Wednesday, October 27, 2010

A Diary of Separation, Ep. 4: The Maze

Maze: noun, complex system of paths or tunnels in which it is easy to get lost.

I do not recall anything from the period after my family was gone. No matter how hard I try, these memories persistently evade my mind. I remember pain though and I recall anger mixed with disbelief.
Wrapped in a black cloud of mist, I recapture discussions and arguments. Friends and relatives attempting -and not all in good faith- to play the Good Samaritan. As if resolving my altercation is the last remaining open door to heaven.
But how could they? How could an abstract advice resolve a very personal and intimate crisis? And how could an hour of talk rebuild what took years to fall apart?

One day, maybe three months later, I got out of my room and went into the living room, for the first time.
Hesitantly, I laid down in an old sofa and tried to watch TV. I couldn’t find the remote. Then I realized it. I know almost nothing about this place I call home.
I don’t know where most of my cloths and my books are.
I don’t have a clue about what’s in the kitchen million drawers and compartments.
And although I am an engineer, I found that operating the washing machine or the dishwasher is a considerably complicated task.
It is true when they say “Home is where the heart is”
I am definitely homeless at heart.

At a certain point, during the course of life, we all meet the grey ghost of failure. However, what is far more difficult is to meet the white knight of defeat.
Especially when the fall is colossal.
Even as you are trying to get up and put it all together, you look around; everybody is staring. But none with affection.
An old track plays in my ears “Everybody loves winners that’s why nobody loves me.”

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

On the Second Time (Complete)

(1)

Even Police Stations look different in Heliopolis; so clean and so much light. I tried to remember what time it was. I could not tell for sure. The last time I looked, it was 8:30 pm. But it seemd like it has been such a long time since then. I just got through the station front door and was practically dragged by anonymous strong arms. To where? I could not tell. We were moving quickly and a lot of people surrounded me, all talking at the same time. I understood every word they said but did not make anything out of it. My mouth kept on a monotonous murmur: It was not my fault; it was not my fault…

Finishing school was never really a viable option for me. Just passing my third preparatory year (at 17), my father sent me to take care of the Family Kiosk in Heliopolis. A prestigious, well paid job that made me the envy of almost every guy my age, and the desire of a lot of girls, in our desolate alley situated deep inside Imbaba. My day was fairly simple, I would take a Microbus everyday from Courniche to Heliopolis, open up to customers at around 9:30am and close at 9:30pm. Almost all my clients were regulars. The school kids from the private primary near by, people from the neighberhood and regular pass buyers consituted my day for almost two years. "You should start looking for a wife." El Hagga said. "It is still to early" I replied and thought to myself "Why stick to one when you can have a lot." I smiled sheepishely.

- I have never seen a similar car, wow... My friend Ahmed said. I tilted my head a little bit and he was right. An amazing big black 4x4 just pulled in font of us.

The electric window opened up and the man inside asked for a pack of cigarettes. I got what he wanted and put it on the selling board in front of me. Without even looking at me, and without getting out of his shining car, I saw him getting out the money of his pocket, stretching his hand to me.

Some people think they own this world. Even more, they think they own us with it; as an irrelevant bonus. I make less than 50 piasters profit per pack of cigarettes. If this moron thinks I'll leave my chair to serve him he is gravely mistaken. I continued my imaginary phone converstation.

- A pack of Lights please. I heard him say.

- .... So, Ahmed you said that the goods will be a little late. I went on my fake phone converstaion.

Incrudelously, he got out of his 4x4. He slammed the door, went all around the huge vehicle and gave me a 10 pounds note.

- We don't have change. I said. Do you have 50 P.

He gave me 50P. Grabbed the pack and was gone in less than a second. I despised him so much. I hated him, his smell and his car. No one owns me.


(2)

There is a king in everyone of us. I smiled to myself. Even this little bugger in this wretched Kiosk thinks that he is better than to pass me a pack of cigarette.
He does not look at me and even fakes a phone conversation just to avoid moving his.... and does his job. Egypt will never be a respectable country as long as these lazy worms live in it.
Everyone sees the new Chevrolet Blazer, dad got from Saudi when he came back, thinks that we got in bed with a Saudi Prince or something.
Twenty seven years of hard labor, twenty seven years away from his family and for what?? A small appartment in Helipolis, the big 4x4 and a small sum at the bank. Small business men in Egypt make more in a year then what he wasted his life upon. I puffed loudly the smoke of my cigarette.

Exactly in the middle, this is where I found myself getting into MIU. Needless to say, I did not make it in Thanaweya Amma. Nobody, I knew did actually.

