Paranoia ✓

X: Rashad - Diaspora (Part 1)

Before contributing to the common good, Rashad had to familiarize himself with the common society first.

"Where are we going?" Rashad asked his proposed uncle Jaheim.

Jaheim, dressed up in his sandy-brown hooded robe, guided Rashad out of the shadowy tent and back into the sunlight. "A boy wishing to become a soldier must first understand what it is he is fighting for."

Rashad paused to think, but I don't want to be a soldier. I just want to live peacefully away from the chaos.

Jaheim already knew how Rashad felt and assured him. "You will see after our tour why you will choose to fight. Peace must be seized, it is never handed freely."

Rashad was still resolved that he would not elect to fight for anyone. He will not turn into the murderers who killed his mother and sister. He was above them.

Jaheim began his tour with a general overview. "They call us the Cliff Dwellers. It was meant to ridicule us, but we have embraced the stereotype. The day we let Westerners' heckling get to us will be the day we have lost strength."

Rashad studied the environment simultaneously while Jaheim lectured on the overview of the Kabish. They had left the town of tents and entered into an area of the village with open fields for various purposes. On one field he found children and teens playing soccer with a nearly deflated brown ball. Four rocks served as goals on opposite sides of the field. He heard laughter and yelling emanating from the soccer field.

Jaheim pointed to the soccer field and the children playing soccer and noted, "These kids have lost family too, yet they still find something to smile about. You can and will learn from them."

Rashad ignored the comment, wondering if it was a slight against his fortitude to resist violence or a genuine certainty that he will come around. Rashad shifted his attention and cued in on multiple shouts chanted in unison like a triumphant anthem. As Jaheim led Rashad past the soccer field and towards the sound, he spotted multiple young men and even some woman, training in an enclosed lot decorated with obstacle courses and equipment. Men were jogging rigorously in place with sacks of sand wrapped around their necks that weighed them down. The heavy sacks rested against their forearms as they continued to jog in place. Meanwhile, young women, clothed in their formal niqabs were practicing close-quarters-combat (CQC) with other females. The women were fighting with knives and easily deflecting attacks from their counterparts—and the knives were not fake or dull but keen enough to slice the sunlight with its tip.

Rashad was surprised to see the women fighting and the men training, until Jaheim informed him. "Women are amongst our best and rarest soldiers. The Westerners forbid women to fight. [5] They attack us for mistreating women. Yet we understand how valuable a woman, as a warrior, can be to contribute towards the common good."

Rashad continued to study the soldiers' training. It was true that the women were graceful yet rare. There were so few of them, yet the few that were there fought with such dexterity and flexibility. Their black, full body niqabs did not impede their attacks or their strikes. They were like shadows moving with the wind.

Rashad wanted to know what were some of the tasks the women conducted. Luckily, Jaheim was just about to talk about that. "The men undergo similar training as the females. Right now you are watching some of our advanced females training with many of the newer men. So don't let that trick you. The men will undergo similar training as the women you see here, only the skillful fighting will look less like a dance and more rugged."

After Jaheim pointed out the notion of the women dancing, Rashad could definitely see the picture. The women moved so gracefully with their gowns. What would be seen as an impediment to most, defined the unique style of combat each female had. Some used their niqabs to tie their opponents' hands into a knot. Others didn't let any part of the weapon graze their gowns. Each fighting style was unique, but they were all fierce.