There are only two survivors, both of whom are Christian men. They start walking, hoping to find civilisation and a source of food and water. Each sand dune is hell, but they push themselves forward to climb over it. Days pass and their thirst aches their throats, but they keep walking. Finally, their journey pays off, and a village comes into view.

One of the men turns to the other and says “look, we’re in a muslim country, and it’s a desperate situation. I say we pretend to be muslim. They’ll take better care of us for it.”

The other man looks aghast. “What? No! I’m a Christian and proud! I have nothing to be afraid of.”

As dawn breaks and their legs are about to drop, the men reach the village. A man spots the pair and approaches them, wearing a robe, an imama, and sporting a lengthy beard. “Who are you?”

“I’m Muhammed” says the first man, his real name Peter.

“I’m John” says the second man.

The muslim man takes John by the shoulder, pulling him into the village. “It must have been a long walk, you must be tired. Please, we have plenty of food and water, and there should be a bed for you somewhere.”

Then he turns to Peter and opens his arms wide, a warm smile on his face. “Salaam, Muhammed! Happy Ramadan!”