This is why they have private universities, I told dad. He hated me for it. This is the last thing he wanted. Another absolutely useless expense to weigh on his Gulf savings.

However, getting to school, I realized that in the middle was a very awkward place to be. I didn’t fit with the rich crowed that spend the summer in Hacienda and went to the pool in Katameya Heights. Also, I could not get along with the struggling crowed fighting with grades, financial aid and barely making the tuition each semester. I was not super cool, intelligent or a Piano master. MIU definitely lacked the guy next door sort of people.

I was alone.

Everybody kept talking about the student body. Only God knows what that is.

- You either drink Coca Cola or tea. No one would willingly drink room temperature, tab water... I told myself

- Tab water, tab water... If this is who I am. This is who I am

I ran quickly to catch the school bus heading back to Heliopolis.



(3)


What is so wrong if I do not want to live and die in this dump?

The entire family exploded in laughter when I said that. However, when they realized I was dead serious, silence engulfed the room. My father was the first to burst back at me.

- And where shall we get the money to move elsewhere? He yelled.

- I know how much the kiosk makes and how much you saved, I responded challenging.

- And what about your younger brothers, your sister who is about to get married; are you damn stupid?

This was not going in the right direction. I just mumbled some dirty words and ran out of the room as he jumped and wanted to grab me.


Heading back to work next day, my father came to me “from next week, your brother will be going to the kiosk with you.

He said it like a spit on my face and left.

So, that’s it then. A power play. My brother was never nothing but a nag and a big loser. He’s coming to spy on me, to make sure that I don't "borrow" from the income or make something on the side.


On my way, I fought with the Microbus driver. Two pounds fifty he said.

- It has been always two pounds.

He slammed the breaks “pay or leave.” I paid. They got me off more than 2 kilometers from the Kiosk.


It was incredibly hot today. Drenched in sweat, I saw him driving down the street. The same big black 4x4 with the same smug guy.


(4)


I have been driving aimlessly for the last two hours.

Her words kept bouncing back and forth in my head squeezing my heart. “You and me?!! You must be joking. When we talk and we laugh, I am not laughing with you. I am laughing At you...” She turned around and walked.

I just stood there, naked, defeated. Everybody on campus was behaving normally. How could they?

That evening, I drove and drove. It was extremely hot and humid, thank God for the AC.


- Two packs of Lights please...

No answer, and then it struck me. It is the same Kiosk and this same ass again...!!


And I felt it. I swear to GOD I Felt it. A huge brown eagle landed on my shoulder and he whispered in my ear. “Are you going to be forever anonymous, gutless and scared?”

That was it.

I stepped out of the car screaming, cursing and walked straight to him.

In a flash, he came out and I spotted it right away. A little shiny object in his hand. The realization struck me and in a desperate move I tried to block the blade.

It slashed the inside of my arm and I felt it through my left rib. The lightning bolt of pain was excruciating but it only lasted a split second. I stumbled and tried to lean on something but fell. My eyes, turning, got a glance at my big watch. It was 8:30PM.

It didn't feel that bad, just moving from one lonely place to another.

Actually, I felt nothing, nothing at all..

A Diary of Separation, Ep.2: Mad Dog and Glory

Ep. 2: Mad Dog and Glory

" we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,

we shall fight in the hills;

we shall never surrender" (Winston Churchill)


Funny, how a single word or a single decision can become a landmark in your life. Funnier still when this word is such a simple one that we use everyday but we never really mean.

On this day, I decided to Just Say "No"

* No, you cannot do whatever you want , whenever you want.
* No, I cannot accept being taken for granted all the time.
* And No, I will not let it pass for this time only.



Doing that, I hit a solid wall called Acquired Rights.

For some inexplicable reason, when one agrees to a certain situation. He is, almost certainly, expected to agree to similar situations in the future. Why is this, a somehow, fair assumption?

However, even more puzzling is that by time one loses his right to say "No"

Whatever, you have given up willingly (or unwillingly in this particular case) becomes an Acquired Right for the receiver. To change your situation or say no is met, at this instance, by fierce resistance. And a vicious territorial war starts.



"Never let the sun go down on your anger" That was perhaps one of the first and best advices I got when I got married. But as the relationship drifted and we grew further apart, even small differences were becoming increasingly difficult to patch. The song goes "All You Need is Love." This is not true, I am afraid. There is so much love can do by itself. Without understanding, compromise, kindness and mutual respect any relationship, no matter how passionate, is really doomed. So by time, efforts are stopped, angers are well left overnight and small fires, eventually turn into infernos.



This is where I was on this bleak December day. I have said no, took my stand and put my foot down.

