Wednesday, 5 December 2007

A Witness...

A few days ago I witnessed a most surreal- not surreal, am lying, a most disgusting, nauseating, "social" set up.

This acquaintance of mine has a brother who lived all his life in America. He is in his 40's and decided he wants to get married again.

He lands here for a two weeks visit, and in those two weeks, his sister is to arrange a list of potential wives...

She had a pile of pictures on her coffee table and he was going through them. I could not believe my eyes. She also called upon all her single girlfriends and friends of her girlfriends of which I was unfortunately one, to come for an afternoon coffee. So I went.

And here was the guy sitting on a Louis XIV armchair, greeting all those arriving females. He would not even stand up and shake hands, he would remain seated and wave hello from afar and quickly check each "item" as she arrived...

Fucking hell, I could not believe my eyes. Again, I've been had, as I did not know the set-up. None of us did except for the matron- his sister and him.

The sister would say "Shufoo khayee ma ahla, lessa jay meen Amerrrrikkka" -Look how my brother is handsome, he has just arrived from the shit hole America.(my italics)

I, without realizing, opened my purse and reached for a tissue and put it to my mouth, as if I was about to throw up. Then I realized that was too obvious for Freudian slip and tried to exercise a little more self control...

I had learned in the past, the best way to get over something or someone, is to observe them carefully, dissect them like insects and make them so small until they stop affecting you. And this is exactly what I did. I had found the whole thing so offensive, I was surely not going to let it go by so candidly...

So I dissected that piece of shit from his hair to his shoes. Every single body part, every single movement, every single glance...

I can tell you for instance that he is a definitely a nouveau riche and am allergic to nouveau riche guys. How do I know ? For starters the armchair on which he was seated, a golden Louis XIV for heaven's sake. Secondly the way he held his coffee cup, he would lift the little finger as he brought the cup to his lips...Gross.
Thirdly his bracelet. He wore a gold bracelet with his name on it. Fuck - how more narcissistic can one get?

What was he afraid of, losing himself in the female crowd or being abducted by one of the desperate ones ?

And there were his socks. White socks and black shoes. A definite no-no. I also heard a slurp when he was drinking his coffee...I thought I would faint.

But that is not the worst.The worst is that he would engage in a conversation with one of the idiotic females who actually bothered to address him and still try to eye another or pick one of the photos laying there on the table right in front of his hairy nose...Arghhhh. I understood during that visit how homicides are triggered.

Now for some background information.

This dear "little brother" who looked more like a goon than anything else, went to Amerrrikkkaaa to study. He never finished University because our "beau" got lost in diskkkkos and banging Amerriiikkkan women.

One of them got pregnant despite him and he was forced to marry her. Yes, Western women do such things and it is very common.

So he married Ms.U.S.A and she made life hell for him.

He was not allowed to talk Arabic to his friends, not allowed to visit them alone, not allowed to watch or hear Arabic music, not allowed to eat Arabic food at home but only on very strict occasions...

When his "darling" of a sister visited, she had to go to a hotel and was not allowed to stay at her brother's place.

In other words M.s U.S.A had him by the balls and of course by the pocket.

Finally he filed for divorce and led a life of "an enlightened bachelor" for a while, until his sister convinced him that he really needed someone to look after him. She said "Ya haram, he only eats out in restaurants, he has no one to cook for him."

So here he is the dumped prick, playing Pacha on us.

And you have not heard the best yet. Monsieur wants a "veiled girl", a question of easing his insecurities, major insecurities brought about by the abusive American wife.

His matron of a sister said "You know, at least with a good muslim woman, he knows he will be well looked after."

Get him a fucking nanny, sis or a nurse or a cook or a maid.

Oh but no, the progeny, the baby boy has to come and complete the picture, a picture only possible in the M.E.

I have much more to say about Arab men and Western women, in my next chapter...

So stay tuned. And Arab male readers, fasten your seat belts for I shall be taking you on a royal ride.