Mounir usually led the meetings, but my mom would sometimes add some damning betrayal. If any of us missed a prayer, for example, she’d make sure to mention that. His wife was usually quiet unless she had something to say about his two remaining children who lived upstairs with her. She rarely talked about the three of us downstairs children. The meetings would invariably end with someone getting whipped. I suppose this was their version of Saudi Arabia’s Chop-Chop Square. Their aim was to publicly humiliate the perpetrator.
