Archive for May, 2014

The Basement Brothers

Posted: May 12, 2014 in MiB Hates Us All

[Beloved readers, I think that in lieu of the past couple of weeks’ events, we can come to the conclusion that Muslim people are the living embodiment of Murphy’s Law. If something is going wrong in the world, you can rest assured that there is a Muslim person involved, somehow. Major kidnapping in an African country? Yeah, it’s the Muslims. Halaal meat being sold to unwitting Brits? Muslims again. Some asshole with a bad haircut and dressed in skinny jeans left his GTI blaring ghetto music outside a mosque? Ok, I think we can chalk that one up to Indian male teenagers in general. But still, these damn Muslims, man. Like, who would condone the kidnapping and selling of innocent female students into slavery? Oh, what’s that, you say? NOT Muslims? Muslims are actually condemning the obscene acts of a power-hungry warlord that’s simply using Islam as a blanket made from the skin of scapegoats? That’s a shocker. Anyway, to address the recent events that have been occurring on our beloved cosmic rock,  I have written a satirical script about the monthly meeting of a “radical Islamist group”, very much in the vein of the movie Four Lions. I even stole one of the main character’s names. Fucking Muslims, right? Enjoy]


[Open on a dimly-lit basement. Faint voices can be heard off screen. Arabic books fill the shelves which line the musty brick walls. A Persian rug or three is placed in a corner, next to which lies a washing machine and a drying rack with several pairs of underwear drip-drying. Above the blackboard is a sign which reads “THE CAVE” in ominous lettering. Five men walk onto the screen, four of which seat themselves in a semi-circle around the obvious leader, a handsome man with a dazzling smile and unfortunately more beard than brain]


Mufti: As-salaamu-alaikum brothers, and welcome to the monthly meeting of the Five Lions group of Mujahideen Fighters. Now we have a lot to get through, so let us not dilly-dally and move on swiftly. Brother Yunus’ mother has kindly offered us chicken samoosas and Pepsi as refreshments, so please help yourselves. Brother Iqbal will be taking down the minutes. Brother Yusuf will be recording this meeting for future reference. Brot- Yusuf, what are you doing with the camera?

[A brown bearded man’s face fills the camera. He smiles.]

Yusuf: I’m taking a selfie.

Waj: That’s haraam bro.

[A loud bang followed swiftly by a high-pitched scream is heard off-screen and the camera drops suddenly. Brother Yunus has apparently shot Brother Yusuf with a pellet gun]

Mufti: Yunus, why did you shoot Yusuf?!?

Yunus: Because Brother Waj said it was haraam!

Waj: But it is haraam!

Mufti: Waj, your thought process should be haraam. And Yunus , stop shooting the brothers please. That’s the third one this month. Shooting Muslims for no reason is haraam too, you know… DON’T SHOOT YOURSELF! … Right. Onto the matters at hand. I am pleased to report that the kidnapping mission in Nigeria by our brothers in Boko Haram was a tremendous success. 274 girls have been kidnapped, some of whom have been sold as brides to men in neighbouring states.

Yusuf: Mashallah

Yunus: Alhamdullilah

Waj: Yarhamakullah

Yunus: I didn’t sneeze.

Waj: Ok, I retract my Yarhamakullah.

Iqbal: But why did we do that?

Mufti: Excuse me?

Iqbal: I don’t understand. Can you just clarify something for me?

Mufti: Sure Brother Iqbal, we all know that you’re a few rukus short of a rakaat.

[Good natured laughing all around with only four teeth being shown]

Iqbal: We are Muslims, yes?

Mufti: I would hope so.

Iqbal: And we are fighting for the cause of Islam, yes?

Mufti: Again, yes.

Iqbal: So why did we kidnap innocent girls that were simply studying and then sell them off as slave brides? Where in the Qur’an does it say that we should do that? Did the Prophet (PBUH) condone such actions? Isn’t that not allowed?


Mufti: Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Can you repeat the question?

Waj: You’re not the boss of me now!

[Everybody stares icily at Waj, who decides to help himself to a samoosa ]

Yunus: I was also wondering… If what they’re doing is so Islamic, why do they have Haram in their name?

Yusuf: Exactly! Why can’t it be Boko Halaal?

Iqbal: That’s so stupid. The holiest mosque on earth is called Masjidul-Haraam, you know.

Yunus: Maybe it’s a Western plot.

Iqbal: Your mother is a Western plot.

