Left to right .. and right to left

… and here is the e-mail of someone who had a crush on me (no, it’s not you!). He had the honor of scribbling it himself on one of those yellow pages. My name in Thai. Contact details of Education Reform Program in Egypt which I never contacted. Hamza Yusuf: Women, Sharia, and Islam (2 CD’s $ 14). monter.com. hotjobs.com. arce.org. Monday Dec. 3rd: “It’s your personality. If it were that important, it’d have been mentioned clearly in Quran. You believe in the whole thing, don’t pick and choose”. Say ‘British’ don’t say ‘English’. Gym hours 6-8 pm. Never been yet. "Say: O my Servants who have transgressed against their souls! Despair not of the Mercy of Allah. for Allah forgives all sins: for He is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.” (39:53). Straight, take first right, building to your right, 3rd floor, apartment 9. A whole lesson is unified by theme and context. X said: “This is the smartest thing you’ve ever done”. I think you're right. Peterson’t college search. Go back to this when you have time. Why aren't women allowed to wear perfume just like men? Why is it a sin to wear it in public? Abdool Karim Soroush. March 2, 08 first audition in my life. Liberating, took off my face and put on the character's. Hadith lessons at mosque (Wed after noon prayer). How can I ever attend? Khaled Aboul Fadl: “all jurists agreed that a Muslim man or woman should not marry a mushrik (disbeliever who associates partners with God). Is this the right definition. Dentist next Wednesday. I love the nurse. Prof. X: “you won’t find any answers. Follow your mind and conscience”. How do you ever know you are right? Sheikh Imam's songs and Ahmed Fouad Nijm's poetry. Oh World. Smile, please. “Let there be no compulsion in religion: Truth stands out clear from Error.” (2:256). You are bellissima. March schedule, fully booked. Why did I let him write his email himself? Oh , I forgot I am not good at saying 'No'. Kite Runner coming soon at the Nile Tower movie theater.

Before you decide to become an Egyptian girl

If you are an Egyptian girl, I mean one of the ordinary majority, you can do whatever you want, anytime you want, wherever you want ... 'only' in your dreams :)This is one of the facts you should keep in mind if you are planning to become one. I don’t know how you can do that since receiving the honor of becoming an Egyptian citizen can’t happen even if you were born here, lived here all your life, gave all your fortune to Mubarak’s National Democratic Party, or prayed to God every single day.


Depending on your family, you, as an Egyptian girl, shouldn’t , may not or can’t do any of the following.

- Don’t talk on your mobile in the street. If you have to answer the phone, make sure to look serious, and don’t laugh for obvious reasons. (Not obvious?)

- Don’t smoke. Only your brother can. If you do, make sure it’s a female only trustworthy gathering where no one is going to report to your family. Don’t wear any wool because it'll keep the smell.

- Don’t have a boyfriend. If you have one, don’t tell your family unless you decide to marry. Needless to say that you can’t make or recieve a phone call when you are at home. Also, better not to receive too many text messages because it will sound suspicious. You’re brother, of course, can have a girl friend, go out with her, and talk to her on the house phone all night long. But this is none of your business. He's a man.

- Don’t have male friends. There’s not such a thing as a male-female platonic friendship.

- Don’t leave home with your hair wet!!

- Don’t tie your shoelaces in the middle of the street. You can do this only with your back to a wall. If you do it any other way, you may receive a touch, a hit or at least a dirty word. You’ll never know how tempting your behind may look when you bend over.

- Don’t try to fix anything that goes wrong with your car: 1) if you have a flat tire one morning, lose your job but never try to change it yourself as you’ll get your body into certain positions that passers-by would(n’t) like to watch, and 2) if for example you need to put water in the radiator, be sure to stand to the side and be conscious of your surroundings. What to do if you have either problem? Leave the car, go to a gas station, and get a guy to do it for you for the same reasons mentioned with the shoelaces.

