An Appeal to Egyptian-American Integrity

Today I received two emails from a friend. Together they make for an interesting commentary on the divided psyche of the American-Egyptian community.

The first is a flyer for an event sponsored by The Egyptian American Medical Society, Egyptian American Professional Society, Egyptian American Business Association, Egyptian American Group, and the American Muslim Union.

I laud the efforts made by the community to form organizations that seek to enrich our lives in the United States of America. It makes me proud to be an American-Egyptian. One of the greatest privileges we enjoy in this country is the freedom to participate in civic life without government interference. It is a privilege we should never take for granted and always jealously guard.

Yet my pleasure at seeing such civic engagement was tempered by a factual error in the email. You see the event is intended to honor the Ambassador Sherif el Kholy who happens to be a nice man. The only problem is that as far as I can tell he is not the Ambassador. Nabil Fahmy is the Egyptian Ambassador to the United States.

This minor detail matters immensely. As an American-Egyptian I fret that our propensity to use titles that glorify figures of authority has been carried to our adopted country. Has this mindset, I asked myself, already become entrenched in our civic organizations here in the United States? Didn’t many of us come to the United States and achieve our success as immigrants precisely because we believed in America as a meritocracy?

Why use a title that hasn’t been earned? Read More »

The Radical Notion That Parents Are People

When my mother was young she was taught that, until she married, she should defer to her father in all important decisions. “Your elders know best” - was what she was told (this was usually followed up with a “and when you’re married, your husband will know best,” but I will not get into that right now).

Today, many people are busy lamenting the breakdown of such traditions. They exist on many levels of my native society, but there is also the fear that they will disintegrate. Alarmists paint a typically dystopian scenario: “elders” no longer exist and society is in shambles. Five-year-olds are snorting crushed Viagra pills, and houses of worship have been converted to seedy “massage parlors.”

I would like to take a critical look at traditional relationships between parents and children without falling victim to reactionary rhetoric that has little in common with reality.

Now, it is true that parents usually want what’s best for their child. However, do parents always know what’s best? If you have been around the block a few times, you know what the answer is.

Parents are people, and people make mistakes. This has been true since the beginning of time, and it will be true in any age and any culture.

When I was younger, my father was convinced that I needed to study engineering or medicine for the sake of having a stable career. It did not matter that I had absolutely no talents when it came to either one of these esteemed fields of study.

I shudder to think as to how miserably I would have failed if I didn’t stand up for myself at a crucial moment, and rejected my father’s well-meaning advice.

Am I a bad daughter?

Read More »

Real Love and Real Life

The author would like her readers to know that this piece underwent an editing process by ArabComment.

Finding love isn’t easy in our day of age. It seems to be everywhere, and nowhere, all at once.

People have abused the term in every way; you almost never know if it’s ‘love love’ or just plain old ‘love.’ Is your fifth grade crush considered love? Most people would disagree, but who are we to define it for you?

I’ve heard people swear that they ‘fell’ at the first sight of their beloved. Others report that they joined the lovers’ club through arranged marriage. Perhaps these different stories are a sign that love can be found anywhere, regardless of your lifestyle, provided you look hard enough.

Instead of looking, however, we spend a lot of time fantasizing. Every girl, at one point or another, dreams of the one: that super hunk of a guy (who just happens to resemble her favorite movie star), possessing the awesome qualities of kindness and generosity. He will make her happy because he understands her like no other. Most girls will tell you that money doesn’t matter, love is what counts. Yet, as we mature, demands will become more practical.

A woman wants to be loved and cared for. And yet, why do women often make bad decisions when it comes to relationships? Read More »

Russia, My Russia: The Final Chapter

The previous installment of Husam’s travelogue can be found here.

In the early morning, I took a walk across St. Petersburg that would take me all day, crossing the waters, landing on islands, and visiting both well-known and lesser-know tourist sites, not to mention discovering hidden surprises that the city still had up its sleeve.

I started on Nevsky Prospect and went up over two bridges, each adorned with a different sculptural theme. I saw a lovely church built in a style very similar to that of St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow! Hmmm… Wasn’t the original architect killed? - I wondered

I then quickly realized that St. Petersburg didn’t even exist when he was alive. Whatever his destiny was, he and his vibrant style were revived when the St. Petersburg church was built in the late nineteenth century.

