Sentence The Onehundredandsixtyninth
Sayid is a 12-year-old and he has a War Story – he is a Syrian boy who lives in a house in Drumchapel with his Father (Radwan), his Mother (Zeinah) and his five Sisters (Amina, Riham, Saben, Amira and Qamar); as the house has only three bedrooms, Father and Mother have one; the two eldest Sisters (Amina 16 and Riham 14) have one and the three younger Sisters (Saben 9, Amira 7, and Qamar 4) share the other; Sayid has a large cupboard under the stairs; Sayid's family were forced out of their home in the early days of the civil war in which opponents of the regime target people who they considered supporters of the Assad government – true, Sayid's father had a job, was paid by the government and lived with his family in a pleasant house: he was an orthopaedic surgeon, mending broken limbs and shattered bodies, in a State-run General Hospital, and just as Pol Pot in Cambodia targeted the intelligentsia, so the Rebels in Syria, caring nothing for the dedication Sayid's father brought to mending the lives of his fellow citizens, regardless of their religion or social status; perhaps he should only have treated Sunnis, perhaps he should have turned his back on the unfortunate patients of non-Sunni heritage; but he took his Hippocratic Oath seriously and treated his patients, young or old as he would wish his own family to be treated, by doctors and surgeons, nurses and technicians, who see only human beings in need of care and support, and who could save them; their house bombed, the hospital in which he worked destroyed, the family had no choice but to flee; some people they knew called Radwan 'Gizzardless' and his response was simply, “should I die and leave my wife and children to suffer alone?” the taunters usually turned their backs without answering; and with few resources, they somehow managed to make their way through the ashes of
Syria, and abandoned the story of their lives and after many tribulations, and the loss of Sayid's four grandparents, found themselves in Scotland, and Radwan, being known at Glasgow's Sick Children's Hospital, where he had worked for three years early in his career, he found employment for his skills and work helped him avoid the post-traumatic enervation which so easily sucks the life out of survivors, that and their personal guilt at surviving what has crushed so many; the children quickly adapted and those of school age were enrolled in local Primary and Secondary Schools and, away from the Battle-field, blossomed; Sayid, particularly, discovered The Internet and took to it like a duck to water – it was as if he and it had been made for each other, and soon he was teaching his teachers; now a First Year pupil at Drumchapel High School, he has a sideline as The Economic Migrant, advising clients across Scotland on how best to exploit the opportunities of the internet and gain the most from it; he has hacked into Newspapers and Broadcasters, The Scottish Government, every Local Authority, Banks and other Financial Institutions; he is able to offer his clients an instant response and a 'no-fix, no-fee' guarantee which has them queueing up and always coming back for more; Teri uses his services to get deep background on everyone she meets and he has never let her down; his despatches he likes to call 'ferinstants', having rapidly absorbed the patois of his fellow pupils, with improvements of his own: in response to the question “are ye a Billy or a Dan or an Auld Tin Can” he does not reply that he is Syrian or a Muslim, he just waves his Jags Scarf and shrieks ecstatically “an Auld Tin Can” without for an instant thinking of it as a kenning, it is simply 'whit he
kens'; for he supports Partick Thistle which Teri takes as an example of his integrity; researchers for The Scotsman, The Herald, The National, The Sunday Herald, The Daily Record, The Sunday Mail and The Sunday Post use him continually as a Fact Checker; Newsnight Scotland has him on a Retainer and his charges, after covering his costs, mainly for software updates or new hardware, usually are a Donation to a Charity Supporting Refugees from Warfare (anywhere in the World) and a case of Irn Bru and a gross of Mars Bars – he supports his local dentists in ways they may not wish to know about – none of his clients has ever seen him, or know where he is, indeed Teri is the only one who knows his age or the story of his family; contact with him is by encrypted e-mail, text, Twitter or – at a push – a call to one of his burner mobiles will always get results; he bounces everything around the world, using servers in every continent, and some of the satellites which accompany us through space; and all he wants for Christmas is a Jags Strip and new Fitba' Bits and Oor Wullie and, Broons Books for his wee sisters for he has adopted this, his new Home's, more
Child-Friendly Festivals, just like his Sikh, Hindu and Jewish pals – genuine integration is so easy for children, Teri reflected, typing these words – why do we, supposed Grown-ups, make it so difficult for ourselves? and this is Theresa Somerville ending her Thought for the Day, with “Goodnight, Children, Everywhere!”
