An intimate perpsective into muslim life.

[PHILIP SCHNEIDER]

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And a few satisfying  years after the wedding ;  

 Two Middle East muslim mothers  are sitting in a cafe chatting over a plate of tabouli and a  pint of goat's milk.      

The older of the two  pulls a small folder out of her handbag and starts flipping  through photos. They start reminiscing.

  ''This is my oldest  son, Mujibar. He would have been 24 years old  now.''       

'Yes, I remember him  as a baby.'' says the other mother cheerfully.        

"He's a martyr now  though." the mother confides.       

"Oh, so sad  dear...'' says the other.

''And this is my second son,  Khalid. He would have been 21.''        

''Oh, I remember  him,'' says the other happily, ''he had such curly hair when  he was born.''       

''He's a martyr  too...'' says the mother quietly.       

''Oh, gracious  me...'' says the other.

''And this is my third son. My  baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He would have been 18'', she  whispers.     "Yes," says the  friend enthusiastically, ''I remember when he first started  school...''        ''He's a martyr  also,'' says the mother, with tears in her eyes.

After  a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks  wistfully at the photographs and, searching for the right  words, says . . .

"They blow up so fast, don't they?"

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