The Little Devil
Posted: Monday, March 09, 2009
by Michael Ramzy
delusionthread.com
Sometimes my brain switches from its somewhat normal, somewhat intelligent mode into a mode of which I am unfortunately becoming more and more familiar: that of complete idiot. It's funny how that happens to me, and I truly hate to admit it, yet I wonder how many others suffer this same affliction. And it truly is an affliction, you know?
Sure you do.
It happens to all of us, when we suddenly go from intelligent to stupid. Sometimes we know it's happening and we can stop it, and other times it's as sudden and unexpected as snow on a clear summer day. Sometimes you just say the wrong thing at the wrong time, or do the wrong thing, and then you wish you hadn't said or done . . . it.
Once, when I was younger, I was playing with matches and my mother was hanging laundry out on the balcony. She was keeping an eye on me as I knew she was, and yet there was this pack of matches on the ground I just had to pick up. I was around seven or eight then and at that point in time we lived in Beirut, Lebanon. Being of Arab parentage, of course, I spoke Arabic. Not the guttural City Arabic, but the flowing Coastal Arabic.
For those who don't know, there truly is a difference. Arabs who are urbanized speak a kind of slang, or City Arabic. Most of the Bedouins and nomads speak Coastal Arabic, which is more . . . poetic and utterly incomprehensible to many Westerners. Many of the Arab diplomats speak this kind of Arabic, which seems to bring out the true soul of the Arab.
Of course, most terrorists speak City Arabic, or what these days could be called Ebonic Arabic.
Although I was born in New York, I had lived in Lebanon from the time I was around five months until I was a teenager. Then I moved to Iran, then Saudi Arabia. I didn't move to America until I was sixteen, where of course I lost my grasp of Coastal Arabic and perfected my English and the art of being an American.
Well, almost perfected.
So. I'm seven and I find these matches and I start lighting them and throwing them on the ground where immediately the sparse vegetation ignites and starts to smolder. Fascinated, almost mesmerized, my mind switches from somewhat intelligent to somewhat stupid as I become afflicted. I watch the grass and small plants start to smolder. When a fire starts to die out I immediately strike another match and try to keep the fire alive.
In America this is called Arson.
In Lebanon this is called Practice.
At this point in time my mother sees me and yells my name across the distance. This she does with another form of Arabic, something called Angry Arabic. This form also, for your information, is sometimes used by terrorists.
It is also used by Palestinians who know they are on the television news, at times accompanied by the usual barrage of rocks.
"What?" I answer, looking up at her. The towels and sheets are blowing in the wind and I can barely make her out up there on the balcony, just a small brown dot against a clear blue sky.
"What do you think you are doing?" she asks, again using that Angry Arabic.
What does it look like I'm doing? I ask myself, tilting my head to the side and wondering how she can miss the fires that, surprisingly, are spreading like . . . wildfire. You would think I should lie here, say something like look at these fires! My gosh, call the fire department! Or maybe something in the vein of Oh no! I can't believe I did this! Look at all of these fires! I'm so terribly sorry! Truly! Ah!
What does it look like I'm doing? I ask myself, tilting my head to the side and wondering how she can miss the fires that, surprisingly, are spreading like . . . wildfire. You would think I should lie here, say something like look at these fires! My gosh, call the fire department! Or maybe something in the vein of Oh no! I can't believe I did this! Look at all of these fires! I'm so terribly sorry! Truly! Ah!
I should at least answer in a humble, sorrowful way, right? You would think that.
I too, at this point in time looking back, think that as well. At that point in time, however, since I was afflicted, I thought something else. At that point in time I decided to answer the question correctly and not lie
Oops.
"I'm playing with matches."
So much for being intelligent.
Of course, I was grounded for a month. Surprisingly I only got in trouble with my parents. The authorities were very understanding, oddly enough, calling me the little American devil and laughing it off. At the time I thought it was kind of cute, getting called that.
Little devil. I burned almost four acres of land in the middle of the capitol city and I was a little devil. Geez. If I had burned the building down, I would probably be called mischievous.
By the way, terrorists in the Middle East are called misunderstood.
It is somewhat ironic, though. I now live and work in America, which is called the Great Satan by almost every Arab on the planet.
Little devil, Great Satan.
Go figure.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Hi Michael.Interesting perspective. I enjoyed your article. But then, I always enjoy your articles.DianneThanks very much for reading and commenting.
Great story, Michael! And it is an interesting perspective. We citizens of the "Great Satan" have little idea of life in other countries, but you can find similar lack of urgency in local "leaders," so it's not just an Arabic way of thought. These same people will fly into a rage at "Garage Sale" signs taped to light poles. Go Figure!!Thank you very much, Ken.
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