Uboo Feherd arrived on his post second world war motorbike wearing his oil stained dungarees. Fawaz looked so prissy sitting behind him with his straight back, suit, tie and black shiny leather shoes.
There was no hugging or kissing as he was not one to show physical signs of affection in public. He listened to my story and I could see he was very upset, yet he knew he couldn't do anything about our predicament at that present moment, because of the position his cousin held in his profession and as the problem hadn't escalated due to my timely actions, there was no recourse except retreat and getting on with our lives.
Fawaz reassured me that we were safe and promised that nothing like that would ever happen to us again and it never did. He made plans for our next course of action, as I refused to leave Skelbieh and the safety it afforded the children and I.
We slept at Esser's home in their visitors' living room, on a double bed that was used as a lounge by day and a bed by night. We were protected from the summer mosquitoes by a flimsy net. As we lay sound asleep, an enemy that couldn't be seen, heard, but felt, gave the four of us a rude awakening. Azzam started to cry and I couldn't stop itching. There we were, trapped under our net and being attacked by a swarm of minuscule flying insects that were relentless in their pursuit of our blood. We changed into long sleeved pyjamas, covered ourselves from head to toe with a blanket and still they managed to infiltrate our defenses. It was the most painful and mentally exhausting so-called sleep that I had ever experienced.

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