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Sheikh Ibrahim

12/3/2025

The market was alive with colors, shouts and aromas. Matt followed his boss past rows of vendors hawking their wares and haggling with customers. The Chaplain peeked over his shoulder to ensure the young man was still tracking.

“Big guy! I am so pleased to see you today!” The young man wore a white t-shirt with a green smiley face featuring Arabic script as teeth. The sanafil wrapped around his waist and legs bore stripes of the same shade of green. It reminded Matt of the toothpaste he hadn’t chosen.

“Peace be upon you, Daoud. It is a blessing to be seen.” Matt slowed his steps to exchange an Afari pleasantry with the souk merchant. “Please accept my apologies. We have an appointment. I promise to visit you on the way back.”

“No, no, don’t let me hold you back. I seek only to offer this new curiosity.” He held up a knobby rubber ball about the size of an apple. It was clear, featuring golden, silver and multicolored glitter that reflected the light of some embedded LEDs. “I just got these, and I thought of you.”

That brought a grin to the Chaplain’s face as he turned back to collect his assistant. “Is that so? Forgive me for interrupting, but why does this remind you of the big guy?”

“I know, Ustaaz, I feel deeply in my heart that this will delight his son.”

“I’m sure it would, Daoud, but I don’t have a son.” He gave Father Melrose a pleading expression to help him escape this exchange gracefully.

The vendor laughed heartily. “No son?” He smiled at the Chaplain. “Such a sturdy guy must have a dozen wives and a hundred sons before God calls him away. Right?”

The Chaplain nodded. “Of that, I have no doubt. As he said, we shall return this way after our appointment. Adeer Ibrahim is brewing coffee as we speak.”

Daoud grinned as he juggled the sparkling ball from hand to hand. “A mere hundred francs will save you the trip.”

“But that would deprive me of the pleasure of your company and a chance to properly browse your goods, Brother Daoud. We’ll be back.” Matt said, backing away as a signal to the Chaplain.

Daoud looked crestfallen as he plopped the squishy ball onto a pile of sandals.

“I hate to run off like that, but we shouldn’t keep your guy waiting.” Matt kept pace with his boss.

“A hundred francs seems kind of steep, Matt.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint my sons. I hope he doesn’t expect me to buy one for all hundred of them.”

“Pretty good chance he just got a shipment of a hundred of them.”

“Yeah, but he’s a nice guy. I think I’ll pick one up and send it home with a tag saying not to unwrap it until I’ve got a son.”

“It’s not unusual for children to confound and confuse their parents, but it’s unkind to do it on purpose. We’ll just put that on the short list for Friday’s confession.”

“Yes, sir. Is this the place? Fancy door.”

“It is and it is. Look, if you think Daoud poured on the charm, just wait to see how an actual Omani sheikh rolls.”

“I haven’t figured out Arabic script yet, sir. Any idea what his shirt said?”

“Al-hamdu lillah.”

“The praise to God. Nice. I wonder if he’s got one in my size.”

“Okay, Pyle, put your congressional delegation face on and don’t speak until he blesses you.”

“Yes, sir.” He followed the chaplain through the ornately painted archway to a door and waited.

A young man in a toe-length brown dishdasha opened the wicket door for them. His ivory silk skullcap was embroidered in the same color as his gown. “Just this way, please.”

The Marines followed him into al-Dihlīz, a modest anteroom with a simple tiled floor and whitewashed walls. A rustic bench ran the length of the wall, and a shoe rack stood perpendicular to the bench on the far wall. Matt looked down.

“No need, sir. His Eminence understands your customs and regulations. Merely brush the dust from your soles on the carpet before we enter the Diwan.” He stepped on the goat hair and palm mat to demonstrate before opening the enormous door for them.

The Diwan was a pristine cavern of white with gold embellishments. The floor tile bore a complex geometric border and a mosaic of abstract forms that resolved into a semblance of birds and flowers. Matt was trying to drink in the scene to describe to his folks when he spoke with them next.

Tap.

The Marines, already at attention, tightened their posture and waited for their host to appear.

Tap. Tap.

The sound of a cane tapping the floor was followed by the shuffle of house slippers across the ornate tile tableau. At last, the sound was accompanied by pretty much what Matt had imagined, but not actually expected.

Ibrahim looked like he might have been around to sell supplies to Abraham and Lot. His ankle-length cream dishdasha ensured he didn’t trip. Matt figured if the old guy fell, he’d probably shatter. The trader’s slow, painful steps brought him into full view. The long gown was girded with a sash of red so deep it was practically dark chocolate. In the sash, a traditional curved khanjar dagger with gold fittings. The pommel was crusted with tiny gemstones and pearls. He wore an ornate brown silk turban with gold embroidery and dangling pearls on his wizened head. His face said Yoda, but his beard said Prophet Elijah.

The walking staff was no mere stick. It was carved to spiral like the horn of an ibex. Matt feared that if he dropped it, the thing might turn into a snake and hiss at them. They waited breathlessly for him to square up with them.

He leaned on his rod, holding himself up with both hands. His coppery hazel eyes studied them for a small eternity before he smiled. “Hey, Ted, it’s been too long. Come on in here with me. The coffee is all ready.”

“I can smell it from here, Eminence.” The major said.

