"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, August 16, 2010
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)
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..."
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...
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...
Monday, October 19, 2009
Just Normal...
Hi,
My name is Mohamed, my friends in Europe call me John but you can call me Chang. Don't raise your eye brows! You don't know me? I am you neighbour living just around the corner, 3000 Km away.
Not yet? Let me try to describe myself a little then. I am average height and weight with no peculiar facial or ethnic traits. This doesn't really help, I see. Well ok, I am a member of the biggest group in the world. Governments call us the Public (hence public transport, public toilets, public beaches and so on..), politicians call us the Silent Majority while movie stars and sports celebrities call us the Fans.
It is true that I am not famous or anything. However, I get me share of the news . The only difference between our group and the captains of business and politics is that while they are referred to by name, we are referred to by numbers or statistics:
- An estimated number of 2000 people died in the El Salam Ferry sinking.
- The rate of unemployment has risen by 2% during the second quarter of 2009.
- 34 killed and 106 injured in 3 bombings in Iraq
- 70% of the married male population in Europe cheated on their wives at one point, at least, during their marriage.
We don't design bridges. We build them. We do not plan wars or revolutions. We just fight them. We don't play sports. We just fill the stadiums and watch the live broadcast burdened with silly advertisement.
The consumers, the customers, the masses and the corner stone of modern civilisation. Actually, during the last economic crisis they also gave us credit. All of our financial, problems and worries; all of the measures we took to go on living through the turbulence were deduced to: The Consumers' Confidence Index.
I never complain and I never tire. I just go through life one day at a time. Whether it is in the hunger-stricken plains of Ethiopia or the warm wooden houses in Sweden, it is still me. One conviction, I always have: "God loves normal people. That is why he created so many of them."
My name is Mohamed, my friends in Europe call me John but you can call me Chang. Don't raise your eye brows! You don't know me? I am you neighbour living just around the corner, 3000 Km away.
Not yet? Let me try to describe myself a little then. I am average height and weight with no peculiar facial or ethnic traits. This doesn't really help, I see. Well ok, I am a member of the biggest group in the world. Governments call us the Public (hence public transport, public toilets, public beaches and so on..), politicians call us the Silent Majority while movie stars and sports celebrities call us the Fans.
It is true that I am not famous or anything. However, I get me share of the news . The only difference between our group and the captains of business and politics is that while they are referred to by name, we are referred to by numbers or statistics:
- An estimated number of 2000 people died in the El Salam Ferry sinking.
- The rate of unemployment has risen by 2% during the second quarter of 2009.
- 34 killed and 106 injured in 3 bombings in Iraq
- 70% of the married male population in Europe cheated on their wives at one point, at least, during their marriage.
We don't design bridges. We build them. We do not plan wars or revolutions. We just fight them. We don't play sports. We just fill the stadiums and watch the live broadcast burdened with silly advertisement.
The consumers, the customers, the masses and the corner stone of modern civilisation. Actually, during the last economic crisis they also gave us credit. All of our financial, problems and worries; all of the measures we took to go on living through the turbulence were deduced to: The Consumers' Confidence Index.
I never complain and I never tire. I just go through life one day at a time. Whether it is in the hunger-stricken plains of Ethiopia or the warm wooden houses in Sweden, it is still me. One conviction, I always have: "God loves normal people. That is why he created so many of them."
Picture Frame..
I was never really a fan of Birthdays. Not trying to be cynical or anything. It is just not my thing. In my opinion, it is just a cheesy way to gather people somewhere (in the good old days birthdays were normally held in homes, but not anymore) and embarrass them to get you gifts.
Even more, one gets invited to too many birthdays. This leaves you in perpetual confusion.
"So, who's birthday is it exactly on Friday?"
"Omar?? Omar who? Oh Rania's Fiancée..!!"
"Remind me again... Who's Rania exactly??"
And it just goes on and on.. and on.
For the sake of argument let us do the math. You have 15 family member (including kids) and 15 friends. Each of your friend on the average have a wife and a kid. By simple math this adds up to a minimum of 60 people. If only two thirds of them decide to celebrate their Birthdays you will end up with 40 Birthdays. That is more than 1 birthday every 10 days (and I am being very conservative with numbers.)
Then comes the issue of the birthday present. Get an expensive present then you are trying to show off. Get a simple present and you are cheap. Or get a gift voucher and then you are plainly lame.
Some people obviously found the ideal solution for this dilemma during my last birthday (for the record: I did not have a birthday party) However, these certain individuals decided to be nice to me anyway. So, I ended up getting 10 very similar gifts. I think by now you all have guessed it.... Right, Picture Frames.
This made me think a little. When someone gets you a picture frame, what is the message this conveys?
We do not know you that well
We had to get you a gift (God knows why..)
We do not really care whether or not you will actually use this present (a remote possibility in the age of digital photography)
However, after my initial mild frustration from getting 10 picture frames for my "special" day. It suddenly hit me. This is the perfect and most brilliant present anyone could get.
For the coming 10 birthdays, I will absolutely need not worry about what to buy as a present. Just give one of the frames. It does not matter if it's a boy or a girl, young or old. A frame would just do it. Especially, if you sneak in and just throw it in the middle of the other gifts without a card or anything that reveals your identity.
Then you'll go home and just imagine the Birthday boy/girl
"Who the hell brought me this Picture Frame??"
We koll sana wento taybeen...
Even more, one gets invited to too many birthdays. This leaves you in perpetual confusion.
"So, who's birthday is it exactly on Friday?"
"Omar?? Omar who? Oh Rania's Fiancée..!!"
