This short short story is a real life situation experienced by everyday people
written by a friend whose roots are in Western Culture,
but who lives and works in Kuwait.
Recently he wrote the following vignette.
I found this simple scene to be
a very moving 'non-political' view of our impending war on Iraq....
This little anecdote relates why I am so fond of these people. They may be wildly rich, they may to some extent have come into that wealth through no particular skill or effort and they may therefore have more than a hint of arrogance built into their national psyche - those are all accusations that could be levelled at Kuwaiti people, but I love them nonetheless. They suffered hugely - loss of freedom and dignity, profound fear, grief, anquish - at the hands of Saddam's regime and have by no means recovered as a people. They are proud to be Arabs, proud to be Muslims (mostly), proud to be Kuwaiti, proud to be liberal thinkers, English speakers, proud to have a comparatively broad worldview and deeply grateful to, in particular, the USA and Britain for liberating them, despite deep reservations over aspects of those countries' foriegn policies. I have immense respect for them for holding all those factors together in a coherent way.
A couple of weeks ago, a Virgin Megastore opened here. We (wife, son, me) went to check it out. While Susan and Jack were in the book section, I went to buy some CDs, and while I was listening through headphones to some traditional Arabic music, felt a tap on my arm. Headphones off, and it was a Kuwaiti mother and three daughters in their late teens or early 20's. Quite unusual, even these days, for Arabic women to initiate conversation with a man. "Welcome to Kuwait", said one.
"Thanks, although I've been here for a while." "You are welcome."
"From the UK? Do you like the music?"
"Yes," ...smalltalk. Conversation drawing to a natural close the mother spoke: "Take care, stay safe." (Then it clicked - I have short cropped hair, was wearing a leather jacket... they thought I was British military.)
As they went, one daughter put her hand on my arm (serious breach of protocol for unmarried Muslim girl, and a real sign of genuine warmth.) saying"Please, do stay safe. But get Saddam if you can. Thanks."