I was living in a mostly-Arab populated cite in the Parisian banlieu
I was walking down the street with my roommate (who was also American)
late in the afternoon (because of the time difference, it occurred at
about 3:30 in Paris) when a middle-aged Arab man stopped us and tried
to explain in broken English what had happenned.  We were baffled
by his story because his English was so poor.  The whole
conversation seemed puzzling to me because we began conversing very
easily in French and then he switched to this broken English as he
began to explain what had happenned.  The only things I really got
out of what he said was “You…get off the street…plane…north tower
is on the floor.”

 

We were mystified by his story but
could both sense that something serious had happenned.  It was
another hour before we learned the entire gravity of the
situation.  The cite played host to complete anarchy and
violence that night as many people celebrated the attacks by throwing
malatov cocktails and firing weapons in the street.  We stayed in
our apartment and received phone calls from everyone we knew.  Our
friends (Frenchmen, Africans, and Arabs alike) called to offer
condolences and tell us not to go outside because we were
American.  In fact, for two weeks we didn’t go out in the cite
due to the violence of the riots.  Fortunately, several of our
friends were thoughtful enough to go to the store and bring us food and
provisions, as well as newspapers so we could keep up with the events.

 

Its was certainly an experience that I’ll never forget.