my hand, his first firm affection semi-privately displayed outside of our apartments in the dormitory inside the Baghdad hospital compound.
A young girl in Western attire watched us through the front windshield, her eyes taking us both in. As we drove by, she flashed the sign for victory. Sayyid stopped the car and backed up. "That's the signal."
He cracked the window open, and shouted.
"Pardon Miss!" he said. "I'm taking my betrothed to the government office for official matrimony. Are you our guide?"
The girl smiled, and crowded close to his window. Men, who should have tried to attract her attention, and perhaps drag here away, never appeared. Instead, Sayyid waited for the crowd of men and women to thin out and motioned the girl to get in beside me.
"Hello, I am Aisha," she said, in Darmune dialect. "One of the moderns." As she turned to hug me in greeting, I noticed a small Roxana handgun, made of gray ceramics, gas-powered, popular among the young women.
"Sachiko," I murmured, only to see her eyes light up in surprise.
"My cousin, how is it that a foreigner has caught your heart?" she said, abruptly, her face a mirror of Sayyid’s scowl.
"My beloved was a nurse at the hospital in 2005."
For a moment Aisha's scowl became a puzzled frown. "Cousin, I was only a child then..."
"Think back, Aisha. You two have met."
Slowly, the young girl's frown melted into a smile.
"Saichi?" she said, warily. I squeezed her hand, smiling, tears in my eyes.
"Ai-chan, I am back."
It's funny how memories come back to tell us something about the past, especially warm ones.
Months after I fell for Sayyid, he'd taken me on the only visit to his village near Fallujah, where the Darmune tribe had achieved total dominance over the past 1000 years through revenge killings and technically illegal activities. That a doctor was once a thug is in itself a miraculous story. Even more stranger is that the doctor is so well respected in Fallujah of 2005 that he can escort a foreigner, female and under threat by violence by citizen and American troops. Yet I was young but not naive.
A child of eight had greeted us, and peppered me all kinds of questions. My grasp of Iraqi was inadequate then. Still, we bonded, Aisha and me.
As long as I wore the clothes other Iraqi women wore, my foreignness was hidden. Muteness and occasional Japanese exclamations could be explained as being simply mad. She taught me much of the Iraqi I needed to deal with Iraqi nurses and with vendors outside the hospital compound.
"Saichi-chan, my friend, I missed you. Because of our previous bond nine years ago, I regret my earlier outburst."
"Aisha-chan, I too missed you. Let's make today another adventure."
Sayyid smiled, and for a moment his face was free of scowls. Then the facade returned, his scowl matched by his right hand moving towards his gun.
"We're here. The marriage office."
To Aisha, he asked, "The priest is aware of Saichi not being Darmune, nor of any tribe?"
"He only cares for the American dollars to grease his palm, cousin." She smirked, and winked at me.
"Saichi-chan, has your dear Sayyid trained you with a Roxana?"
It was my turn to smirk, and rather than answer, I placed Aisha's hand on my right thigh, to feel the tanto in its sheath.
"Oh what good is a big knife with an AK-47 pointed at you?"
"Aisha-chan, you'd be surprised of my surgical precision!"
After the wedding we went out separate ways. Aisha melted into the crowd of roving men and women. We managed to get back to the hospital before Dyncorp mercs came on duty for the dusk to dawn shift. The UN observer troops nodded to us. At least one of them could credit either of us with saving their hides after a fire-fight with rebel troops who strayed too far from Fallujah.
Morning caught us in the operation theatre attending to another casualty of the civil war now dying out. Hilary might scare Sayyid, but to me she symbolizes a new way with the world. It's doubtful what she'd make of a Japanese nurse who's as handy with a tanto blade as with the autoclave.
After surgery, Sayyid takes me into his arms. "Well done, nurse!" he says. He smiles broadly, looking into my eyes.
"Now that we are husband and wife, my love, am I merely your nurse?" I ask.
"In the hospital, yes. As for our home in the dorm..."
My breath catches at the implication of his promises.
Later that night, I lay there as Sayyid snores. His trusty Ruger is on his nightstand, my tanto under my pillow. Outside, the gunfire is faint. More casualties in the morning, hopefully the blood bank will be resupplied...
Then my thoughts return to Hilary and what Sayyid said about her.
I know what scares Sayyid, but the only thing that scares me is losing Sayyid. With our security precautions makeshift and mainly for our peace of mind, we rely on corporate mercenaries at night time inside the compound with the UN troops guarding the perimeter.
No one here trusts the Dyncorp security officers. They seem too slow to respond to the rare security breaches, sometimes insulting the Asian medical staff and mostly trying to out think the quick witted Iraqi staff. We have documented the pilferage of drug supplies and sent our inventory lists to UN HQ encrypted. The master list is entrusted to the UN.
Despite all of this worry and complications, Hilary isn't big on my list of fears as the loss of the man I love dearly.
In the morning Sayyid nudges me. "Sachiko Hattori, wife of Sayyid the doctor... Awaken, princess..." I feign sleep, mumbling, "Please, sir, let me rest." My Iraqi has this Japanese accent, I am sure.
To the UN troops and Dyncorp merc, Sayyid is Doctor Sid. To me, he is Sayyid Muhammad-as-Darmune, a reformed juvenile delinquent who escaped petty tribalism to become a skilled surgeon, putting broken bodies of military men back together in a triage center in Baghdad.
To the rest of the world we are both unknown, except to our immediate families.
A year passes. Once I was visiting my mother at the mausoleum of our home city's crematorium. Now I am back at ho
"Oh Mother, your pride and joy, surgical nurse, first of the volunteer wave of Japan's finest medical staff, outsourced to Iraq due to our military commitments to NATO, is married."
Then I returned to Iraq.