Mufti: Brothers! Enough with this foolishness. Brother Iqbal, the reason for our Boko brothers kidnapping the girls is a simple one. These imprudent girls are being indoctrinated with the perilsof Western education and this must be stopped! How can we have womenfolk becoming doctors and lawyers and business executives?!? Every Muslim man worth his Menk knows that women that study and work become home-breakers instead of home-makers. This Malala nonsense must stop.

Iqbal: But then why did they sell off the girls? Why not keep them and teach them Islamic values…?

Mufti [mumbling]: The brothers at Boko are in tough financial times… donations have ceased ever since Brother Osama, you know…

Waj: More like Broko Haram

Yunus: Have you seen the way the West has reacted though? They think that this hashtag Bring Back Our Girls bullshit will actually amount to action.

Yusuf: We’re the new Kony 2012!

Yunus: LOL!

Mufti [eyebrows raised]: LOL?

Yunus [mumbling]: Labbaik Out Loud, I mean.

Waj: I find it very odd and rather hypocritical that Michelle Obama can put on a sad face and tell the world to “bring back our girls” when her own husband is ordering the death of women and children by drone in Afghanistan and Yemen

Mufti: That’s a very profound thought, Waj.

Waj: Thank you. I found it on Instagram.

Mufti: Speaking of Haraam and Halaal, have any of you been following the situation with the Halaal meat in the UK?

Yusuf: You mean where the infidels are having a hissy fit over being served Halaal meat?

Iqbal: I’m surprised that they care whether their chicken is halaal. Most British people don’t care whether their chicken is chicken.

Yunus: Apparently they think that eating Halaal meat automatically turns you into a Muslim

Iqbal: I had chicken tikka for lunch and now I’m a “fidel”.

Yusuf: I spread some Halaal mince on my toast, now I want to spread Islam by the sword!

Yunus: HA-LOL!

Iqbal: Last night I had a falafel and this morning I woke up with a beard and four wives!

Waj [confused]: But then why don’t I have four wives yet?

[stunned silence as everybody stares at Waj]

[Waj stares back, then helps himself to another samoosa]

Mufti: Right… before we conclude, does anyone have any last thoughts or comments that they would like to share?

Waj: I do.

[sighs all around]

Waj: I don’t understand why we’re doing what we’re doing. Boko Haram is saying that what they’re doing is in the name of Islam, right? And the West is saying the same thing. But kidnapping girls and selling them is not very Islamic, as far as I know. Yet, both sides are using Islam as a kind of… what’s the word, it’s something to do with a goat. [Scapegoat?] That’s right! Scapegoat. Boko Haram is saying that what they’re doing is Islamic because it’s an excuse to gain support from impressionable and impoverished young men. The West is saying that it’s Islamic because Muslims are the new Soviets and it’s good to have a common enemy to unite the masses against. The only people that are saying that it’s un-Islamic are actual everyday Muslims. Because it is. And with this whole Halaal meat thingy – it’s got nothing to do with animal welfare or animal rights. It’s blatant fear-mongering and Islamophobia, to again set the xylophonic [xenophobic, the word you’re looking for is xenophobic] masses against Muslims using the so-called “Islamization of Europe” argument. But the only people that really suffer are Muslims just trying to live their lives, day to day. It’s just very sad, you know.

Mufti [dismissively]: Another poignant thought from Brother Waj. Instagram again?

Waj: Tumblr this time.

Mufti: Mashallah. That concludes this meeting. Thank you all for coming. I think we should all thank Brother Yunus’ mother for the lovely samoosas on the way up. As-salaamu-alaikum.


[If you want to condemn me as Haraam, you can do so on Twitter @MibHatesUsAll. Also, I’ve set up a Facebook page which you can “like” to stay updated and also donate to my ego.  Finally, my best friend has also started a blog, the literary awesomeness of which I can personally endorse – check it out at Peace out] 



[Beloved readers! What’s up my nig-nogs? Is it all good in da hoo – fuck, I can’t do this. I’ll leave the Indian ghetto schtick to Kevin Gnapoor and the cast of Slumdog Millionaire, namean? Anyway, listen up yo: the WITS Palestinian Solidarity Committee is hosting a social meeting next week surrounding the topic of Leila Khaled and whether she should be revered as a freedom fighter or condemned as a terrorist. For those uncultured heathens that have no idea who Leila Khaled is or what she did, pull through to the event – the gory details are at the end of this rap-poem that I wrote on the topic. Where’s my snare?]


