The antisemite who came to tea
Enough is enough
April 21st, Wimbledon Village
“I am Kemi” Kemi says as she looks in the mirror. “Mr Speaker. I am here to renew the Conservative Party, Mr Speaker. The Prime Minister, Mr Speaker. The Prime Minister is playing like a glass cannon DPS, when we need a main tank holding aggro, Mr Speaker. Because right now this raid is on the verge of a wipe.”
The sound of insistent knocking filters up into her bedroom.
Kemi springs down the stairs on her heels. She could see through the frosted glass window the primary colour shapes showing that her friends were already gathered outside ready to come in.
“Kemi!” they say in unison, smiles on their faces, as the door springs open. There was Jemima, Florence, Hannah and Flopsy the bunny-rabbit. Kemi couldn’t stop herself from grinning, even if she was a bit annoyed that her friends had rather improperly turned up to her house on time. They would have to watch and wait as she pours their glasses of cloudy lemonade she had bought in specially from Mrs Higgenbottom’s stall in the market, to go along with their slices of lemon cake. Of course Flopsy bunny would only have carrots and carrot juice, but Kemi was a good host, and she had prepared everything, including her introduction:
“Hello my friends! I am Kemi. You know what I stand for…”
Kemi’s voice trails of as she sees a strange orange man walking into frame, holding a book in front of him.
“Eh eh? Who are you?” Asks Kemi.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs Badenoch.” His voice sounded to Kemi as if he were from Mesopotamia.
“I hope you do not mind my importune arrival at your evening …yes..yes…I rather hoped that I might be able to join with your company for a spot of refreshment. Only that I have been walking for a…yes…very long time, and I am most tired…yesss…if it is not too much of an imposition.”
“No imposition.” Kemi said, throwing her hands up but inside, bristling quietly in her very English way. “Not at all.” Kemi points at the book in the Tiger’s hand. “That is quite a beautiful book that you have there.” Kemi made a note to fill the girls glasses to only two thirds to make sure there were no expensive spillages throughout the evening.
“I am most glad to hear your praises, Mrs Badenoch, which I surely do not deserve, but of course this book does, a thousand times, with more praise than there is life to speak it. It is the Holy Quran. I have brought it with me from my homeland many thousands of miles from here.”
“From Egypt?”
The Tiger lets out a long belly laugh. “Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, no no, Mrs Badenoch, I am from Somaliland. A beautiful country, I miss it so.”
“And what was your name? Since you know mine”
“This one goes by the name of Essa Suleiman” the Tiger offered with a small flourish as he comes through the door.
As he enters the house, Suleiman’s whiskers begin to twitch as he smells the cooking food.
“Ah, Ogbono soup, if I am not mistaken.” Kemi’s nod confirms his suspicion. “Most delicious. And please, do not hold back on the spice, it has been many moons since I had the taste of Africa.”
Kemi cannot help but smile as her guest works his charms upon her. In Nigeria, as in Somalia, a silver tongue is not enough for a young man, to enchant one must be bold and brash. Watch as she breaks into an impetuous smile against herself. Oh how many times has she danced this dance!
Suleiman made a good account of himself over cake and lemonade, heaping particular praise upon Mrs Badenoch’s generously sugared tea. On being invited to take the grounds of Mrs Badenoch’s garden, he made astute observations on the planting of her flower beds. He also generously offered to teach Florence how to tie her shoelaces, and Jemima how she could fold a piece of paper into a fortune teller. The other guests were also suitably impressed by his stewardship as the ‘banker’ during their game of Monopoly. “Mr Suleiman, you are a true Conservative”, Flopsy Bunny offered in praise. Suleiman gave only a cryptic smile in return.
But then the games were over and it was time for a proper Tea. And so Kemi and her friends (a category which now included Mr Suleiman) sat down at the table to enjoy their stew and other trimmings.
“And then I told the Prime Minister that he is a weak man, and that I’ve got a max level BiS warrior that can chunk world bosses solo and that’s not even my main so he should an hero.” The friends roar in laughter.
“Truly Kemi, you speak so wonderfully, you must be on course to become the next Prime Minister after this Mr Starmer goes?”
An awkward silence hangs over the table.
Suleiman notices and then clears his throat. “Of, of course, I know very little about the politics of your wonderful country. Not that I care to talk about politics much at all.”
Flopsy Bunny is perhaps too in her cups to sense Suleiman’s reticence: “What are the politics like in Somaliland, Suleiman?”
‘Ahh.’ Suleiman intonates. “Well. You see. In Somaliland, we were once a proud and noble people. We built great cities and towns from stone, filled with gems, gold and silver. Our traders would sail to each corner of the globe – Greece to Ceylon – and into deepest Africa…” his voice trails off.
“Then what happened, Mr Suleiman?” asks Hannah.
“Ah, Hannah. A most unpleasant thing. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes.” Hannah offers. The other girls nod.
A pause, then Suleiman begins:
“Like so many countries along the Horn of Africa we have been destroyed by the shadowy forces of…
Another pause.
…international Zionism”.
Flopsy Bunny raises her eyebrows. Suleiman continues:
“Zionists want to create a ‘Greater Israel’ by destroying not only Gaza but all Arab countries in the peninsula with the help of their poodles in Washington DC. When you girls have a moment please look up the ‘Dahiya doctrine’.
The girls look perplexed.
Now Suleiman was beginning to shout:
“GLOBALISE THE INTIFADA. DEATH TO AMERICA. I REJECT THE IHRA DEFINITION OF ANTI-SEMITISM AND BELIEVE IT IS MY RIGHT TO CRITICISE THE STATE OF ISRAEL. LOOK UP THE ‘LABOUR FILES’ ON AL-JAZEERA.”
Needless to say, Kemi was not very impressed.
“I think perhaps you have outstayed your welcome at this dinner party, Mr Suleiman.”
Suleiman sighs. “Perhaps I have.” He slinks off his chair, his ears and tail down.
“You must all excuse me. This dinner has been most wonderful. But I must away to attend a hate march in Central London.”
With a final bow, Suleiman leaves the room.
It was then that Kemi realised that antisemitism had become an epidemic.
And that it was high time for a ban on the hate phones.
Abdullah Albadri had only been in the UK sixteen days before he tried to scale the Israeli embassy. His social calendar must have been packed to be radicalised that quickly.