- Don’t read on public transportation. It’s just not Egyptian. You’ll look stupid especially if you were glasses. And it doesn't even look sexy.

- Don’t argue with the taxi driver. Give him whatever he wants. And of course don’t sit in the passenger seat. Only back seat, please.

- Don’t walk into a lingerie shop if you are on your own. Better with one or two other females. On your own? Hmm … you’re too ‘bold’

- When you have guests or visiting someone, don’t sit next to a male. Sit next to a woman or a girl even if you know she’ll talk your ear off. Also sit with people you’re age as you’re not usually welcome into “big people’s” talk.

- When you get engaged, don't tell your fiance you ever had a boyfriend. Although he may not buy it, he'd rather think it's true than lose his sense of masculinity by getting engaged to a girl who has had a boyfriend before. It's not "and vice versa". His past is only his and can't be taken against him.

- If you are on the street and suddenly crave some ice-cream, don’t buy it in a cone. Go for a cup and a spoon if you're planning to eat it on the street!

- Don’t refuse offers of arranged marriages if you passed your mid-twenties. "You’ll regret it later," all wise family members say.

- Don’t stand at a corner if you’re waiting for someone. Find somewhere with lots of light and stand seriously without marching to and forth or you’ll have to deal with the many price offers you get.

- Don't run on the street for any reason, not even for sports. Maxmim is a fast-paced walk.

- If you have to phone a female friend from one of the many mobile shops around, try to you use a masculine pronoun talking to her. If you slip, at least don’t mention her name. The poor girl may suffer endless attempts of contact from the Ali of the kiosk you used.

- Don’t answer back if for any reason a guy on the street swears at you. You’ll never be able to match his unlimited list of vocabulary that you’ve never heard before. And you probably will end up screaming something like “Oh you dog! Donkey! Animal!” which, to him, are nothing but synonyms for his own name.

If you are an Egyptian girl, consider yourself lucky. You can still do many things that girls in Saudi Arabia can't even dream of.

A major realization

I'd decided to write about my experience of taking off my headscarf as soon as I have something to share. I have a lot to tell you actually: people's reactions, my own reflection on the decision, what it means to me to feel the wind in my hair, new things I've learned about myself, new things I've grown (un)interested in over the past two weeks.

But … really … what I'd like to share with you are details I've recently noticed about a long hidden part of me ... My hair!
No matter how hard you try to make it do what you want, it would still act the way it wishes. Even if you take it to the hairdresser's and force it to look the way you think is nicer, having made you happy for a while, it'll soon go back to the way it is. It can't stay fake for long.
Although it looks similar to most Egyptians' hair, it's just not the same.
It gets easily damaged by sun, humidity and wind. It'll stay strong but may get tired of being strong and then you'll usually have to be patient and pay a lot to treat it.
It may not look friendly to you on the outside, but deep inside it is. It's also happy, content, and thankful for whatever it is.
My hair is actually much wilder than it seems to be, that's why, for social reasons, a hair band is usually tied around it.

This all may be less important than the actual veil-off experience itself. But actually these findings have helped me come to an important realization of the interesting similarities between me and my hair.

After several painful attempts of pointless forced change, I've discovered the only way that could work with both of them: it's to accept them and love them the way they are... for they just wouldn't change!

I can feel the sun, the wind, and more!

White, blue, canary yellow, phosphoric green, red, orange, pink .. plain and patterned. I have scarves of almost all colors and materials. I loved them and I still do. They had always made me feel safe and some people thought they never kept me from looking ‘elegant.’ I had wrapped my scarf around my head every time I had left my apartment, opened the door, or gone out on the balcony. For four thousand one hundred and ninety five days of my life. It never bothered me or kept me from doing what I wanted. Even by the sea. I always kept it on and had my way of enjoying the water and the fresh air.

