Chapter Two "Pretty Egypt"

Chapter two



It was a glorious day in February; one of those sudden spells of blue skies, constant sun, and warm breezes that drew up the rich scent of the earth. Gameela woke up to the faint smell of flowers, or perhaps to the memory of their aroma.

The sunrays burst and spread rapidly across the window close to her bed, casting their golden glow on the beautiful patchwork quilt that lay around her. Squares of fabric pulsed with rioting, brilliant colors. Her rough aged fingers set the smooth cover aside, as she slowly climbed out of her bed.

Her dark eyes drank in the silver-framed photo of the young woman with blue eyes and curly golden locks.  Sara should be here soon, she thought with a smile. Her little daughter was all grown up. Gameela couldn't believe how time flied quickly, undeterred by the hands of fate. The little child grew up in a blink of an eye.

Gameela trudged along the narrow corridor and then turned left to the bathroom. She splashed her face with  refreshing cool spurts, performed the Woo-dthoo' – the Islamic procedure of washing parts of the body by water prior to praying-  brushed her teeth, and then checked her face in the mirror above the sink. She too grew into this senile woman looking back at her, this sick woman with so little time left to live. Gameela's eyes didn't check over the creases and folds of her face. She ignored the deeply etched wrinkles around her mouth and her eyes. Her mind formed a weird image that played itself in front of her over and over. She imagined the brain-tumor cells as they fed on her life force. Those sleazy, round bubble-like cells that colonized and oppressed her body with their wicked toxins. She imagined them bouncing up and down in triumph, as they celebrated her slow downfall with each passing moment. She was grateful to have woken up to this glorious day. She went back to her bedroom, put on her Prayer Isdal with its long sleeves and head-cover well covering her body, and then performed her morning prayers. After having finished, Gameela breathed in deeply and plodded to the kitchen.

She turned the gas knob and stuck a match, bringing the blue flames to life. She filled the tea kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and waited. Her eyes trailed to the tomato-shaped clock above the doorway and watched as the seconds handle ticked forth, with precise and equal movements. She was conscious of the time passing, and the time that cannot be recovered. The kettle shrieked and screeched for attention, but Gameela's mind's was lost in thoughts and memories. Only the sting of the hot spiraling steam snapped her back.

She carefully placed the hot mug on the coffee table before she plunged her body into the new sofa. Sara had insisted on replacing the old, withered couch that had been her companion for years. The sofa welcomed her heavy figure as she stretched her legs on its arms. It was fairly comfortable allowing her to shift her body with ease on its soft fabric, like a nurse who plopped the pillows for an elderly patient. She missed her old Assuity couch. It hadn't been exactly a pretty couch, neither had it been comfortable, but it was the only friend that offered a shoulder to cry on. It was where she sat and took life-turning decisions, and where she spent many sleepless nights holding, cooing and nursing baby Sara.

Gameela sipped her sweet tea and her eyes travelled to dusty surface of the silent, desolate television screen. She hated this deceiving, wondrous box. She preferred the lively hum and clatter of the radio. She liked to listen to people speak, and to imagine how they looked like, how they felt, how they reacted to various news and events. She liked to paint portraits in her own mind, create colorful scenes of her own choice. This made her feel in control. She uncoiled herself to seek the ivory-colored old radio seated on a table not far from the television set, and shifted the dial in search for a song by Om Kathoum or Abl el Wahab. Those were the grand singers who captivated the Arab world with their sweet tunes and enamoring voices, back in the time, that lovely time, that long gone period of the past. Her search yielded futile, and then another thought crossed her mind.

Gameela helped herself to her feet, stood on its tip, and extended her full height to reach the old portable gramophone that sat serenely on a shelf above the radio. the effort left her breathless, but the reward was worth it. She wound the old battered device, and then placed her only surviving record of Om Kalthoum. Few moments passed before she heard the alternating magical strumming between the 'ood and the cello, the roaring applause of the listeners, and then the sound of the rhythmic tablah preceding the swaying guitar tunes. Gameela closed her eyes, and enjoyed her listening silence.

She allowed the strong, sweet voice to penetrate her mind and soul. In spite of having heard this song many times, its soaring notes never failed to have the same intoxicating effect on her.

