After we had been living in Algeria for a couple of years, I
had to renew my Residency and so my husband gathered all the necessary papers
together and handed them in to the appropriate police station. He was abroad when my card was due to be
picked up so I had to go to the police station myself along with my eldest
daughter, Sarah and my youngest son who was only about 5 at the time. My husband had made friends with the
policeman who was responsible for the foreigner’s Residency applications,
Mohammed, so although I felt a bit nervous having to get it myself, I knew he
would know that I didn’t speak the language.
He was so nice and so kind, and chatted away with my son who
asked him if he had a gun, and could he see it.
So, Mohammed went to his locker, took out his service gun and, without
leaving go of it, let my son touch it.
All my son’s Eids came together at this moment – for hours afterwards he
was so amazed that he had touched a real gun and kept playing the moment over
and over again.
As we left the police station with my Residency Card in my
grubby fist, I said to my daughter ‘that’s something else I can do on my own…..if
anything happened to your father, and I had to live here on my own without him’. To which she replied ‘you do know you sound
like you’re planning to kill him….if anyone overheard you, and he keeled over
dead tomorrow, you’d be the only suspect in his death!’ But Mohammed 'The Policeman', whom we had to
deal with several times afterwards until he was moved from this position, was
always calm and helpful and without fail, cheerful. He became a good family friend, and to me he, unwittingly, gave me a sense of security as a
foreigner and a stranger without any family of my own, in this country I had
adopted as my home.
So it came as a huge shock when my husband received a call
last Tuesday morning to say that he had died suddenly the night before. He was only in his 30s and he had gone to his
bedroom after Isha prayer having eaten dinner with his mother, and fallen flat on his
face on the floor. When they turned him
over he was saying his shahadah with his forefinger up, and complained of pains
in his left arm and chest. He died in
the hospital soon after. He left behind
a young wife, 2 sons, 5 and 8 years old, and he also supported his mother, 2
sisters and his brother. Incidentally he
had lost his own father when he was 5 years old. My husband said it was a moving sight to see
so many policemen crying at his funeral.
There are some people in this world who touch your life in a
meaningful way and who leave an indelible mark on your heart, and Mohammed was
such a man. May Allah forgive him all
his sins, make his grave wide and spacious and grant him Firdous, and may his
two sons grow up on the Straight Path always and be the righteous sons of whom
he would be proud.