“... Ever since we moved into Al-Fakhriya, my father has treated people as if he were a victorious conqueror, not a new resident. He built a mosque, changed the names of streets, and even interfered with the moods of passersby and the signs of shop ...
“... Ever since we moved into Al-Fakhriya, my father has treated people as if he were a victorious conqueror, not a new resident. He built a mosque, changed the names of streets, and even interfered with the moods of passersby and the signs of shops. The owner of the laundry next door had to incur additional expenses to change the drain pipe that was dripping into the street after he scolded him several times and threatened to close the shop. The Yemeni shop owner did not know my father, so he imagined that he really had the power, so he gave in to his demands, even though he rarely passed that side of the sidewalk. When he did one day, the Indian salesman in the neighboring grocery store would jump up from his seat to offer him pieces of candy and fruit, which my father would take from him with contempt and throw into the lap of the beggar who had inhabited a valuable corner of the neighborhood for years...”
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