You wake up in the morning with a bunch of things to do for the day. You need to clean out the rain gutters and Aysha has asked you to go to the store and pick up a new hijab, size 52. Since the woman's body is completely covered, there's no real point in her watching her diet and not putting on the tonnage. Mohammed, why didn't you think of that, you wonder, semi-blasphemously.
After school, little Achmed has soccer practice and Fatima has a piano recital next week and she's been struggling with the bridge part of the composition. If you don't sit with her while she plays, she has a tendency to daydream and nothing gets done. And then, of course, is the meeting of the Library Guild. Since translating books into Arabic is pointless (those infidels know nothing of value), it's more of an honorary post than a practical one, but still, the meeting must be attended.
Sitting with your morning coffee, you read that Donald Trump, president of the United States of America, said there was some kind of disturbance in Sweden, thanks to Muslim immigrants like yourself.
At this point, things become a bit hazy. All you know is that you come back to your senses a few hours later and find yourself standing near a Volvo that's engulfed in flames, you've got dirt and scratches on your hands, a mask over your face and your eyes are watering from tear gas.
It's a mystery alright. Something for science to solve.
Maybe the same folks who are studying