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My Neighbour, The Terrorist

Pardon my jumbled up thoughts, but I have been thinking a lot about last Wednesday in London.

There are so many stories going around about the latest ‘terrorist’ attack in London, on the Houses Or Parliament, in Westminster.

Within hours, homes in Birmingham and London were raided and 8 arrests were made. A name was given for this ‘terrorist’ who had been shot and killed by police. ISIS claimed responsibility.

No one can say the British Government didn’t step up and act ASAP.

However…

All those arrested were released.

The named ‘dead terrorist’ was actually alive and well behind bars. It wasn’t long before the real name was revealed. A man born pretty local to where I now live as it happens.

 

Two images of Khalid Masood

Attacker Khalid Masood

 

The next step was to find out who had radicalised him while he had been in prison because that was what had to have happened.

Today, I read that the authorities can find no links to any terrorist groups. No evidence to suggest that this guy was planning another attack. And they were forced to admit that though it would be good to know what prompted it, they have to face the reality that they may never know why the Wednesday attack happened.

It is likely that a slightly unbalanced person was swayed by the preachings of some radical groups, and decided to take matters into his own hands. There may have been other reasons. He may have had personal issues… and the pressure sent him a bit loopy, causing the attack… who knows.

It is such an awful situation for the families of the victims. No rhyme nor reason to why they are now sat in grief.

But what a great opportunity for those that like to stir. It has to be ISIS. It must be Islamic terrorists. Get these Muslims out of our country!

Seriously?

Those that knew the attacker, Khalid Masood (born Adrian Russell Elms) said he was somewhat violent and had served time in prison for knife crimes, but could be a polite person. No real evidence of when he converted to Islam.

It all got me thinking.

I know of a convicted terrorist.

And even to this day, I find it hard to believe that this guy had a hand in planning something that could have been so horrific.

Going back to 1998, I remember a phone call from my mother, asking if I had seen the newspaper that day. I duly went out, bought it and called mum back. There was an article about 5 men who had been arrested in Yemen on suspicion of planning a bomb attack on the British Consulate, and a church.

“Ritu, have you looked at the pictures? That’s not Samad, is it?” my mum inquired.

I glanced at the photos, and there, in a really grainy photo was a familiar face. I confirmed what she had said.

Image result for samad ahmed yemen

This was a boy who was not only a neighbour of ours, he and his family were patients of my Pops while he was a practising dentist. But not only that, he had been at my university, a couple of years my junior.

I hadn’t really known him while living in Birmingham, before university, but it was just chance that as a fellow Brummie, and more senior student, I got chatting to him during one of the fresher week events in his first year.

He was a charming lad. So bubbly and full of fun. He was also not a strict follower of Islam at the time, going out with his mates and drinking etc. He was your average university student, enjoying all the fun of being away from home!

We found out that he lived down my road back home, and that he know my parents, and that was enough to forge a big sister/little brother bond. In the holidays, he had a security guard job in a store in Birmingham City Centre and if I ever went there and he was working he would always have a chat.

But one day, during term time, something awful happened.

There had always been clashes between the religious groups withing the universities. Sikhs, Muslims, Hindus, they can clash, and our university was no different. I had witnessed some horrific fights after a night out that stemmed from the religious hatred.

Samad and his friends went out somewhere. His best friend was with them. Sometime in the evening, an altercation happened. I wasn’t there, I don’t know many details, but the culmination of the event was that his best friend was killed in the fight.

Understandably, the fun loving guy we all knew changed. Samad rarely had a smile on his face. He was depressed. So down.

And that’s when I think something happened. He found God.

Now I am not condemning finding your God when in times of distress. Many people do, and that belief saves them.

But this was different. He found God through some radical group. The Samad I knew started to wear the traditional dress and became more serious. He still was polite and spoke to me, but he was not out in the evenings like before, and there wasn’t the jovial nature there anymore.

I graduated soon after,  so didn’t see him anymore, and didn’t think much about him.

But a year later, this phonecall from mum… and I looked back at what I remembered of him.

This was so unlike the Samad I knew. Then it hit me. When you are down, and vulnerable, it is so easy to become consumed by whatever appears to be soothing you at the time. There must have been some sort of grooming in place, that, I don’t know, brainwashed him. I couldn’t believe that the lad I knew could even be capable of planning something so heinous as a terrorist attack.

