By Indranie Deolall
A frenzy of sudden activity in the green and white building that Junior Emmanuel was watching, made him freeze, realising he had been spotted.
He felt like holding his head and crying again, screaming even, after waiting for ages in the heat, across the street, keenly studying the scores of veiled women completely concealed behind their heavy burqas and niqabs, arriving for their normal Friday devotions. He too had prayed intently, but to recognise a familiar glide, a soft voice, a petite lithe figure, a glimpse of elegant fingers, light skin - anything really that could give him hope that his precious daughter was still alive.