OOOPS - by Rahal EksSomehow the weather was strange today and my mood - for very personal reasons - was even stranger. I had just returned from another drama trip to Hamburg, facing the issue of serious illness and death already lurking around the aura of the man who acted as my father, to be precise: my adoptive father. But that is another story for a future rap in this blog.
While riding on my bike through the very center of downtown Berlin I tried to relax from the intense days I had gone through recently, while my heart was fluctuating between... Al-Andalus and Mombasa and at the same time my head was trying to focus on some urgent matters I had to face in the here and now. A group of people on the other side of the street caught my attention. They looked like my people - Arabs - and al-hamdulillah, they were about to start a protest march.
"Yalla, al-huriyah!"
Being by nature an optimist I changed my route and dashed over to the group of Arabs gathered on the place in front of the Gedächtniskirche. I jumped off my bike and tried to catch the drift what the protest was all about, expecting some freedom and democracy seeking Middle Easterners in action, something like a little Egyptian gig or the Bahraini variety...or was it related to Lybia, Yemen or Syria?
The vibes were strange and not one bit queer-friendly - and then reality showed its ugly face in all its horrendous facets. The protesters were not progressive folks, but supporters of Bashar Al-Assad, the Syrian dictator! Soon his horrendous photo was raised and the pro-Assad crowd began to shout nationalistic slogans - they were suffering from a nasty attack of patriotic ecstasy.
"Haraka fiha baraka," I quickly got back onto my bike and ooops, made a fast exist. Not every protesting Arab is automatically worthwhile to hang out with or join the march. I utterly forgot that the wrong guys too might opt for public manifestations, not just the hip types.
While crossing the street an entire car caravan of flag-waving Syrian pro-Assad supporters passed by, screaming and tooting their horns as if this was a Cairo-traffic-situation. I made sure to quickly get away - this was definitely the wrong type of movie...
To all a wonderful weekend, ishq bashad wa baraka bashad, Rahal.
