Two Muslim mothers are sitting in the cafe chatting over a pint of goat's milk.
The older of the moms pulls out her bag and starts flipping through pictures and reminiscing.
'This is my oldest son, Mohamed. He would be 24 now.'
The other mom replies, 'I remember him as a baby.'
Mom says, 'He's a martyr now.'
'Oh, so sad, my dear.'
Mom flips to another picture. 'And this is my second son, Kali. He would be 21.'
'Oh I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born.'
Mom sighs, 'He's a martyr, too.'
'Oh gracious me' says the second mother.
'And this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18' Mom whispers.
'Yes' says her friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he first started school.'
'He's a martyr also' Mom says, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photos and says:
'They blow up so fast, don't they?
The older of the moms pulls out her bag and starts flipping through pictures and reminiscing.
'This is my oldest son, Mohamed. He would be 24 now.'
The other mom replies, 'I remember him as a baby.'
Mom says, 'He's a martyr now.'
'Oh, so sad, my dear.'
Mom flips to another picture. 'And this is my second son, Kali. He would be 21.'
'Oh I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born.'
Mom sighs, 'He's a martyr, too.'
'Oh gracious me' says the second mother.
'And this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18' Mom whispers.
'Yes' says her friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he first started school.'
'He's a martyr also' Mom says, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photos and says:
'They blow up so fast, don't they?
