"I wouldn't trust him. I mean, I'd trust him enough ask him for directions to his father's grave, but instead," the sarong-clad old man sneered grotesquely. "I won't offer flowers or sprinkle holy water on it like good Muslims do over here. I'll just unzip my pants, take my dirty junior out and bless the grave with a few streams of my own holy water!" He laughed like a maniac. "And I'll make sure I’ve drunk till my bladder's full!"
"That's how much we respect our politicians!" said another cackling addlebrain. "They don't bother about us, only make lots of promises come election time."
They old men were chatting in a coffeeshop, a favourite pastime in Masab at-Teen just as it was in the rest of Yamalasi. Coffeeshops were the lifeblood of the social fabric of Yamalasi and were thus a have
