the Middle East. His reporting had earned him tremendous respect not only in the United States but also abroad, where the U.S. journalism community didn’t have the type of cachet it once had.
Not everyone, however, was crazy about how Mo covered the Middle East. Mo had been quick to praise the post-9/11 Administration for taking on Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda, but he also criticized the Administration for using the tremendous upsurge in patriotism, bipartisanship and volunteerism to drive through a narrow right-wing agenda. He condemned the Muslim extremism that had become rooted in the educational systems and left much of the Muslim world in a backward state regarding technology and science. He also criticized religious leaders, pseudo intellectuals and educators in the Middle East who used their power, positions and oil wealth to spread an intolerant brand of Islam.
Matt’s call to Mo’s cell phone went straight to voice mail so he assumed that Mo was travelling. Since Matt was growing frustrated, not to mention hungry, he decided he would head over to Mo’s parents’ restaurant in Ft.Lauderdale. He wasn’t likely to catch his old friend there but he could get an update on his whereabouts not to mention a good meal. Matt grabbed his keys and headed out.
There were no customers in the restaurant when Matt arrived. Mo’s little sister Mina was inside with her back to the entrance as she set the tables. Mo’s father was standing in front of the cash register counting money. A bell chimed when Matt walked through the front door. Mina turned around to deliver a greeting to the new customer. Her father closed the register and looked up. Matt watched as the standard issue welcome for potential customers was replaced with looks of surprise, then happiness to see him and then something else.
“Oh, Matt,” Mina cried dropping the silverware that was in her hands on to the table. She ran across the room and straight into his arms.
“Hey, Mina,” Matt said down at the head pressed firmly against his chest. This was not a typical greeting from the painfully shy Mina. He tried to step back, but her arms were wound tightly around his waist, her face buried in the front of his shirt.
“What’s going on, Mina? I haven’t been gone that long,” he joked weakly as he awkwardly patted her back. He couldn’t see her face, but from behind the curtain of thick black hair it sounded like she was crying.
He looked up at Mr. Al-Ahmed. The sorrow in the man’s eyes blindsided Matt, and he was suddenly overcome with dread.
Mr. Al-Ahmed put the “Closed” sign on the door as Mina led Matt to a table in the back corner. After getting him settled, Mina went to the kitchen. She soon returned with a pot of tea and four cups. After she was done pouring the hot tea, she sat down next to her father. As she settled in, her father reached over and covered her hand with his own. Mrs. Al-Ahmed came out from the back wiping her hands on the apron tied to her waist. She hugged Matt warmly and then sat down beside her husband.
“For the last several months, Mohammed has been traveling back and forth between Syria and Egypt,” Mr. Al-Ahmed began.
He spoke slowly and with a slight accent. “We received word from him regularly -- phone calls or email messages. Every day, we watched the newscasts of the violence over there and feared the worst. On those days when we hadn’t heard from Mohammed, we worried he had been injured -- or worse. But he always kept in touch.”
He paused to catch his breath, and Mrs. Al-Ahmed reached out and touched her husband’s hand.
“Last month,” Mo’s father continued, “he called to say he was returning to the States. This time, he was going to stay for a while.”
“We were so happy,” Mrs. Al-Ahmed quietly interrupted, looking over at her husband before she continued. “We hadn’t seen him in so long.”
“He was returning through Jordan,” Mo’s father continued. “He was going to
Not everyone, however, was crazy about how Mo covered the Middle East. Mo had been quick to praise the post-9/11 Administration for taking on Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda, but he also criticized the Administration for using the tremendous upsurge in patriotism, bipartisanship and volunteerism to drive through a narrow right-wing agenda. He condemned the Muslim extremism that had become rooted in the educational systems and left much of the Muslim world in a backward state regarding technology and science. He also criticized religious leaders, pseudo intellectuals and educators in the Middle East who used their power, positions and oil wealth to spread an intolerant brand of Islam.
Matt’s call to Mo’s cell phone went straight to voice mail so he assumed that Mo was travelling. Since Matt was growing frustrated, not to mention hungry, he decided he would head over to Mo’s parents’ restaurant in Ft.Lauderdale. He wasn’t likely to catch his old friend there but he could get an update on his whereabouts not to mention a good meal. Matt grabbed his keys and headed out.
There were no customers in the restaurant when Matt arrived. Mo’s little sister Mina was inside with her back to the entrance as she set the tables. Mo’s father was standing in front of the cash register counting money. A bell chimed when Matt walked through the front door. Mina turned around to deliver a greeting to the new customer. Her father closed the register and looked up. Matt watched as the standard issue welcome for potential customers was replaced with looks of surprise, then happiness to see him and then something else.
“Oh, Matt,” Mina cried dropping the silverware that was in her hands on to the table. She ran across the room and straight into his arms.
“Hey, Mina,” Matt said down at the head pressed firmly against his chest. This was not a typical greeting from the painfully shy Mina. He tried to step back, but her arms were wound tightly around his waist, her face buried in the front of his shirt.
“What’s going on, Mina? I haven’t been gone that long,” he joked weakly as he awkwardly patted her back. He couldn’t see her face, but from behind the curtain of thick black hair it sounded like she was crying.
He looked up at Mr. Al-Ahmed. The sorrow in the man’s eyes blindsided Matt, and he was suddenly overcome with dread.
Mr. Al-Ahmed put the “Closed” sign on the door as Mina led Matt to a table in the back corner. After getting him settled, Mina went to the kitchen. She soon returned with a pot of tea and four cups. After she was done pouring the hot tea, she sat down next to her father. As she settled in, her father reached over and covered her hand with his own. Mrs. Al-Ahmed came out from the back wiping her hands on the apron tied to her waist. She hugged Matt warmly and then sat down beside her husband.
“For the last several months, Mohammed has been traveling back and forth between Syria and Egypt,” Mr. Al-Ahmed began.
He spoke slowly and with a slight accent. “We received word from him regularly -- phone calls or email messages. Every day, we watched the newscasts of the violence over there and feared the worst. On those days when we hadn’t heard from Mohammed, we worried he had been injured -- or worse. But he always kept in touch.”
He paused to catch his breath, and Mrs. Al-Ahmed reached out and touched her husband’s hand.
“Last month,” Mo’s father continued, “he called to say he was returning to the States. This time, he was going to stay for a while.”
“We were so happy,” Mrs. Al-Ahmed quietly interrupted, looking over at her husband before she continued. “We hadn’t seen him in so long.”
“He was returning through Jordan,” Mo’s father continued. “He was going to
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