Word: allah
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...Prayers to Allah. At the airport, Johnson was pale and apprehensive. But as Bashir materialized like a genie in the plane's door, he soon let his host know that there was nothing to dread. Wearing a jaunty karakul cap, a trimly tailored frock coat and a 500-watt smile, the camel driver accepted the onslaught of press and public with the nonchalance of a Mogul prince. Nervously, Johnson apologized for the chilly weather. Replied Bashir: "It is not the cold; it is the warmth of the people's hearts that matters." In response to L.B.J...
...magic carpet ride back to Pakistan, Bashir got a telegram from Lyndon Johnson that moved him to tears. Wired L.B.J.: "Since your return to Pakistan takes you so close to Mecca, arrangements have been made through the People-to-People program for you to visit there." Cried Bashir Ahmad: "Allah be praised...
Though tanks still peered through the shrubbery in downtown Damascus, Syria was calm. After Gamal Abdel Nasser had resigned himself to Syria's breakaway from the United Arab Republic ("May Allah help beloved Syria"), the world's nations hastened to welcome the newly independent state. In a blaze of flashbulbs and official smiles, U.S. Consul General Ridgway B. Knight drove up to the rose-walled Foreign Office in Damascus last week and presented a note extending formal recognition. Three days earlier, the new regime, coolly and without publicity, accepted Soviet recognition. Said one longtime Western observer: "This...
...even Allah has been there,'' Bedouin shepherds warned Arabian American Oil Co. Geologist Thomas C. Barger when he began to explore the waterless wastes of Saudi Arabia's Rub Al Khali in 1938. But for four years Tom Barger tramped for oil and mapped Rub Al Khali's shifting sands in 130° heat, making lifelong friends of sheiks and shepherds, princes and kings. Mastering Arabic, he began to handle Aramco's negotiations with King Ibn Saud's government, was named an Aramco vice president in 1958, president in 1959. Last week in Dhahran...
...long one. In telling the whole truth I might convict an innocent man . . ." The narrator testifies, dry mouth and all, for more than 300 pages about an oily Emir who wants more oil, and a berobed old Britisher with a patch over one eye and a theory that, by Allah, there is petroleum under a certain unpromising patch of ground. The old fellow's bastard son shows up, learns to be an oil geologist in a trice, and shortly is locked in mortal combat with his father. It is this son who defends the fort, and he would...