After six months of intensive reading about several issues in religion, I now have my own personal beliefs regarding many of them. Those beliefs are not the primary reason for my decision. When I honestly think about it, I know I only did this because of a growing feeling within me that what I have in my heart and mind doesn’t go any more with what I put on my head. My decision stemmed from a ‘growing discomfort.’ This is the simplest way I could put it.

I know I’m going against what almost every practicing Muslim believes to be an obligation just like the everyday five prayers. It’s the only visual distinction between us and non-Muslims. So by taking my veil off, I, as a Muslim female, threaten what the authoritarian religious masses are trying to do – resisting change imposed by the west and going back to fundamentalism because it’s the only solution. Feeling weak as a nation in chaos, the best thing to do is to cover up their women because they are the honor of family and society. To them, I am blemishing the image of purity and make men’s life more difficult because I represent temptation. I am that girl who, with the help of Satan, has been deluded by her own sick mind into taking off her veil. I will commit sins with every hair I have on my head every time a man sees it. On the Day of Judgment, I shall be dragged to Hellfire by this hair. This all explains why a colleague’s jaw dropped to the floor when she saw me unveiled and recited a verse in Quran used when disasters happen.

I also know that I’m putting myself and my family through painful social pressure. I live in a neighborhood with a Muslim majority; many of them are bearded, veiled or even face covered. We’ve lived here for over quarter a century and have always had the reputation of a ‘decent family.’ So how come my dad and brother let me do this? Yes, it’s their fault in the first place because they allowed me to travel alone, study a lot and work in too liberal environments. They should have tried to get me a husband earlier before I reached that stage. I’m in my late twenties and being the way I am, chances of getting suitors , religious suitors, are reduced.

In the middle of all this I hear “You’re our only daughter. We want you to be happy and we’re sometimes worried about you. Don’t listen to anyone. I’ll never allow anyone to talk about you or judge you. People should learn to mind their own business. One neighbor saw you this morning and I was on the balcony especially for that. She looked up to our balcony to see if we were there and I just gave her this yes-we-know look.” my mom said when I phoned to tell her how much I loved her and felt blessed to have her and my dad as my parents. I realize how hard they are trying to hide their worries. But I can just feel it there in their hugs. I hear it in their prayers. I sometimes wish I were a typical Egyptian daughter, just for them.

All this headache! I wish I could tell the whole world that it’s much simpler than it may seem to them, that I am not interested in being different, that I still love my religion. It’s just the way I am. This is ME.

Cairo, the veiled Bride of the Nile!

A glittery headscarf, high-heels, a silk blouse, an embroidered shawl and mascara. I was wearing all this as I went from the B5 parking level, through the six G levels, and 40 more floors. I went out of the elevator and walked in a corridor dimly lit and romantically designed.

Chair tucked under me by a perfumed waiter. “Enjoy your evening!” he said softly intending not to disturb the first overwhelming moments. Overwhelming is the word.

Up in the revolving restaurant of the Grand Hayatt hotel, Cairo looked like a shy bride. She, too, was wearing a veil.

“I feel jealous, Cairo... for you look far more elegant.”
Her smile beamed at me as she welcomed me into her bright night.

“I now know how life can get too busy for family to talk. But I have many things to tell you. Do you realize how angry I am? I know I look so peaceful to you, but I do get quite angry sometimes!
I get angry when I know that the cost of these two hours up in this restaurant can feed two families for a whole month… when I know I’ll be spending more than 11% of my life in traffic (although I forget all this on a late night ride)… when I think about my 31-year-old brother who has a job and a house and can’t get married because he still needs $ 5000…when I look at a neighbor who has been engaged for four years because he can’t afford refurbishing and furnishing his apartment with the minimum… when I pass by the Ministry of Health and see people camped outside the building waiting for a merciful look. I even feel guilty for being healthy… when I watch a 40-second clip on u-tube of an officer torturing a suspect and wonder how much time it took him to get that heart of stone… when I feel guilty every time I drive by a crowded bus stop… when I remember how my mom has spent her life "prioritizing" and not buying herself a single thing she loved…and when I remember the pain of sitting on the floor in packed lecture rooms on hot summer’s days. I was always trying to listen to professors talking about Renaissance, literary criticism, Hamlet, George Orwell, Blake and many others who I don’t remember anything about now. I was busy trying to breathe.