This Church On Spilled Blood, as it is called, was built on the spot where on the first of March 1881, Czar Alexander II was assassinated. His successor commissioned a magnificent church to commemorate his father in the Russian revivalist style.

A park nearby lead me to the Arts Square, where the Russian Museum is located and another weird story of murder was played out in the beginning of the 1800’s. The Mikhaylovskiy Castle was built on orders of Paul I, who was obsessed with the possibility of assassination. The castle was surrounded by moats and draw bridges and supplied with secret underground passages to help in rescue. Alas, all those precautions were futile in the face of destiny, and he was murdered only 40 days after moving into his fortified haven!

At the moat I saw many young Russians throwing coins at small statue under one of the bridges nearby, driven by the belief that their wishes could be granted if their coin balanced itself on the statue without falling into the river Moyka, a tradition that has endured since since long ago. I didn’t try my luck; after all, what more can I wish for? Read More »

Muslim Couples and Infertility: Plan Ahead!

My friend, Noha, sat across from me weeping. She had requested to meet for coffee early that day, it sounded urgent from her voice. I’m not one to pry in someone else’s affairs, if Noha wanted to talk, I knew she eventually would.

And she did.

“I can’t have children,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked like a child who just learned that they had lost their parent forever. I didn’t know what to say to comfort her. I’ve only heard of such personal affairs in the old Egyptian classic movies I watched as a child. In one movie, the lead actress, Amina Rizk, gives up her true love and decides to share her husband with another, Huda Sultan, in hopes that her husband’s name will be passed on.

Noha calmed down once the waiter brought our food. She explained that the doctor determined that her husband was the infertile one, not her as they initially presumed. I confess, I was shocked. In Arab culture, infertility is always blamed on the female.

Even if a woman is strong enough to challenge her society and demand that the man take a fertility test, he almost would always refuse. Noha’s husband had a different view, thus the unfortunate results of the test.

I didn’t know what to say: “should I advise her to leave him or encourage her to just accept her destiny/test from God?” Read More »

Exhausted

From explaining myself to people who believe that being married to a Muslim is similar to being Frankenstein’s bride, or Jack the Ripper’s victim.

How exhausted am I?

Imagine:

Life as a marathon.

A sweaty marathon runner with a cramp. And someone with a terrible nasal voice nagging at her shoulder, lying to her about her shoelaces. Telling her they’ve come untied.

At every mile.

Amman In Winter

A wintry Amman is casually lovely. The summer is great for tourism, but the winter invites introspection and quiet contentment. This is the time to warm your fingers by candlelight in a lounge like Canvas, or walk hypnotized through City Mall’s minimalist sleekness, or else just gape at the construction projects that are bristling up all over the city.

In the cold, Amman is a quieter place. Sound carries. Sunlight is milky and diluted. The nights are more energetic, now that new bars and restaurants are welcoming residents and travelers into their cavernous, smoky insides. For myself, I have now discovered Loki, the place that everyone started talking about a long time ago. As an infrequent traveler, I hope I can be forgiven for my lateness and general un-hipness.

The joke goes that Jordan is stuck “between Iraq and a hard place.” And yet for a nation literally bordered by conflicts, Jordan has done fairly well for itself, all things considered. It remains a favourite with tourists who are particularly keen on history and nature (although international brand-name luxury certainly has its presence in Amman, the Dead Sea, and beyond). The economy has been growing, and the currency is pretty strong.

The Islamic Action Front, a conservative political party, has suffered losses in Jordan’s most recent parliamentary elections. This may have something to do that the economy appears to be a top priority to the electorate, but personally, I’m not sure either way. Jordanian society as a whole is still pretty conservative, but Amman in particular has mellowed out some. I used to feel my foreignness keenly in Amman. Perhaps I’ve mellowed out as well.

In many public places, hotels especially, metal detectors are a reminder of the bombings of November 2005. Read More »

Russia, My Russia: Part V

The previous installment of Husam’s travelogue can be found here.

