So, I live in a place called The Villa, it’s like a dorm for the language school. And there are lots of other English speaking people here; about half Americans and half British.
So some of us decide we’re going to go out to dinner, buy some covert booze from one of the vendors at the local souk, have a spot of it, and then go to an outdoor concert.
The concert was part of a free outdoor series for the holy month of Ramadan. So we stand at first, and eventually move to a table (myself and a guy named Andrew.) Our friend Erica tells us that we had just missed a great Andalusian rap band, whatever that is, so we wait for the next band to come on.
The next band was called The Last Poets, and the lyrics to their first song were so memorable I wrote them on my hand as I fled:
We love love and Americans love death
Death is their prize, so throw grenades in their eyes
The Americans are Terrorists
The Evil Tyrants
Despite the lyrics, I didn’t feel especially threatened. I don’t think many people understood them, because they were in English. It was when the MC started freestyling in Arabic and I could pick out the word “Ameriki” every fourth word that I thought perhaps a quiet departure would be the best part of valor. Falstaff agreed.