"We've been warned of meteorites, Natural disasters, even the horns of the end of the time …..but not this…"
That's what my grandfather said watching the sky explode that night, then fall like a torrential rain of fire from an apocalyptic movie.
I was busy with my tablet this whole time; I got used to the explosions, and to my grandfather's endless rambles I barely understood... He wasn't expecting an answer from me anyway.
It felt like a festival, except nobody was celebrating, and the bursts in the sky were anything but fireworks.
Daily, the news talks about satellites and wars, and we don't know much more.
I don't completely understand what a satellite is, or what they are fighting for, only afterwards, it rains electronic parts. And now, we are the ones fighting to salvage them.
My uncle would often blame Westerners waging their wars over our heads, completely ignoring our existence. but my uncle was only an alcoholic failure; that's what my father said.
The last time blue eyed people approached the village, they took our argan trees; our livelihood, and replaced them with buildings full of strange technologies. They told us to study there rather than cultivate the land, saying it was the path to human greatness.
Seven years later, we have no argan to sustain us, and the teenagers who went to those buildings didn't learn how to farm; they make money from robberies, drugs, and dealing prohibited electronics.
And we're poorer now... That doesn't look like human greatness.
My grandfather suddenly stood, snapping me out of my thoughts. He shuffled despairingly towards the mosque; the prayer call was the only thing he still recognized:
-God is the greatest…..God is the greatest.