One day in April 2000, both my life and Samir’s changed forever.
I spent the night at Anna’s house. Her brother was there, and he dreamed of becoming a police officer. The fact that his sister was dating the most notorious young man in Hundige didn’t exactly sit right with him. Because he objected to me being in his home, he kicked me out. Anna wouldn’t stand for it, so we left together.
I had a soccer game the next morning. Before the game, Anna and I ate breakfast and made a deal that we would take a trip to the zoo when I got back. I wasn’t a domesticated boyfriend, but I was good at arranging excursions, Tivoli, surprises, gifts. Even when I brought home roses that Anna knew were stolen, she just went along with it for my sake.
My team was playing away that weekend and we won 8–2, so I was in a great mood after the game. A teammate dropped me off at Hundige Station, where I ran into Hamza, my first and oldest friend in Askerød. Hamza was pissed off. He said, “Sleiman! They’re waiting for you in Askerød. They want to fuck you up.”
Meanwhile, Hamza neglected to mention why they wanted to fuck me up and that he was partly to blame. While my team were away, the Banana Boys had been practicing on the lawn in Askerød. One of the players had left his bike by the field, and Hamza had taken it without asking permission. Hamza had a date with a girl and seeing as he didn’t have his own bike to pick her up, he figured he might as well borrow this one.
When he returned with his date an hour and a half later, Samir, Zaki, and the bike’s owner barked at him, “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t just take another guy’s bike without asking permission.”
“I do whatever I want,” Hamza answered to avoid losing face in front of his date. A minor but loud fight ensued, and Hamza lost the fight to the owner of the bike.
“When Sleiman comes back, we’re gonna fuck you up!” Hamza shouted.
“Let him come. We’ll fuck him up too,” they countered.
Hamza left all these crucial details out of his story. Instead, he just told me that a gang of people back in Askerød that included Samir wanted to fuck me up.
In my heart, I still loved Samir and Zaki. Why were they waiting for me now? I was furious. I drove toward Askerød. At the end of one of the paths, I saw Samir, Zaki, and a bunch of other players from the Banana Boys. So, it was true. They were waiting for me. But why?
I walked toward them, but in the middle of the path was Anna, crying. From her balcony, she had watched Hamza fight with the others, and she had sensed that I was somehow involved. When she saw me walking down the path, she urged me to turn around. I pushed past her, went into my apartment, and got my butterfly knife. When I came back out, a group of my own friends had joined the commotion.
“If you’re a man, then come down here!” one of the Banana Boys shouted.
He was standing next to Samir and took a couple of steps toward me, so we were now standing face-to-face. Before I knew it, I had stabbed someone for the first time in my life. I had been accused of being involved with stabbings in previous years, but it never had been me.
“He’s got a knife!” Samir’s friend screamed.
Samir ran to his friend and lifted his shirt. He was bleeding. Samir walked up to me and grabbed my collar. He demanded, “Sleiman! Drop the knife!”
Panic began to spread. Bekir had arrived with some of my friends, but Samir refused to let go of me.
“Samir, I don’t want to fight you. Let go of me. You’re my friend!”
Samir maintained his grip. The noise was growing louder around us, and the tension built until I attempted to stab Samir in his upper arm or shoulder area in hopes he would let go. Instead, I missed and the blade went deep into the middle of his chest. It also penetrated the soul of Askerød and changed everything forever. Blood began to spurt out, and a shocked Samir took a step back.
“Sleiman, what are you doing?” he asked incredulously and lashed out at me. I hit him back.
“Sleiman! Drop the knife!” a man yelled.
A Danish woman started taking photos, and my associates jumped her and broke the camera. Samir was carried away by some of his friends. Someone else called him an ambulance. I dropped the knife, and one of Samir’s friends shouted, “I’m gonna fuck you up!”
“Who is going to take revenge on me?” I asked the crowd.
Suddenly, Bekir had a machine gun in his hands and let everybody know that he was on my side in this dispute. Another man immediately came over and took the gun away from him, and the police arrived. But just as the police started to question people, I fled the scene. I ran down the path and into Sarah’s apartment. I disguised myself in a scarf in female, Islamic-looking clothes, and I snuck out of Askerød with her. Shortly afterward, we were picked up by some friends who drove us to a nearby train station.
Most Danish people would probably have encouraged their brother to go to the police, but Sarah saw things differently. She knew I had to turn myself in, but I had to get out of there because my life was in danger. Sarah was afraid Samir, and his brothers would go after me and kill me so she aided my escape.
During the flight, the police had my phone number and called me. They ordered, “Turn yourself in, Sleiman!”
“No!” I yelled into the phone before I ripped the SIM card out of it and threw it out the window. I had no idea what condition Samir was in, and I prayed to Allah that I hadn’t just killed my own friend for reasons that were still unclear to me.
My prayers were answered, but Hundige was forever changed. Two childhood friends had now become mortal enemies. Two soccer teams born out of a hope of drawing the boys away from the streets had lost their leaders and were never revived. Two housing developments were suddenly at war and still are to this very day. Two boys who had more potential than most and had the chance to become good, instead became the leaders of opposing gangs. Blood would be repaid with blood, bullets with bullets, vengeance with vengeance. And I had drawn first blood in a war that began simply because a boy had borrowed a bicycle without asking permission.