Sayid is a 12-year-old and he has a War Story – he is a Syrian boy who lives in a house in Drumchapel with his Father (Radwan), his Mother (Zeinah) and his five Sisters (Amina, Riham, Saben, Amira and Qamar); as the house has only three bedrooms, Father and Mother have one; the two eldest Sisters (Amina 16 and Riham 14) have one and the three younger Sisters (Saben 9, Amira 7, and Qamar 4) share the other; Sayid has a large cupboard under the stairs; Sayid's family were forced out of their home in the early days of the civil war in which opponents of the regime target people who they considered supporters of the Assad government – true, Sayid's father had a job, was paid by the government and lived with his family in a pleasant house: he was an orthopaedic surgeon, mending broken limbs and shattered bodies, in a State-run General Hospital, and just as Pol Pot in Cambodia targeted the intelligentsia, so the Rebels in Syria, caring nothing for the dedication Sayid's father brought to mending the lives of his fellow citizens, regardless of their religion or social status; perhaps he should only have treated Sunnis, perhaps he should have turned his back on the unfortunate patients of non-Sunni heritage; but he took his Hippocratic Oath seriously and treated his patients, young or old as he would wish his own family to be treated, by doctors and surgeons, nurses and technicians, who see only human beings in need of care and support, and who could save them; their house bombed, the hospital in which he worked destroyed, the family had no choice but to flee; some people they knew called Radwan 'Gizzardless' and his response was simply, “should I die and leave my wife and children to suffer alone?” the taunters usually turned their backs without answering; and with few resources, they somehow managed to make their way through the ashes of
Syria, and abandoned the story of their lives and after many tribulations, and the loss of Sayid's four grandparents, found themselves in Scotland, and Radwan, being known at Glasgow's Sick Children's Hospital, where he had worked for three years early in his career, he found employment for his skills and work helped him avoid the post-traumatic enervation which so easily sucks the life out of survivors, that and their personal guilt at surviving what has crushed so many; the children quickly adapted and those of school age were enrolled in local Primary and Secondary Schools and, away from the Battle-field, blossomed; Sayid, particularly, discovered The Internet and took to it like a duck to water – it was as if he and it had been made for each other, and soon he was teaching his teachers; now a First Year pupil at Drumchapel High School, he has a sideline as The Economic Migrant, advising clients across Scotland on how best to exploit the opportunities of the internet and gain the most from it; he has hacked into Newspapers and Broadcasters, The Scottish Government, every Local Authority, Banks and other Financial Institutions; he is able to offer his clients an instant response and a 'no-fix, no-fee' guarantee which has them queueing up and always coming back for more; Teri uses his services to get deep background on everyone she meets and he has never let her down; his despatches he likes to call 'ferinstants', having rapidly absorbed the patois of his fellow pupils, with improvements of his own: in response to the question “are ye a Billy or a Dan or an Auld Tin Can” he does not reply that he is Syrian or a Muslim, he just waves his Jags Scarf and shrieks ecstatically “an Auld Tin Can” without for an instant thinking of it as a kenning, it is simply 'whit he
kens'; for he supports Partick Thistle which Teri takes as an example of his integrity; researchers for The Scotsman, The Herald, The National, The Sunday Herald, The Daily Record, The Sunday Mail and The Sunday Post use him continually as a Fact Checker; Newsnight Scotland has him on a Retainer and his charges, after covering his costs, mainly for software updates or new hardware, usually are a Donation to a Charity Supporting Refugees from Warfare (anywhere in the World) and a case of Irn Bru and a gross of Mars Bars – he supports his local dentists in ways they may not wish to know about – none of his clients has ever seen him, or know where he is, indeed Teri is the only one who knows his age or the story of his family; contact with him is by encrypted e-mail, text, Twitter or – at a push – a call to one of his burner mobiles will always get results; he bounces everything around the world, using servers in every continent, and some of the satellites which accompany us through space; and all he wants for Christmas is a Jags Strip and new Fitba' Bits and Oor Wullie and, Broons Books for his wee sisters for he has adopted this, his new Home's, more
Child-Friendly Festivals, just like his Sikh, Hindu and Jewish pals – genuine integration is so easy for children, Teri reflected, typing these words – why do we, supposed Grown-ups, make it so difficult for ourselves? and this is Theresa Somerville ending her Thought for the Day, with “Goodnight, Children, Everywhere!”
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