"Remind me again... Who's Rania exactly??"
And it just goes on and on.. and on.
For the sake of argument let us do the math. You have 15 family member (including kids) and 15 friends. Each of your friend on the average have a wife and a kid. By simple math this adds up to a minimum of 60 people. If only two thirds of them decide to celebrate their Birthdays you will end up with 40 Birthdays. That is more than 1 birthday every 10 days (and I am being very conservative with numbers.)
Then comes the issue of the birthday present. Get an expensive present then you are trying to show off. Get a simple present and you are cheap. Or get a gift voucher and then you are plainly lame.
Some people obviously found the ideal solution for this dilemma during my last birthday (for the record: I did not have a birthday party) However, these certain individuals decided to be nice to me anyway. So, I ended up getting 10 very similar gifts. I think by now you all have guessed it.... Right, Picture Frames.
This made me think a little. When someone gets you a picture frame, what is the message this conveys?
We do not know you that well
We had to get you a gift (God knows why..)
We do not really care whether or not you will actually use this present (a remote possibility in the age of digital photography)
However, after my initial mild frustration from getting 10 picture frames for my "special" day. It suddenly hit me. This is the perfect and most brilliant present anyone could get.
For the coming 10 birthdays, I will absolutely need not worry about what to buy as a present. Just give one of the frames. It does not matter if it's a boy or a girl, young or old. A frame would just do it. Especially, if you sneak in and just throw it in the middle of the other gifts without a card or anything that reveals your identity.
Then you'll go home and just imagine the Birthday boy/girl
"Who the hell brought me this Picture Frame??"
We koll sana wento taybeen...
Monday, August 24, 2009
The Kings's Illness
Another interesting mail that I got from a distant acquaintance:
During the time of the Pharaohs Old Kingdom, it is said that King Khufu fell the victim of a grave illness.
His condition prevented him from eating, sleeping or entertaining his endless reserve of Harem. After lengthy consultations, the wise men of the Kingdom finally figured it out. The king had a disease exclusive to majesties. He was simply, but drastically, bored.
Hard working, low earning people do not have the luxury of getting bored.
Anyway, this is not what my letter is about. My family is facing a very strange and peculiar problem: My wife is the most impatient and easy-to-get-bored person on earth. This is not an exaggeration, she is.
We always eat our meals in room temperature as she cannot wait till late noon to cook. Also, she cannot wait the 2 minutes the microwave needs to heat. My white shirts gained a more or less yellowish colors. "It is such a waste of time to wait for the entire very long cycle to wash the Whites.." She sais.
Our vacations cannot be longer than 3 to 4 days and we go out of any movie after one and half hours whether it is finished or not.
We (more or less), as a family, adapted to this relentless half-cooked lifestyle. However, as a famous philosopher once noted: Since patience, in any case, cannot be depicted every moment in life can then become heavy and tedious. Six or seven months ago, my wife exhausted the last remaining tiny bits of her patience.
So this is what we are left with: Boredom... and a great deal of it too.
My wife is bored. She is bored from me, our kids, our home and the whole damn lot.
We go on a vacation, she cries on the airplane that she wants to get back. We go to a restaurant, the food is 10 minutes late and she insists to leave. Our home is permanent State of Emergency . Kids are severely punished for almost nothing and the squabbles with the cook, the cleaner and the doorman do not seem to end.
To make things worse, her mechanism to fight it all is to sleep. First it was an innocent kind of cuddly doze. Then it ended up by profound and sound sleep through family functions, pool parties, cinemas and clubs.
What started out as a small hole of impatience has turned out into a deep dark well of apathy and boredom. And unfortunately, it is very hard to build a pyramid these days...
During the time of the Pharaohs Old Kingdom, it is said that King Khufu fell the victim of a grave illness.
His condition prevented him from eating, sleeping or entertaining his endless reserve of Harem. After lengthy consultations, the wise men of the Kingdom finally figured it out. The king had a disease exclusive to majesties. He was simply, but drastically, bored.
Hard working, low earning people do not have the luxury of getting bored.
Anyway, this is not what my letter is about. My family is facing a very strange and peculiar problem: My wife is the most impatient and easy-to-get-bored person on earth. This is not an exaggeration, she is.
We always eat our meals in room temperature as she cannot wait till late noon to cook. Also, she cannot wait the 2 minutes the microwave needs to heat. My white shirts gained a more or less yellowish colors. "It is such a waste of time to wait for the entire very long cycle to wash the Whites.." She sais.
Our vacations cannot be longer than 3 to 4 days and we go out of any movie after one and half hours whether it is finished or not.
We (more or less), as a family, adapted to this relentless half-cooked lifestyle. However, as a famous philosopher once noted: Since patience, in any case, cannot be depicted every moment in life can then become heavy and tedious. Six or seven months ago, my wife exhausted the last remaining tiny bits of her patience.
So this is what we are left with: Boredom... and a great deal of it too.
My wife is bored. She is bored from me, our kids, our home and the whole damn lot.
We go on a vacation, she cries on the airplane that she wants to get back. We go to a restaurant, the food is 10 minutes late and she insists to leave. Our home is permanent State of Emergency . Kids are severely punished for almost nothing and the squabbles with the cook, the cleaner and the doorman do not seem to end.
To make things worse, her mechanism to fight it all is to sleep. First it was an innocent kind of cuddly doze. Then it ended up by profound and sound sleep through family functions, pool parties, cinemas and clubs.
What started out as a small hole of impatience has turned out into a deep dark well of apathy and boredom. And unfortunately, it is very hard to build a pyramid these days...
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