Sting of the Drone by Clarke Richard A

Author:Clarke, Richard A [Clarke, Richard A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

20

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22

AL AMIRIYA MOSQUE

RADDA, YEMEN

“Asalam Alekhem,” Bryce said to the Imam. “May I enter your mosque?”

“Your Arabic is good, but you are not one of the faithful,” the elder replied, “but all may pray here, if they show respect.”

Bryce removed his shoes. “I was told that you might talk to a traveler.”

“The Prophet, blessings and peace be upon him, taught us to give hospitality to the traveler.” The Imam added, “But travelers from some places may not be safe outside of the mosque.”

“I am from Canada,” Bryce insisted.

“Welcome. What brings this traveler to this town?”

“I seek to learn, to know what has happened here,” Bryce began. “There are stories one hears. Tales of death from the sky. I seek to learn who is dying and who is killing and why.”

“This is not hard to learn, my friend. At first it was the fighters, mainly up in the hills. Some of them were not from our country, some were. Their camps were hit. Then when they were driving through the desert, their cars were hit. Then when they took over some villages, buildings in the villages were bombed. That’s when the women and the children died.”

Bryce had activated his digital voice recorder and was hoping it could hear the soft-spoken Imam. “And these attacks were from the Yemeni Air Force? That’s what they tell me in Sana’a.”

“Pfft,” the Imam spit. “Those fools could not hit one carmel in a herd. It was your friends, the Americans. You know that. Their little white planes. You can hear them all the time. You can see them some days, here. They are flying here now, killing here now.”

“Here? Could I see where? I would like to talk with the families,” Bryce suggested.

“It would not be safe for you,” the Imam replied. “Some people may not believe that you are Canadian. Some people may think you are American. And they are very mad at the Americans now, very mad.” He pulled worry beads from his pocket and began to finger them.

“Imam, I have come to learn, but also to teach. I wish to teach people in North America, Canada, and the U.S. what is happening here. There are good people there, too. If they know what is happening, things may change. But if the suffering is a story that never leaves the places where it happens.…” Bryce spoke softly.

The Imam rose from the floor on which the two men had been sitting. “You will walk with me. You will not leave my side. You will not speak. You will listen. You will use no camera. You will learn. Come.” Then the Imam turned and pointed at Fares, who was acting as Bryce’s cameraman. “You, stay here. Stay in the mosque. Pray.”

The streets were unpaved, packed sand and dust. The few people on the streets and in the doorways showed reverence to the Imam. The Imam turned off into an alley, and then another. The houses were close together, the smells of cooking and spices wafted out of some of the windows as they passed.

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