One more thing I want to tell you. A secret I have to share with you. As cruel and crazy as you get sometimes, I failed to hate you. I did. I throw myself into the arms of your people on the streets when I'm tired.
I see you in the eyes of my mother when she says she’ll only leave you maybe when she’s dead. I still get tears in my eyes when I hear songs and poems written to you, or when I see a tired smile on the face of a poor man saying ‘alhamdulellah’. Thank God for everything. I let myself get lost in the scented alleys of your old streets and read million stories written on the tired walls of proud buildings.
Looking at you from up above, you look pretty… dressed up to the nines. And even prettier deep in your heart, behind your glittery veil.”

Om Somaya

One of the few people who have witnessed all stages in my life is someone I hardly talk to. She always seats herself in a strategic position where she could observe everything around her - from footsteps to weddings and funerals. She sits, in a white plastic chair, wrapped in her black shawl during winter or holding a hot cup of tea with mint in summer evenings.

For eleven years she was there every morning I went to nursery or school. She was the one who received my university acceptance letter. She wished me a warm goodbye the few times I took my suitcase to the airport. She glanced at whatever bag I carried in an attempt to know where I came from. Whenever we received guests, family or friends who usually looked and dressed differently from what she is used to, she made a point of both welcoming them and wishing them goodbye on their way out.

“Reuters” is the title she's earned with no competition. She's one of those women for whom news feel too itchy to be kept untold. She waits for you to greet her to make a reply sealed with a mouth gesture that means “What a world!” in an attempt to make you ask her ‘What happened, Om Somaya?’ She will never waste this opportunity to tell you that a police car came in the middle of the night to mercilessly grab Sheikh Mahmoud from his wife’s arms as a suspected member of the Muslim Brotherhood group. Or about how the gallant residents of the nearby alley beat life out of three new tenants and dragged their prostitute out to the street with nothing on but a bed sheet. Or about the poor Om Mohamed whose husband turned out to be married to a second wife in Saudi Arabia where he worked for nine years.

I address her the same way I do my aunts “Good morning, tant” (auntie). “Good morning, sweetie” she would usually reply and add a couple of prayers depending on what she thought I needed then. “May Allah help you with your job”, “… bring you back safely”, “… rest your deceased’s soul in peace”. There is, yet, one prayer she hasn’t changed over the past year: “May Allah send you a good man.” She started saying this prayer the same day I graduated from university. It became more frequent from my mid twenties on. Now, approaching the end of my twenties, I am a ‘poor’ girl whose suitors are blind enough not to see her. For Om Somaya, a representative of the vast majority of the Egyptian female voice, a woman’s ultimate aim is to get married and have children. No other goal in life will make up for this one.

“The shadow of a man is better than that of a wall” is the proverb /slogan that explains why a lot of women feel pressured to get into a life they don’t want or tie themselves into a marriage despite clearly seeing how terrible life will be later. If she complains about her life she will be asked to have patience so that people, of Om Somaya’s type, don’t talk and gossip or so that God rewards her in the afterlife. A team of female brainwashers will quickly network using telephone calls. The team usually consists of the mother, sisters, cousins, neighbors, and married friends. All of them will discourage her from getting a divorce and tell her that it’s “the women who makes the relationship work”. If all attempts fail and she gets a divorce, her life will be a series of stories to be told in a blog titled ‘Be dead but not a divorcée’

Four days in Istanbul

9.25 pm.

