Chapter Thirteen
I took refuge in f*******: every time I returned to Paris from Sana’a. I wallowed on the site, searching for every word Ama al-Rahman and her fake identities wrote. I browsed the pages of her army of fellow Salafis and followers, her insane husband, and his father the fanatical Yemeni imam. All the tentacles of their obscurantist networks.
Just like her, I created a f*******: account under a fake name: mine was Mushtaq Abd al-Bari (al-Ramdani.) I had added ‘al-Ramdani’ in the hope that it would seem more like a real name.
I tried to add Ama al-Rahman and Jihad Abdul Haq as friends. Neither accepted me. Maybe because they each had five thousand f*******: friends (mufaysbookeen, as they say in Yemen: Facebookites), which was the maximum. So I became just one more of Ama a
