We lost our religion, our culture, our God. And many of us, by the way we act, we even lost our minds. Khalid Abdul Muhammad sampled, and then with a ‘Here it is: Bammm!’ Chuck D in black, the serious, unstoppable, pile-driving voice, slamming the words home with a wheeling and battling arm. Pure anger. Skipping and hopping past him, the funny man Flavor Flav, in white, floppy at the waist, pulling faces to show off his gold incisors. Pointing to the swinging clock hung from his neck, big and round enough to hide his chest. Calling once again, ‘Gotta let dem know what time it is, boyyeeee.’ Nothing but entertainment. The backdrop to both: the Security of the First World patrolling the stage in light camouflage and red berets, doing a tiny-step shuffle and a military scowl. And at the sides of the stage, a big, big sound system. The speakers Carnival sized, but this was inside, the noise walled in and echoing upon itself. Sami was remembering this as he found his way to his (still, officially) brother-in-law’s underground mosque.
