by Dr. Azam Gill
She cowered under a table, trembling.
The timeless aroma of spices was retreating to the fetid stench of fear. Kaka Johnson’s eyes narrowed to slits. His brain overcame instinct and with great presence of mind he pulled down the grilled steel shutters of his fast-food joint.
Intoxicated by self-righteousness, the crowd in the street bayed for a ritual sacrifice on a rap beat, desperate to mitigate its own misery. The death chant rose in slow intensity, drowning Kaka Johnson’s desperate pleas and leaving his mouth open in a silent, Munchean scream.
The first spark of decency.
Two neighbouring shopkeepers begged for sanity — their pleas swallowed up by the death chant.
They were the second spark of self-respect.
Although the Imam from a nearby mosque made the mistake of not reading the calligraphy on the robe, he courageously arrived to face the crowd and argued unheard against insanity.
He was the third spark of courage.
Then tires skidded on gravel, and tight-faced police officers spilled out of their jeeps, index fingers on trigger guards, throats dry, eyes darting to approaches, exits and hostiles.
Azam Gill 