Since 2010 Father never writes, his body a frail husk in the old age home. I'm not even sure where his mind is these days. All my hard earned cash after local expenses gets sent electronically to my bank in Tokyo. The old age home takes out their legally proscribed amount and the rest of my funds accumulate interest.
If I were to die tomorrow, then SDF will notify next of kin, arrange the funeral expenses, and travel costs will be taken out of my estate.
If Sayyid dies tomorrow, his staff would start arrangements alien to me, with Aisha taking care of details of customs so alien to me. As of yesterday I am the spouse of an important citizen of the Iraqi Commonwealth of Tribal States, a Japanese national with a father who does not worry about me and a mother who never will.
And still I am scared of losing Sayyid to death. I have seen death countless times at the surgery bed, but am afraid of waking up from my matrimonial happiness to discover him gone forever.
Yet Sayyid is still afraid of President Hilary and what her policies imply for Iraq. The civil war, the violence, the corruption... This doctor-soldier, who has seen blood outside as well as inside this hospital, is my husband.
Yet he reaches for his gun when the gunfire is too near.
And what of Aisha? Will her Roxana fail her in the middle of a sticky situation, brokering a ceasefire in a country not noted for women warriors such as her?
I open my eyes and look up. Sayyid’s smile is reflected in mine. He's dressed in doctor's scrubs, with his Ruger hidden in a pack on his back.
"Still afraid of Hilary?" I ask.
Sayyid’s smile fades, and he scowls. "Only what she represents."
"What about me with my big knife?" I ask.
"Run from knife, rush gun." He grins, his dark face beaming. His close cropped hair suits him. I get up. My scrubs are all neatly laid out on the divan.
Out of the shower, I restrap the sheath to my thigh, neatly sliding the tanto into it. Sayyid is on his cell phone, his voice loud and booming.
"Tell the Dyncorp pig to leave my staff alone," he bellows.
Recently the security guards have made a game of cornering a nurse and rubbing up against her. Respecting decorum, none of them have aggressively asserted themselves, save for the younger ones who clearly state in English, "Please leave me alone." One orderly, Sayyid’s cousin from Fallujah, even reported the incidents to the UN commander.
So Sayyid took matters into his own hands, being the doctor with the most seniority here. He has been negotiating with the Dyncorp executive in Baghdad over the past month to reprimand the supervisor guarding our hospital complex. Negotiating, because the idiot didn't see a problem with this sick game of cat and mouse played by bored, lonely men. Lately, the negotiation gets strained.
As I get the scrubs on, Sayyid utters an expletive, a curse implying revenge for dishonored relatives. He's hung up the cell phone minutes ago, but is upset.
"Dear one, ready and reporting for work!" I shout as I join him in hall leading to the exit from our dorm.
The electronic lock on the door of our room had clicked shut when I left. When we leave the building it's just a quick jaunt from there to the shuttle car driven by a Dyncorp mercenary, his beady eyes ogling me. Reluctantly, Sayyid ignores this impropriety and just scowls. I can smell the decayed sweat on the guard's body, and feel nauseated. But as a precaution I make a mental note to visit the Obs ward. Jasmeen wants me to take a pregnancy test.
Was it weeks ago that I returned?
Later on today, I also have to return to the Nanotech ward, where Doctor Noguchi wants me to take a refresher course on Iraqi while nanobots restructure my short term memories and the language centres of my brain.
Being pregnant or injected with nanobots doesn’t scare me as much as losing Sayyid, I tell myself.
And he's just worried about a woman president of America!
Noguchi's nanobots and I worrying over my positive test at Obs gets me nauseous. However, I'm breathing deeply now, in the gym, keeping my reflexes sharp as this tanto blade whistling through the air. No Dyncorp merc spying on me, only a UN trooper outside the building, protecting me from corrupt corporate lackeys of America.
Hey Hilary! I yell in Japanese. Think you can take me one-on-one!
Quickly I spin, and kick to block the imaginary thrust of Hilary, the both of us naked. Her breaths are short, gasping. Her katana easily misses me. I dodge and feint, my nausea forgotten.
You scare my husband! I yell, sliding my blade up to slide the length of her blade, burying it deeply in her heart.
Spent, I return to reality around me. No Hilary, just me alone in the gym. I wonder what the UN trooper from Canada thinks of this crazy Asian broad. As I dress, the nausea grips me. I rush to the showers, vomit, and clean myself up.
Later, Jasmeen is monitoring my blood. "It's the nanobots, Sachiko. All he's done is shift your dialect to match Sayyid’s. But there are markers I have never seen before."
"Things used to be simpler before the UN repeal of gene technology in 2009."
That was when Hilary felt the itch to be president. By 2012, she had the job. A lot of countries also had female leaders, due to the glitch in 2010 when world leader, all of them male, made the foolish decision to prove the first batch of nanobots safe by taking them, and ended up like my father, senile and drooling.
It is only in the third world countries that men were spared, but the women of privilege survived those experiments to be quicker witted and the equal of their male peers.
Nanotech senility was traced to an engineering glitch, in spite of the rumors of a feminist agenda. How laughable! Nanotech just affects men and women differently.
Maybe that's why Hilary scares Sayyid. Nanobots, the nanotech senility. Obs had me donate eggs, in vitro, a cloning. Sayyid is even afraid nanobots can burrow through latex.
Still, I am afraid of losing him. I lost my father to nanobots.
All Hilary is a symbol of the ascendancy of women in the aftermath of the failed decade of peace that ended in 2010.
As I vomit in the bathroom of our dorm room, this epiphany comes to me...
What scares one Iraqi pales before the fear of one woman who loses the most important male figure in her life.
It makes me wonder how Bill is doing in that geriatric clinic, drooling and nodding off while his wife conquers the world...
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