Two Arab mothers are sitting in a cafe shop chatting over a pint of
warm goat’s milk. The older of the mothers pulls her bag out and
starts flipping through pictures and they start reminiscing.
"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He’s 24 years old ".
“Yes, I remember him as a baby” says the other mother cheerfully.
“He’s a martyr now though” mum confides.
“Oh, so sad dear” says the other.
“And this is my second son Kalid. He’s 21”
“Oh, I remember him,” says the other happily, “he had such curly hair
when he was born”.
“He’s a martyr too” says mum quietly.
“Oh gracious me”, says the other.
“And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He’s 18”, she
“Yes” says the friend enthusiastically, “I remember when he first
“He’s a martyr also,” says mum, with tears in her eyes.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second mother looks wistfully at
the photographs and says …
“They blow up so fast, don’t they?”