His family, along with the other captives families, pleaded for their release. Samad’s brother spoke at length about how his brother was no terrorist. But they were convicted in the end. There was foul play at work. They had all been involved in the planning of something that could have been awful.

But my mind still boggles.

Terrorists and radical followers of any religion are not born. They are made.

No religion dictates the violent destruction of another creed. It just takes that minority to find a line within any holy text, and manipulate it, then locate a group of misguided, vulnerable folk who need guidance, preaching to them about what their God tells them to do and Boom! You breed a band of extremists who blindly follow this incorrect belief.

This, in turn, reflects badly on a whole majority of the religion, who wholeheartedly condemn the actions of these radical groups. and racism and hatred is born.

I never knew what happened to Samad after. As far as I know, he was released a few years later, but we never saw him again. But I still stand firm in the belief that someone took advantage of his vulnerability at his time of need, and instead of supporting him and guiding him correctly, they gave him the support he felt he needed and led him down a much more sinister path…

Similarly, was Khalid Masood simply led astray by watching propaganda from some of these groups, then acting on what he felt he was being instructed to do? Or was he simply an unhinged man who saw no rhyme nor reason the day he ploughed his car into a group of people on the bridge, then went on to stab a police officer? An attack that led to the death of 5 in total,  and many in critical condition in hospital.

What are your thoughts on terrorists, and why they commit the atrocities they do?

Bring Your Books 3 – Author Zone

How lovely!!! My book was featured on Jacqueline’s blog! Check out her post!

jacquelineobyikocha's avatara cooking pot and twisted tales

This week in Author Zone

The Love Labyrinth, Novel, Author Zone

A bit about the book

Noelle Harrison is a hard-working wife and loving mother to two young sons. Although supportive of her husband Wayne’s professional pursuits, she rails at his constant out-of-town travel to conferences and seminars. What about her needs and wants? Then one day on her way home from church… There are two sides to every story. Or maybe three.

Available on Amazon Kindle and Paperback

Pamela D. Beverly’s author bio simply makes me smile – I guess it’s her calling herself ‘The Jacqueline of all trades.’ 

I am a Jacqueline-of-all-Trades but a master of none. Mostly I’m a student of human nature that enjoys writing and studying mankind. I have traveled all over the United States as well as to several foreign countries and enjoy meeting people of all races, religions and creeds. My main wish for mankind is that we learn…

View original post 975 more words

My Mum And Me – Happy Mothers Day 💖

Mum, mom, mother, mama, maa…

So many ways to describe that woman who gave birth to you, raised you, and made you what you are…

I am very lucky, I have only had a positive experience of that maternal influence. My mother is one of the biggest influences and heroes in my life. She gave up everything to be a mother to my brother and I. We were fortunate in that, despite being in a new country, having moved from Kenya to the UK, my Pops, as a dentist, was financially secure enough that when God blessed them with their first child, me (most definitely a blessing!) she was able to be a Stay At Home Mum. In fact, they had been here a while, and my mother had been offered a job with the British Civil Service just before finding out she was expecting. But being the best mum she could be was more important than a career to her.

Being a girl and their first born was never an issue to my parents, though there were others we knew who were lamenting the birth of a girl… The first born should have been a boy, and all that, but it made no difference to them. My brother followed after 3 years and so, our family was complete.

motherhood

Motherhood

My mother and I

What do I remember about growing up? My mother being there every minute for us. From birth, we were the single most important aspect of her life. I was a food brat, she struggled to make me eat (unfortunately I don’t have that problem anymore… My waist shows that!). She shed tears over the fact that I was not eating the wonderful dishes she created for me. But she managed, well I’m standing here in front of you, writing about it, aren’t I?

She instilled a love of learning and for books and reading within me. Something I will be ever grateful to her for. She ferried us to and from school, to extra curricular activities, she ensured our homework was done on time. She didn’t force me into the kitchen to learn how to make roti, instead, preferring to make sure I was concentrating on my education, a gift that my parents gave us, a good education.

She taught us the importance of family, and all about respect for elders and youngers. She taught me, especially, how to be a great wife, and daughter in law too.