I still felt deeply for my wife, no confusion about that. But, I could not stand the life we were having. We are in love, I assured myself.

* All I am asking is just some compromise. Any relationship is a two way street based upon giving as well as taking. I said to her.

But, I could see it in her eyes. A mixture of surprise and anger. Surprise that 7 years of taming the husband have gone in vain and anger of the thought of giving up her spoils, already won and secured. She was not going to surrender an inch of her invaded lands, not a single item on our negotiations list. For some reason, she made up her mind this will be a dog fight and a fight to the bitter end...

A Diary of Separation, Ep.1: It Takes Two to Tango

Episode 1: It Takes to Tango

" But we were not those people, to whom bad things happen for no reason" (The Lovely Bones.)

- - I will not be treated like a cat anymore... That was my resolution waking up on this fine autumn day in October.

A week ago the obvious got revealed to me. For the last few months, my wife was giving me exactly the same amount of love and care as she was giving to Ezz El Din our cat. Some can argue that this is not necessarily a bad thing. We both - Ezz and I- got up in the morning to find sweetened milk (and cookies for me) at the breakfast table. We both had our clothes and living spaces regularly cleaned and we both got a good night hug and kiss. What more can a cat ask for...

Seven years and two failed relationships ago, my friend Ihab decided to give me the good advice. “You can’t just follow your heart into any relationship like that, especially if you want this relationship to grow into a lifetime commitment.” He Said. “You have to do your homework and really study how suitable and compatible this person is to you.” And honest to God, this is exactly what I intended to do when I met her. Actually, I did half of my homework and the inevitable happened. I loved her. All of my friends asked: Why? But do we really have to have a reason to love?

After a swift and semi bumpy ride on the path of engagement, we took the marriage expressway. But, soon enough, I realised that this road is really very peculiar. It has no U-turns whatsoever and the destination is exclusively her choice (Hence the famous say of a lot women: It is either my way or the highway). Right from the start, she made sure that I would get this message. Right after getting back from our honeymoon and during a very mild argument, she moved out of our room, called her parents and wanted them to take her back home. Attempting to avoid problems at this early stage, I let it slide. That was obviously a fatal mistake.

The first thing they teach to every married couple is that the secret of a happy life is compromise, understanding and trust. However, they never taught us where is the fine line between compromise and weakness, understanding and passivity or trust and naivety. This was perhaps my fault. So many times I told myself “soft paddling will never get you anywhere...” Get mad, confront, and express yourself. But, I conceded and she led our Tango... Straight to hell.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

I wanted to write you a love song
But the words came out dry
Sleepless nights, curling in my dreams
no moon, not a twinkle
Just an angry dark sky

I wanted to write you a love song
but then I wondered why?
meaningless rhymes, lurking in a hazy maze
with no faith and no wings
Can you ask me to fly?

I wanted to write you a lullaby
or to scream or to cry
I even tried to fake a smile
yet all what came out
was just a tiny sigh

Monday, August 16, 2010

A Diary of Separation, Ep.3: Taking the Blue Pill

"The only thing you can do easily is be wrong, and that's hardly worth the effort" (The Phantom Tollbooth)

One day, my wife left home.
It was a hot spring day late March and we had just had our last fight. One of us must leave, we agreed. Our kids were starting to feel the toll of continuous squabbles and life was really a pain. But we disagreed on who should do it.
I stormed out of the house.
Coming back from work, the security guard told me that I just missed them.
"They just left for their little trip…" He said.
But I knew better, this was the start of a totally different journey. A one I knew I did not sign for.

That was it.
Just like a dream (or a nightmare depending on your perspective) my short adventure with marriage came to an abrupt end.
I never saw or talked to her again. And she basically did even try.
Life went on -of course it did- albeit slower, like trickles from an old tab days went by.
Whomever said that there is a close connection between memories and smells was absolutely right. The odors of biscuits, baby shampoos and diapers' cream were quickly disappearing. In just a week, our large house kept only the very distinct smell of locked uninhabited places. I took off all of our wedding photos as well as hers' and hid them in a closed box in the basement.

So, what is the definition of "normal"?
It doesn't really matter. However, what I knew for a fact is that I am sailing away from it's shores. Into an absolutely foreign ocean. An ocean that might or might not hold a safe port.
Strange words started to creep in my life and in my mind. "My kids are coming to spend some time with me, court and step mom" were all of a sudden in my present or my future. What meant to be for life ended. All that remains is a sour business deal, with a person who is nothing but a perfect stranger to me.

