Saturday, 29 April 2017

M for Mohammed

[Media prompt] One of the girls … was bought by Mohammed Karrar, when she was 11 years old and befriended with gifts and drugs. He then began raping and beating her, even branding her with one of her hair pins that he twisted in the shape of the letter “M”.
M for Mohammed

Day 11,469: I woke up thinking about the chorus of my childhood; England is not what is used to be. How often did we hear that? I’ll wager more times than anyone can count. We used to laugh when we heard men in the streets shouting about the Muslim invasion. 

It is still dark, before the fajr prayer, and soon they will call me to perform wudhu. Like everyone else, I pray five times a day to the Creator. On mornings like this, I ask myself what kind of Hell has he created. But it does no good to dwell too much on this question.

As usual, they called on the girls again last night. Mohammed, whose "M" marks my skin, demanded they perform for his guests. Bassam favoured one of the new one, a blonde northerner who sang an old song that made his lip curl in .. in what? Is it lust? Anticipation? Disgust? I would not wish him on a new girl, or anyone for that matter, but his word is God’s. 

Mohammed made the rest of the girls watch as Bassam had his way with her. He does it like an animal. He made her kneel on all fours, and speared her from behind. Mohammed says to me it is a blessing, like being pierced by the Prophet himself. When Bassam finished, his enormous limp thing was dripping in blood, which brought a cheer from the men. 

I have no strength to mourn the girl's passing, but feel empty at her leaving nonetheless. Is it wrong to feel relief for the death of someone who was so young? Her chest was hardly more than a boy’s.

The girls are still asleep, or pretending to sleep. Who can know of what terrors they dream. I dare not get close enough to ask. They pass through my fingers like the air. 

Those men who used to shout in the streets are long gone, but not one of us is laughing now. 

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