From a small reading to a Student Jury.
This is where you can find out what's on.
Shouting at the top of her lungs was not Fatima’s idea of fun, but her friends believed it to be essential to realising any form of revolutionary change. Her friends Noreen, Sara and Amina, were quite the hardened social- justice activists. Fatima was equally passionate, but pensive and unobtrusive were more her style.
The demonstration had teased her out of her shell and she was soon seen at the front waving her fist in righteous glee. There had been a racist incident not far from the campus, and a demonstration was organised to show student solidarity. It had gathered numbers and momentum, and by the time the demo had gone around town and back to campus the girls were thoroughly fired up, invigorated and exhausted.
“I’m starving!” shouted Sara, neglecting to resume normal voice levels after the demonstration.
“My place isn’t too far from here,” remembered Amina, “why don’t you all come to mine for dinner?”
As the girls wandered toward the halls of residence, a car pulled up and stopped abruptly. Three men leapt out with heads shaven, combat gear, and big black army boots. They slammed the car doors angrily. One banged the broken-down car with his fist in frustration. Then the driver noticed the girls, turned abruptly and fixed them in an iron glare. The men and their car were right in the path toward Amina’s flat.
As the girls walked closer, the men continued to stare at them menacingly. Sara thought backup was called for. She fired off a text message to her mates at the demo saying “come back to campus ASAP.” Feeling uncomfortable, she lagged ever-so-slightly behind the group. They all kept walking forward, closer and closer toward the intimidating men…
What happens next? How would you finish the story?
Read. First automatic response: They break into Morris dancing and share a packet of cheese'n'onion? No? I try again...
Would the text get through? Would they read it in time? Fatima was scared, so scared, but she was doing everything she could to ignore it. She was aware that if she were to die today she would die a mujahid and potentially be in line for 70 husbands in the hereafter according to recent feminist opinion. She was thinking about the numerous ways she could utilize them, “Abdul could do the cooking, Ahmed could do the cleaning, Nabil could fan me and I could get Mujib to hold different poses as long as possible while Usman tried to distract him by ticking him with a feather and as for the others they could be my small little army of workers who could raise chickens and herd sheep….I’ve always wanted to live on a farm…Yay!” With her new found confidence and courage she said to Noreen, “Let’s take the little one”. They walked closer and closer. Their hearts began to beat faster and faster and thump against their chest, but they were on a mission. Nothing could stop them now. With thoughts of Abdul, she squared up to the little-one; big-one was too tall. If she squared up to him it wouldn’t look so cool on YouTube later today. Noreen was filming with her Sony Ericson you see. The little-one was astonished by the acts of this impetuous hijabi-clad girl and said in an embarrassed and disconcerted tone (gazing at the floor away from her too), “Assalamu Alaykum Sister, my name is Abdul. We’re here to join the march.” Fatima was shocked and embarrassed….fast forward 6 months. They’re married. Fatima only has one husband.
"No...It can't be her" murmured the shortest of the three. "Do you have the picture?" The driver asked the scrawniest member of the group who unfolded a photograph from the inside of his jacket. The men looked down at the photo, then up at Fatima in disbelief. "We're done for" cried Sara, her booming voice now reduced to a whimper. "Don't be alarmed" The driver said in a deep soothing voice, "We come in Peace" Fatima stepped forward curiously. "C'mon guys, let's just go" Sara urged "Wait...You don't understand" Called out the short one. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost. He paced back and forward "This doesn't make sense, this can't be...it's her..." He continued muttering to himself, fiddling with a gadget in his hand. "Fatima-Zahra Khan, We..." "How do you know my name?" Faitma interrupted the driver, her shakey voice somewhere between fear and intrigue. "Fatima, we come with a mission from the future. A future where Hijabis and Skinheads coexist in harmony. The future of the Ummah depends on you" "Are you serious!?" Noreen exclaimed, her frightful face now looking somewhat perplexed. "This explains everything" The driver offered a scrawly note to Fatima. Hesitantly she reached out and grabbed it from his hands. An eerie silence fell over the group as Fatima unravelled the note. She immediately recognised her handwriting. Her eyes darted across the note, her heart beating increasingly faster. "But.." she sighed looking up at the men teary-eyed. Taking a deep breath, Fatima proceeded to get into the car. "I have to do this" she mouthed to her friends through the window and in instant the car disappeared into thin air, leaving the men and remaining girls in a cloud of smoke. "Malaaika Speed" One of the men whispered, "Malaaika Speed"
...Riiight made it. I shall now watch, read and then respond more articulately following the rules and what not. Back soon.