Every time you had a fight to go out when I did not want to, I hope it was well worth it.
Every time you lied to me to do whatever you desired, I hope it was well worth it.
Every time you skipped our family lunches, wiggled out of a romantic dinners and came up with excuses not to take our children on vacation, I hope it was well worth it.
The freedom that you wanted so bad is yours for good, I hope you're glad.

Monday, June 28, 2010

The Woman in the White Cotton Coat: My Aunt Leaving Shebin to London

And Shebin here, of course, is Shebin El Kom the capital of Menoufia, the governerate right on the bottom tip of Delta, and home to 2 of 3 Egyptian Presidents (4 if you count Mohamed Naguib) My Father's family lived in Shebin from 1940 to 1958.
For my aunt to get into Medical School, they moved to Cairo when she was 16 years old. However, these 16 years seem all what really affected her and shaped her memories. My aunt moved to London in 1971 and never came back to settle in Cairo. After over 30 years of practice in the UK and travelling most of the world, she only talks and remembers fondly Shebin.
Obviously, not only Cairo was cosmopolitan in these times. The chief nun in her school was French, her best friend was Lebanese and the grocery store where they used to go to buy treats was, certainly, Greek...
"Every day the Hantour would come and pick me up and your dad to go to school" she remembers laughing. And she goes on and on telling about how great this city was and how lovely was it to walk on the Shebin Sea Courniche.
"Your grandfather was a member of the Shell club. He used to take us on vacation days. I just cannot forget how sumptuous the club was with the neat pool tables and the huge Chesterfield sofas." She adds.
She never mentions Heliopolis in the 1960's, where she spend her college days; or my grand grand mother house in El Maleka St. She never talks about her life and career in foggy London. To her life stopped in 1958 and Shebin El Kom.
Egyptians belonging to their land is just incredible. Seven thousands years of farming and civilisation tend to do that to people.
It is certain that everybody loves his/her country. But, I sincerely do not think that any other people are so rooted in their soil like Egyptians.

"Egypt is not a country we live in. It is a country that lives in us" (Pope Shenouda III)

Monday, March 22, 2010

Ode to My School

Just the other day, by a very strange stroke of coincidence, I found my kinder garden napkin.
I was at my parents house, shaving, and here it was. Just exactly as I left it very long ago, squared, pink with my name stitched in clear white letters.
How can I remember it all so vividly?
The chequered "tablier"(that I used to hate so much), my little black leather strap bag and the smell of biscuit and sand mixed with childhood innocence.
Our young French teacher with her little nose and very short dark hair taking our tiny hands and dancing around in circles. "Sur le pont d'avignon, on dance, on dance..."
The swing, le balance and my bleeding knees were almost a daily routine.
How, sometimes, I used to cry attempting to avoid the inevitable, holding on tight to my grandma while crossing Triumph square on our way. I thought maybe, just this once, she'll turn back and take me home with her.
I looked up and saw a glimpse in the mirror.
Where did this hardened face come from? Where are my hair curls and pimples?
I felt a tap on my trouser...
With a faint smile, and Ferry's hand in mine we walked out. I found myself murmuring "Au claire de la lune, mon ami Pierrot..."

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Hating February..

I hate Mondays
Garfield

After the glorious autumn during October, Christmas during December and New Beginnings in January comes the bleak February.
The Romans considered Winter as a "Month less" season. It was not till 700BC that February made it and was added to the Calendar. Then for a very long time it was considered the last month of the year.

All throughout my childhood and university days February had one major meaning: Back to School. In the days where schools and universities used to have a known "more or less" Mid year recess, the beginning of February indicated the return to everything I hated most; waking up at 6am, freezing my butt off on the Heliopolis tram on the way to school and a general incomprehensible sense of emptiness.

Historically (And to date), February was exclusively used to correct the calendar. It used to be 24, 26 or 27 days. Then attempting to align the months with the season February finally reached the 28 days (and 29 every fourth year!!)

For all the businesses in Egypt February is nicknamed Fa2rayer (the Poor Month for our only English readers:)) It is the lowest month in the year in GDP generation and well known for generally eating out profits instead of generating it.

The name February comes from the Latin term Februum meaning Purification. As in ancient Rome 15 of February marked the celebration of this ritual.
Now a day, February of course is also marked with a major ritual one day apart from Purification. Yes, the one and only Valentine's Day. Known in the West from hundreds of years and became famous in Egypt in the last couple of decades or so. V day is a celebration of love among intimate couples (this note is specific for all the people celebrating this day with mom, sister, friends, etc...)
Anyway, this again added to my February dreads. For a reason beyond my comprehension, on almost all Valentine's days, I had to find myself alone. No love and even worse no hope...

So my dear February, I would like to assure you. This is personal. And I am really happy it is March...