Sitting at a small table by the glass ceiling-high window, cozy café on Istiqlal St., Istanbul. Eating warm brownie and neglecting a strong cappuccino. Feeling so tired having walked for over nine hours. Glad I had recently started the habit of carrying my notebook around. I opened it, rested it on my waist and the blue pen started writing everything on my mind now.

-Arrived at Istanbul on a charter flight full of Egyptians. Amazing how they followed rules once they were outside their country.
-Bus to hotel: Istanbul by night brings me memories of parts of Kuwait and Dubai. It’s less crowded, cleaner, and more civilized than I expected. Fresh air.
-I loved the narrow steep streets. (They were good exercise)
-First morning there. Wooow .. I am in Europe.
-No one is staring at me in my curry yellow head scarf. Now I know how foreigners in Egypt must feel being scanned everywhere they go for simply being different-looking.
-I feel cold and lonely.
-Elegantly dressed people walked up and down the main shopping street.
-Things I have never seen on Cairo street: people kissing and hugging, a gay man in female dress and full makeup, people playing music and singing for money, a cute red street car I had always wanted to ride-and I did, a flag marking a gay club, Christmas lights everywhere.
-Galata Tower: climb in the elevator and view Istanbul by night… as if a sky full of colorful twinkling stars decided to come down and cover houses and streets.
-A cozy shop/cafe by the tower sells female accessories and clothes, has warm decoration, and is owned by an elegant lady in her mid-forties who makes good turkish tea. She speaks little English but can communicate perfectly well with her eyes and smile.
-For some unconscious reason I thought I’d understand Turkish and everyone would understand my Arabic. All attempts failed on both sides.
-All signs are in Turkish. Hmm .. now I need to use the bathroom. Shall I walk where it said ‘Bay’ or ‘Bayen’ ? The latter is safer. I was right.
Four more words: evet ‘yes’, giris ‘enter’, cikis‘ exit’, su ‘water’.
-Aya Sophia. It was great to see a wall painting of Virgin Mary carrying Jesus hanging above the word “Allah” written in gold Arabic calligraphy.
-The Blue Mosque. Must have been designed by a genius. I felt so peaceful inside it.
-Alcohol everywhere.
-People are the same wherever you are - they smiled, laughed, walked, loved and cried the same way.
-One big difference between cafés in Cairo and those of Istanbul: majority of customers in Cairo, as noted by a French friend, “are teenagers dressed and looked the same, walked around the café talking on their cell phones in English”
-Turkish music came out of bookstores and music stores. Filled the air with a special charm. I don’t remember any of the songs and can’t forget their effect.
-I need to change some money. ‘Please sir, LE 100’. He handed me 16.5 Turkish liras. I was too tired to think this was true. Took the Egyptian banknote back and handed him $50.
-A side street had a number of restaurant designed similarly. People sat there talking and having dinner. Three musicians carrying lute, violin and drum walked around table singing to diners. Lovely strong voices.
- Still have 4 hours before going to the airport. OK. Take the subway.
Excuse me. How long is the trip?
Two minutes.
No. I know there’s one every 2 minutes. (miming) How long is the trip?
Two minutes.
OK. Whatever.
I got on and sat by the window. After two minutes the car stopped and everyone got off. I looked at the driver. He figured from the look on my face there was a mistake, waved me sit-down and refused I paid any money. Glad the man who sat opposite me kept looking at my face while I was crying-it felt good that someone understood something was wrong.
-I passed by a woman selling bracelets on a dark side street. She started shouting as walked by her. I got scared and thought she might have wanted me to buy something. Didn’t even look back and walked to my hotel.
-Brownie tastes great.
-I wish I could sit with the six young Turkish people having coffee near my table now. I would love to make sense of whatever they are saying. I want to know you, people.
-Now I wonder how other European cities are like, how they looked especially around Christmas time. I wonder if I would be comfortable and happy living in one of them.

11.05 pm.

I sat on the bus heading towards the Airport. Not sure how the four days really felt. One thing I am sure of, though… for some reason I am not going to be the same after this trip.