Saturday, April 02, 2005

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Some weeks ago I was walking through a residential area in a Copenhagen suburb, known for it's high concentration of young second-generation immigrants. As I approached a group of three young men fitting this description I honestly feared getting mugged as they were all acting in a very loud and agitated way.
When I came closer one of them asked me for a light and I streched out my hands in a gesture of abandonment not typical of Denmark but frequently used in the more southern parts of the world, and replied "Sorry, but I don't smoke" the young man lamented the inconvenience and returned to his beeping cell phone (which of course had an Arab song as a ring tone)

Some weeks ago I was visiting a friend who lives in a block which has an increasing problem with marihuana-clubs run by young second-generation immigrants.
As I approached the gate to his yard, a young second-generation immigrant was stepping out of a car you would consider way to expensive for a man of his age, while participating in an agitated discussion with several other people in the car.
As I was pulling a bicycle along with me the young man offered to open and hold the gate for me and I of course replied with a "thanks a lot".

Yesterday I went to the local shop on the corner which is run by a whole family of immigrants, mainly the old man who must be their father. The oldest son has been away for many months and the last time I saw him he was very thin and generally in a bad shape, it looked like heroine addiction or maybe AIDS had gotten to him.
His older brother died years ago in a car crash, and what I believe is the youngest brother also has no problem walking in their footsteps.
Since I've been coming to this shop for ten years I can buy stuff at bargain prices and enjoy some level of acceptance from these people who take turns at the shop to keep it open twelve hours a day with the local junkies and alcoholics as their main clientele.
The oldest brother was standing outside the shop, but now in much better shape, he had put on some weight, looked healthy and was sharing a joint with a friend.
Showing that his recovery pleased me I waved at him and he smiled back and wished me a pleasant weekend.

Oh, those dirty rotten Arabs and their slimy, sneaky ways.
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