[Leila in the Sky with Dynamite]

Her palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy

“Bismillah” she whispers, “God, I’m ready”

She stands up, gazes round at all of their faces

At all of the people that all have their places –

Their countries and cities and houses and homes

A birthplace with no gates they can call their very own

She swallows, determined – enough with the grieving

The time for bereaving and seething and thieving

Is over! It’s time now for action; for reaping

The seeds sown and watered by decades of weeping

So Leila, possessed with the love of her land

Skyjacks a plane in Majnoon now and

Suddenly! She’s the symbol of desperate madness

Borne of desolate sadness; fucking hell, she’s a badass

Now on to Damascus, with the world watching, engrossed

And as they fly over Haifa, she whispers, my home


[Bibi and his Boy]

He’s calm, relaxed, alone, untaxed

In his palm, a pen, a phone perhaps

In front of him prayers and papers and maps

Of the Holy Land, no longer whole but in scraps

His thoughts spin and swirl as he tries to surmise

Rocks, tanks, guns, ranks, lives, lies, walls, spies

A boy bursts in; “Abba!” he cries

With a smile that spreads from his heart to his eyes

And love and affection and pride undisguised

He embraces his father who, with a shrug and a sigh

Decides to bring his good day of work to an end

But before he walks out with his son hand in hand

He turns, and with a final swish of his pen

Ten thousand children will be homeless, again



[A Life for an “i”]

His body’s bleeding, mind screaming, soul is seeping

Khaled Al-Masri is in misery unceasing

“My name is Khaled Al-Masri and I’m innocent”

“Your name is Khalid alright, and you’re militant”

Arrested in the dead of night with no charge

They silenced him worse than any woman did Raj

Through torture and terror at the secret Salt Pit

They came to the answer “Shit, he’s legit”

“So what?” said the CIA – we had a hunch

He’s Muslim, he’s brown, he had falafel for lunch

So we stripped him and whipped him and ripped him a new one

And shipped him and dripped him when he struck out in hun-

-ger, and then when we realized “Oops, we were wrong”

We shunted and punted him to where he belongs

And when he cried out for justice and dignity lost

We said “Fuck that shit, it’s not worth the cost”

But it’s all for your own protection, you see?

Imagine if he was what we had thought him to be?

Fuck a hand for a hand, this is a life for an “i”

Turns out: to lose your life, you don’t have to die.


[Border X-ing]

He’s disinterested, disjected, disillusioned and bored

And all of those other lovely “dis-“ words

Not much to do at the post down by the Wall

‘Til Lady P comes along, wrapped in her red-and-white shawl

“Finally, fun” he thinks. “Strip down!” he says

With a leer in his eyes and a sneer on his face

She refuses, of course. And in her strong steady gaze

He sees fury and hatred and total defiance

Sheer triumph replaces the fright in her eyes and

now he’s fearful and nervous, this lost son of Zion

A gunshot

A bloodspot

A teardrop


It’s over. He showed her. Though not as he planned.

He’s shaken, awakened, mistaken. Alas, and

In the now vacant slain palm of her hand,

He places a gun, as her blood stains the sand.



Where’s the humanity,

Where is the sanity,

Where the fuck is our excuse for inanity

How can we sit here and like this and tweet

And write blogs and right wrongs with our ass in our seat

Discussing, discoursing, doped up on debate

Where is our anger? Where is our hate?

In this age of fear-mongering with its mirrors and smoke

It’s easy to find yourself blindsided and choke

Dear comrades and fighters, I leave you with this

Was Leila the terrorized or the terrorist?


[So there you have it – MC Em-Eye-Bee’s second venture into the world of rap (I’m still working on my badass hip-hop alter-ego title-izzle, as you can see). The aforementioned gory details for the Leila Khaled social meeting are as follows: Tuesday 6th May, 1:15pm to 2:15pm, South West Engineering Atrium, WITS University, Third Cosmic Sphere from the Sun. Turn up. Tune in. Be there or be square and all that jazz. I never really got how calling someone a four-sided polygon was an insult instead of say, an asswank – apparently people really have something against the poor squares, but that’s another anti-oppressive cause for another day. Follow me on Twitter @MibHatesUsAll or @WitsPSC1 for more info. Refreshments will be served too, so now you really don’t have an excuse to not pitch. Peace out yo]