She had been my rock throughout my life, even now, as I am over 40, it’s my mother’s reassuring voice that lessens worry and pain, it’s my mother’s eyes that light up with pride when I achieve anything, and my mother’s hugs that make everything better.

My only wish, that I could be a mother like her, heck, even half like her would make me an awesome mum! My own journey to achieve that ‘mother’ status was a pretty tough road to travel, being diagnosed with Polycystic Ovaries. It took a couple of years of a medicated haze, and one step from the IVF route to fall pregnant with my first child.

During those tough years, I drew even more strength from my own mum, who fell pregnant with me pretty late, well it wasn’t the 9 months after marriage time frame that many Indian women were expected to conform to, anyway. She would be questioned by some insensitive people as to why she hadn’t given them some ‘good news’ yet. It was my parents choice though, to set up home in a new country and give any prospective child a secure future first.

It echoed questions I was being asked, 4 years into my marriage too, but I would just say “It’s all in God’s hands” and it was…

I can’t speak about motherhood and not mention my Mother In Law either! She’s not your stereotypical Mum In Law. A lovely lady who gives me so much love, and is a wonderful grandma to my children too. And she gave me the most amazing husband too! She never once questioned my inability to conceive easily. Instead, she stood by me every step of the way too. The pain of those -vs tests were as much hers as mine, and the hope, with a missed period, aching breasts, she was there, alongside my own mother, willing me along.

So, once it finally happened, my son made his grand entrance, (on my mother’s birthday no less!) the task to be a good mother began. I felt I failed miserably, not being able to breast feed, but guess what, my mum didn’t either! The food situation, yup he was as tough as me to nourish, but you know what, we got through it, and when he was a little older, we thought the time was right for a try for number 2. The same medications, more complications resulting in me losing an ovary, made me think my son was going to be my one and only blessing.

But God blessed me three times after. Twice, my babies were too precious to Him, so He took them back to live with Him. Those tough times made my Mum-In-Law open up to her own 3 losses in between her 2 boys. Two miscarriages and one, she was advised to have a termination due to some abnormality with the fetus. She didn’t get much choice in those day, it was decided by the elders and her husband, and her being the good Indian wife, agreed, heavy heartedly.

Back to my journey… After bidding my two angels farewell, another +ve test was confirmed. I was again so cautious, and this pregnancy resulted in the arrival of my beautiful daughter. Feeding was not an issue this time, and she was a dream baby…

Now, 9 years later, I am a mother to a beautiful 9-year-old teenage daughter (yes, really!) and a wonderfully stroppy talented 11-year-old son.

motherhood-02

Motherhood 02

Me with my two blessings

It’s not been an easy road, bringing them up. I have often sat back and thought, ‘was I really cut out for this?’ but then I came to realise that you can only do your best, and if you have the right guidance behind you, you can be the most wonderful mother in the world! And honestly, though there are days I could tear my hair out, and scream and shout at them, I love them with all my heart and thank God every day for these two miracles.

My heart melts when they hug me, I feel so special when only ‘mummy’ will do when they are feeling upset or hurt. The smiles they give can turn an awful day into the best in the world… Yup being a mum rocks!

I thank my mother, for giving me the best example I could have hoped for, as a mum. Like I said before, if my children think I’m even half the mother that mine was to me, I’d be a brilliant one!

Happy Mothers day to all you fantastic Mothers out there, today,and every day!

Taken from a guest post I wrote for The Champa Tree a couple of years back.

Spidey’s Serene Sunday – Part 110 – #musicalmarch /Mothers Day

Spidey

“Man is born from a woman: Within woman, man is conceived: To a woman he is engaged and married. Man is friends with woman: Through woman, the future generations exist. When his woman passes away, he seeks another woman: To a woman, a man is bound. So why call her bad? From her kings are born, from a woman, woman is born: Without woman there would be no one at all.” – Guru Granth Sahib Ji

For that special woman in our lives, our mother.

Happy Mothers Day ❤

A Shabad Simran sung by a young girl today. This is the daughter of a man called Dya Singh from Australia. He travelled the word with his three daughters and used music to teach about Sikhi to the world. He created a beautiful CD especially for children, a mix of English and Punjabi, which my own children loved!

He incorporates traditional Indian instruments, the electric guitar and even the didgeridoo in his music too, to create a truly universal sound!

 

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