Due to the incessant pleading of my legions of die-hard, over-zealous fans who are now performing unprecedented, pagan rituals of mounting hamster heads on pikes in attempt to entice me to post the rest of the story a day earlier, I have decided to post the rest of the story a day earlier.
Ah, who am I kidding I’m bored out of my skull at work. And stapling my hand isn’t fun after the second time anymore and just sheer craziness, if you ask me.
Back to the story at hand. If you’re too lazy (like Ahmad) and haven’t read Part 1 of the story please do, so you are familiar with the course of events taking place. Don’t be like most people I know:
Most People I Know: I’ll just skip to episode 21 of (Lost/ Prison Break/ Desperate Housewives) and I’ll figure what happened before.
It doesn’t work that way.
I promise if you don’t chuckle at least once you can apply for my “No Chuckles Refund Policy” of a free click of the red “X” button in the right corner and never visit this blog again.
And so the story goes...
What was presumably a 5-minute walk from our faculty to the main gate took a good 15 minutes with 3 stops where I had to look back and urge Ahmad on.
Ahmad: Why are you in such a hurry, man? The demonstration isn’t going anywhere..(Chuckles)
Me: Oh dear God!
Nothing could’ve prepared us for the scene that was about to meet us. Emotions were running high, simmering gradually on a slow, warm pot of anger. People packed in groups of threes, fours and fives like those documentaries of wild life in
Me (a little anxious): We could turn back if you want!
Ahmad: But we’re already here, man..
Me: Ok we’ll just say a couple of chants, “Falasteen 3arabieh” “*Beep* ukht
Ahmad didn’t say anything, it was like him to respond to a third of my correspondences.
As soon as I stood to chant, 3 rows of demonstrators closed in behind me, sandwiching me, and squishing me to the point where I could see the lice growing in the hair of the demonstrator in front of me.
Someone said something about going out of the university, and it seemed like everyone else liked the idea. Even the lice..
Someone: Let’s penetrate the hordes of pissed policemen and move this demonstration to the streets
Other Imbecilic Demonstrators with No Mind of their Own: Yeah, yeah, we could do that, yeah yeah, why not! Good idea! Yeah. Yeah, cool!
Lice: Yeah, yeah! (Doing Usher's "Yeah" dance)
Me: Hehe, Ok guys let’s not get too excited here, we proved our point, maybe we should all calm down and have a cup of coffee and discuss this like grown-up adults…
All hell broke loose. The policemen flocked like rabid dogs into the university. They were clearly pissed that their day of lying in their police cars, harassing beggars and squeezing free falafel sandwiches off passerbys was ruined.
The thing about stampedes is that they are real and people do die because of them in Hajj and chasing of the bulls in
It’s not a pretty way to go, believe me.
I experienced one of the most painful physical agonies known to mankind.
Being trampled on.
People stepped on me like I was no more than a Door Welcome mat. I saw my left sneaker fly off my foot lost into a sea of unassorted, unclaimed objects like notebooks, shoes, glasses. Speaking of which, my specs flews off too, I eyed them carefully to take a mental note of where they landed to come back and pick them up. At that specific second, some unnamed demonstrator’s heel smashed my specs to the ground.
I make a mental note not to make mental notes.
As I lay on the ground, staring up at the beautiful, azure skies above, dotted with cushiony, white clouds, I saw maniacal policemen whizzing by, throwing their clubs like ogres from Lord of the Rings and screaming, hysterical students running away, stamping me along the way with the patchwork on the soles of their shoes. Every time a blue passed over me, I thanked God silently that he didn’t beat the shit out of me.
One policeman decided to ruin my vacation, just as much as I ruined his.
Pissed Policeman: GOOM WALAH!! GET UP YOU ..
Me: Please don’t hit me, wait, I can explain this…
I covered my head.
Insert scene of gangster-suit wearing pack of dancers. Dancers proceed to perform a series of perfectly-choreographed dances and moonwalks
Me (screaming in pain): Aaow!!
Dancers (in tune with Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal): Sami are you ok? Won’t you tell us that you’re ok, Sami?
Me (in the highest Michael Jackson pitch I can muster): I don’t know..
Dancers: There’s a mark on your body, that he struck you with a baton, Sami
Me: I don’t know..
Dancers: He came into your university, left bodies on the groundwork,
Me: Wallah, I don’t know..
Dancers: Then you ran to the inside, you were struck down it was your doom, Sami
Dancers: You’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a pissed policeman.
So this is what death must be like? Multi – Michael Jacksons performing 80’s smash hit singles, over and over. I’m not minding this.
To be continued, in its final episode On Random Misadventure Number Two: The One Where I Get Beat Up by the Police in a Demonstration Part III