The trader scoffed. “Eminence is for Faisal and the rest of the staff. Can’t give them an inch or the whole place turns into a sty. Young man, may I have the pleasure of your name?”

“Corporal Matthew Stephen Jozsa, sir.”

“From?”

“Laurel Ridge in Pennswald, sir.”

Ibrahim sighed, “Kid, that sounds absolutely heavenly. A ridge covered in laurel brush within William Penn’s forest? It sounds as exotic to me as the Arabian Nights doubtless do to you.”

“Agreed, sir. I never gave it that much thought, but it is every bit as lovely as it sounds.”

“Delightful! I’m happy to hear it isn’t some run-down strip mall of a place.” He shuffled through to the majlis. “Since we’re sharing names, allow me to unfurl my own esteemed lineage for you. I am Sheikh Ibrahim ibn Tāriq al-Dhāhirī al-Djībūtī, at your service.”

“Matthew Stephen, son of Gabriel Jozsa, lately of Laurel Ridge, at your service, sir.”

Ibrahim tapped his cane merrily on the sumptuous rug. “Well done, kid. Grow a nice beard and a couple dozen kids, and we’ll make a sheikh out of you, too.”

“Thank you, sir. Making kids is probably easier than affording them.”

“Ah, Ted, this kid’s a hoot.” Ibrahim laughed as he took the seat of honor and waved for the Marines to sit. “You absolutely made my day, Matt. I’m very pleased to have met you. Take a seat, both of you.” He winced and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position. “Yousef! Serve it while it’s still hot. Kids today…”

The young man appeared with a polished brass tray containing an ornate coffee pot, a stack of cups and three bowls filled with honeyed almonds. He knelt, balancing the tray on his raised knee as he took a delicate cup from the stack with his left hand and poured from the long-spouted dallah kettle.

Ibrahim accepted the cup from his nephew and took the first sip. “I would say you went overboard with the cardamom, but one can never have too much cardamom.”

The whole ceremony struck Matt as incomprehensibly medieval, but he did his best to follow along. Ibrahim nodded in approval, so he figured he was doing alright. Before long, Yousef departed with the tray.

“So, Father Melrose tells me you’re looking to put together the full Magi package for your family back home. Al-hamdu lillah! You’ve come to the right place. How much do you need?”

“Well, sir, I figured on something for my parents, our church, my grandparents, uncles and aunts on both sides. Depending on the price, I might give some to cousins as well.”

“I see. What sort of budget did you have in mind?”

“I thought maybe a hundred dollars, all told, but I can go as high as five hundred if need be. I’ll leave it to you to figure out what’s best.”

“Generosity like that makes my heart absolutely blossom. Such a blessing inspires me to offer a discount.” He winced and shifted on his cushion.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Punishment from my ancestors for saying the d-word. Just the same, this faith you put in me is like prayers raining down from Heaven. How many do you need?”

“If we can keep it all under five hundred, I’d like to have twenty. That covers all the cousins and one left over for me.”

Ibrahim laughed and shifted on his cushion in search of comfort. “A Christmas present to yourself? Very American. I approve. This is good. For two hundred American dollars, it shall be done. A blessing for you, your family and your church. This pleases me.”

Matt donned his cover as they stepped out of Ibrahim’s stealth palace. “Sir, I’m going to go haggle with Daoud a minute. I appreciate your setting up that introduction. That’s going to be a real jaw-dropper of a Christmas present, I think.”

“Agreed, Corporal. I wouldn’t be surprised if subsequent units got the not-Matt markup. I could see his little wheels turning. I believe you just started an entire market vertical for our friend in there.”

“Oorah! American ingenuity making the world a better place, sir. I’ll see you back on base.” He headed back to the souk vendor’s stand while the Chaplain hailed a passing Humvee.

“My friend, you have returned.” Daoud smiled as he grabbed the gooey ball and tossed it from hand to hand. “Only one hundred fifty francs for this joyful gift.”

“I thought you said one hundred.”

“You must grasp at opportunities when they come your way. This is… intrepid. Right? That’s what you Marines are all about.”

“You’re not wrong, brother.” Matt smirked at him as he scanned the rest of the stand. “Tell me.”

“Anything, brother.”

“How much for the ball if I buy that shirt? Do you have it in large?”

“Of course! I set one back for you, but I didn’t think you’d buy something you can’t read.”

“My superior told me what it says, al-hamdu lillah. Praise to God is definitely something I could see myself wearing. That and the ball.”

“For you, big guy, one hundred sixty francs. That is a discount on both, um, package deal. Right?”

Matt fished out some bills. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you. Come back very soon.” He stuffed the money into his belt pouch as the young Marine departed. “Bet he’d be really mad if he knew how much I marked that stuff up.” His phone buzzed in the holster. He reached down to fish it out as he kept an eye out for thieves. Daoud smiled to open the phone. “What now?” He scanned the message notifications and clicked on the alert for YoWut. “Filthy, murdering Faransi.”

He clutched the phone like a brick he wanted to throw through a window.

“You saw it, too?” Farouk, the neighboring merchant, grumbled. “Outrage upon outrage.”

“Somebody needs to do something.” Daoud jammed the phone into its holster.

“They will. I promise you, Daoud.” Farouk snarled. “This will not go unanswered.”