Like most people, I have heard a lot about the Hermitage, but never in my wildest dreams expected it to be as stupendous as it turned out to be. Everyone knows the Hermitage is grand, not everyone realizes what “grand” truly means.

The museum is located on the waterfront, surrounded by statues. Behind it is a vast open square in the middle of which is the largest podium made of a single piece of granite in the world. The palace itself was built to host the collections of art and sculpture and curiosities that the Russian Empire both produced and collected, beginning at the time of Catherine the Great.

Nothing was spared as successive Russian monarchs tried their best to benefit their country by sending agents to gather and assemble precious collections of art, as well as commission Russian and international artists and architects to design and build. The mere size of the St. Petersburg museum made me realize that at least several other world museums can easily fit inside this gargantuan wonderland.

Once you enter the maze of the Hermitage, even a compass or the latest GPS system, even a laser-guided tour, will not save you from getting lost in its vastness. Your mind will wander in its labyrinth and your heart will jump in every new room you encounter. It is simply endless.

The Hermitage boasts huge exhibits centered Romans, Greek, Egyptian, and Babylonian civilizations, rooms that not many people know about. Add to that precious collections of paintings from every epoch and every school of art. Add carvings, sculptures, artifacts, tapestries, and so on. This is beside the fact that the presentation itself is just as priceless:

Each new hall and gallery has a different theme. The floors vary from marble mosaics to wooden parquet of every conceivable color and design, created with loving care, like a painting that you can walk on. Read More »

I Hate Valentine’s Day

Not because of religion, or politics, do I despise February 14th. Neither am I one of those people who hates it simply because he has no one to celebrate it with (though I sincerely sympathize with everyone who hates it for precisely that reason).

My profound problems with this so-called holiday run deeper than that.

Consider, for instance, the candy:

Too sweet, too artificial, inevitably heart-shaped, and always stuffed in a ridiculous box that no grown man (or woman) should be seen carrying in public. Indulge in a few of these, and you can actually feel your teeth rotting in your head for the rest of the day. No amount of toothpaste can quite erase the sticky film on the enamel. Drinking ten soft-drinks in a row is probably much, much healthier.

Then, of course, there is the rest of the merchandise: Read More »

Russia, My Russia: Part IV

The previous parts of Husam’s travelogue are as follows: part I, II, and III. Enjoy.

The sun graced Moscow with its presence on my fourth day in town, and so I therefore decided to stay outdoors and visit the open-air memorial known as Park Pobedy (”pobeda” means “victory” in Russian).

This place commemorates what the Russians refer to as the Great Fatherland War, or what we call the Second World War.

The vast open passage to the memorial park is absolutely breathtaking:

There are rows and rows of water fountains gushing dramatically upward and a giant obelisque piercing the air, topped with sculptures of angels of peace.

There is the sense of beauty here, and violence; violence that remains in Russian memory.

Inside the park are various exhibitions showcasing tanks, fighter airplanes and jets, battleships, cannons and all types of heavy and light weaponry of the war. The exhibits are scattered beside ponds and forest groves. Here, fountains bristle with golden sunrays and falling leaves. Attached to all this are places of worship representing all three Abrahamic religions as a way to pay respect to the millions of different soldiers, those who joined hands during the defense of their shared Homeland.

Following this dramatic excursion, I went to the Kievsky Train Station and proceeded towards the house of Leo Tolstoy, a place not to be missed by literary buffs arriving in Moscow. I then crossed the river on a magnificent glass bridge and walked towards the famous Gorky Park (listen for a mention of it in the Scorpions’ “Wind of Change”).

Close by, there is another peculiar park, this one dedicated to fallen monuments. Some call it the “statue cemetery” as it also now home to many sculptures that were neglected or removed from their podiums after the fall of communism. This is a haunting (if not haunted) place.

There I was able to get a very close look at the modern statue of Peter the Great commemorating one of his many feats (this one, I believe, is dedicated to his establishment of the Russian navy). Walking along the river, I reached a pedestrian-only area that leads to the prestigious Zamoskvoreche neighborhood and the famous Triyatkov Gallery. To reach the gallery I had to cross the river again over a small bridge, this one planted with metal trees bearing fruits that looked, to my eyes, like locks. I was initially bewildered by this. Read More »