It was dark and I was heading on my way home from grocery shopping. I usually like grocery shopping and I sing, scan the fruit and vegetables (with my eyes) for ripe food etc. So, I was still in a cheerful mood coming back. Part way down the bus, I saw a man with a bushy beard, looking kinda nervous - his eyes glancing up every so often. There was something about his movements and facial expression that, for some reason, was familiar. I knew instantly that he had Aspergers. I knew he was Muslim as well. So, I walked up and sat down beside him because I thought its nicer to sit next to somebody on the bus. Im one of those annoying people that come over and sit next to you when the rest of the bus is empty. Besides, Im a chatter box. I talk to everyone in every place everywhere and I usually like listening to other peoples version of life. We chatted and he seemed very nice and very polite. He said he was from Libya. Do you know where that is? Yeah, I grinned. My partner comes from there! We chatted away and he asked who my partner was at some point. I hesitated. I think Ill ask him first, I said. From the information Id found out during the conversation, Id already worked out that he knew my partner. So, it seemed strange that my partner hadnt told him that we were together. My partner had introduced me to other close friends before. Something felt funny. We walked along the footpath. Then, he started talking about ISIS, in an extremely sympathetic way and about Palestine and Syria, and all the rhetoric of that group. Like, for example, the justification on why its okay for them to have killed so and so because so and so broke x law or killed so and so. I stopped and stared at him rather sharply. I dont believe its okay to kill anyone. Ever. I said. On my mind, was a conversation in which one of my Kurdish friends had pointed out that one of our friends were Yazidi. My friends are so nice and my friend is one of the loveliest people you can meet. Oh... said my companion with ISIS sympathies. There was a moment of silence. At that moment, I understood his personality. He was a rules orientated person - very steeped in justice and numbers and rightness. As I walked home, I thought to myself, that he wasnt a bad person. I didnt dislike him but sometimes you can have very, very bad rules. And, Daesh happened to have, I reasoned, really really bad rules. The conversation left me with a deep sense of uneasiness. And, I began to regret ever having mentioned that I had a partner. The next day I was in for a shock. My partner came over all grinning and cheerful. He always used to be jumpy around my area, until we got into my home. In the past, Id thought it was just shyness. I was curious to ask about his friend. But, I could have never predicted what kind of reaction I was gonna get. My partner froze. As the details sunk in, he looked frightened and extremely shaky and shocked. Id never seen him look like that before. I recognised it as trauma. Things that scare me dont scare him as much. Hes served in the military before, hes been through homelessness, been to jail once etc. He had scars on his body from knife wounds. Not from being a bad person. In Libya, military service is compulsory - for example. Anyway, I cant remember him ever being frightened from something before that day. Or, since that day - come to think of it. No, but thats not fair on you, he reasoned, having an internalised thought monologue with himself and coming to a conclusion. Why should you have to hide because of me?! He was talking about me. We talked for a while. It turned out there were some dangerous people living in my area and, in this instance, he was scared of the potentially life threatening repercussions. I thought about a guy who once lived nearby. My area has a lot of Refugees and students. Most people are really nice but old laws are still evident. There is a woman whose husband makes her sit in the hot son, in hot heavy clothes whilst he swims and some people who try to decide whether its okay to wear board shorts here or if someone will report back to their country, where men wearing short shorts is punishable by death. I used to have a neighbour whose arm had been cut off. So, I was quite aware that repercussions could be very real.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Dec 2014 12:19:18 +0000
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