"Something is very fishy in all of this," she said to me, flashing a quizzical yet angry look, her slim form covered by long robes and her head covered with a white scarf. "They just go after Muslims. Why? And we can barely leave our house, not even to get milk."
Then she sent me away. Her husband, a respected Muslim cleric named Gulshair El'Shukri-Jumah, wasn't home. And she had seen enough reporters, television cameras, and lawmen. She would soon find herself dissatisfied with leaders of the mosque next door.
Four times since 2001, FBI agents searching for information on terrorists have visited Zukrah and Gulshair's squat stucco house on SW 27th Street. The G-men recently raided the nearby home of their daughter, Hana, carting off a computer and correspondence in Arabic.
And with much foreboding, authorities have twice informed the media that they are searching for the couple's eldest son, Adnan, a plump-cheeked 27-year-old with a Broward Community College degree in computers. "[Adnan] El Shukrijumah [sic] is possibly involved with al-Qaeda terrorist activities and, if true, poses a serious threat to U.S. Citizens and interests worldwide," the bureau pronounced in a March 20 news release.
The proclamation struck a chord in South Florida. The region, after all, was a stopover for 15 of the 19 September 11 terrorists. Anthrax was discovered here in the mail of Boca Raton's American Media Inc. soon after the attack. Finally, three accused terrorists and acquaintances of Adnan El'Shukri-Jumah have also lived here: Jose Padilla, who allegedly planned to explode a radioactive dirty bomb; Imran Mandhai, who last year was convicted of attempting to explode power plants; and Adham Hassoun, a Sunrise computer programmer whom the federal government is holding because of alleged terrorist ties.
In case all that weren't enough, the agents told reporters -- off the record, of course -- that Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, a top lieutenant to Osama bin Laden who was recently captured in Pakistan, had identified Adnan's picture.
The feds compared him to Mohamed Atta.
So TV trucks crowded the family's front yard for days. News of the FBI search ricocheted around the globe like a lethal silvery pinball. New Zealand, Australia, France, Germany, Pakistan, Uzbekistan. "Feds beat the bush for Saudi thug," crowed the New York Daily News.
I'm suspicious. Adnan El'Shukri-Jumah's friends and relatives in South Florida and Guyana, where he once lived, have told reporters he was neither fundamentalist nor radical. And federal sources have said that El'Shukri-Jumah demurred when an FBI mole tried to recruit him to commit acts of terror in 2001. (Adnan's friend Mandhai, who was ensnared by the mole, had suggested his name.) Moreover, the timing of the FBI's announcement, on the very first full day of President George W. Bush's jihad against Saddam Hussein, smells like a way to panic the public into supporting the war.
It wouldn't be the first time the Bush administration considered more than just facts when releasing information that would put the public on guard. "The timing surprised us," says Parvez Ahmed, chairman of the board for the Florida Council of American-Islamic Relations (CAIR). "Announcements like this have always surprised us. Last time the alert level was raised [on February 7], it was timed to coincide with the Hajj, [a religious period related to the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca]. These are times of spiritual introspection. To think you could have terror alerts timed to something like this is terribly offensive to many Muslims."
Ahmed, of course, has no idea whether President Dubya used the announcement of the search for Adnan El'Shukri-Jumah as a scare tactic. And no one outside the government can be sure of this. That's the problem with the secrecy that dominates America at wartime.
But we can be convinced of one thing: Just the specter of terrorism hanging over the El'Shukri-Jumah family has caused injury. The most damaged individual so far is Gulshair, a bearded, handsome 73-year-old man with a Trinidadian accent, a long history of service to his community, and no alleged ties to fundamentalists.
The afternoon following my first visit to the family home, on March 24, he was fired from his job as part-time imam at the Al Hijrah mosque, which is located in a white stucco home next door and serves about 200 people. When I came by the next morning, Gulshair answered the door and invited me to sit on his small concrete porch. He wore cotton pants that appeared to be pajamas, a soiled shirt, and he looked tired.