Elly shoftoh….Elly shoftoh … Abl ma teshoofak 'enaya 'omr daye' yehsebooh el nas 'alaya.

All that I have experienced, all what I have experienced… before my eyes set on you
have been nothing but wasted life, how could you people count those wasted years of my life?


She listened to echoes of the past as the music swelled and strengthened. Her mind ambled through its dusty, untouched recesses, revisiting splendid days of her youth. Gameela only opened her eyes when the sound of the boisterous applause announced the end of the song. The apartment was all quite again. Her relaxed smile disappeared as she held her head with both hands in pain. The headaches were back, increasing in frequency and severity. She reached out for her painkillers, and gulped a handful with a swig of the now cold tea.

The end was near, she could tell. The cutting threads had begun some time ago. She was one of the lucky ones though; whom death had given an ultimatum to get ready for the final journey. It stood in the shades, waiting and occasionally nodding its head like a gentleman, allowing her sometime for her final farewell. It was time to unburden her troubled mind and unshackle her heart, that heart that suffered from the bitterness of unrequited love.

She found herself thinking of Sara with troubled tenderness. This beautiful, young girl that was so emotional, so hopeful, and so eager. What if the truth bruised her, hardened her, and broke her? What if it tripped her to the bottom of the darkest wells of shock and despair? Many questions badgered Gameela's mind.

The jingle of keys, and the sound of the squeaky creak of the old entrance door as it opened, told her that Sara was home. She heard her tired footsteps and they approached the room, and then smiled at the pretty face that veered at her from the doorway.

"Hi Mama, Anna geet, I'm back."

Gameela noticed the pallor in Sara's face and the dark circles under her eyes.

"Hello honey, come here beside me and give me a big hug."

Sara barely pushed her aching feet forward. She plopped onto the couch beside her mother, and surrendered her exhausted body to the warmth of her mother's hug.

"Honey, you look so tired, this work of yours is just not right, I don't know why you bother with it. They don't even pay you well!"

Sara managed a weak smile and nothing.

"Go get some sleep, and by the time you wake up you'll find a feast waiting for you to devour!"

Sara nodded her head, stood up and moved a couple of wobbly steps, but then came back, slumped on the couch and stretched her body on its smooth, comfortable fabric. She extended an arm and grabbed a nearby cushion and placed it under her head. In mere seconds Sara slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Gameela watched as the light scattered itself on Sara's porcelain complexion, the golden curls that framed her freckled face and her eyelashes which were so light in color, you barely noticed them. She patted Sara's head affectionately, gave her a light peck on the cheek, and then left the room.

She looks exactly like her. Oh Sara, should I tell you the truth now?Or should I let it die with me? She needs to know, it's the only right thing to do.  But what if she hates me after this? Is it worth the risk?

Gameela's doubts and fears whirled around her in a tornado of thoughts. Her chest ached as her mind addled with all ugly possibilities. She decided to keep her jagged fears in check for now. She felt like a walking statue in the absolute quiet. The kitchen would keep her distracted. The sounds of chopping and cutting, the clanking of pans, and the delicious aromas of the food she would cook would save her for now from the blundering thoughts. Gameela rolled her sleeves, turned right and crossed the threshold to the cozy, terra-cotta tiled kitchen.


Sara woke up to a symphony of tantalizing scents playing around her, infiltrating her nostrils and forcing her to stand up and search for their source. The mouth-watering smell of cardamom, mastic, cinnamon, coriander and garlic made her stomach groan with hunger.  She walked to the kitchen and heard her mother's shriek as she tossed the garlic mix onto the sizzling soup.

"Mama, you still do that when you prepare the Molokhiya?"

"Yes of course Sarah, otherwise, it won't turn out right." She answered her daughter with conviction as she turned off the gas knob.

Gameela pulled a large glass bowl and added some of the delicious green soup to it. Sarah took the bowl and placed it on the small round oak table at the centre of the kitchen. She sat down and allowed her senses to take in the scrumptious feast that was set for her. She spooned some steamy white rice in her plate toppled it with the Molokheya soup, reached across for a finger of stuffed vine leaves which she popped immediately in her mouth. Gameela cut through the huge fried chicken and added a juicy piece of chicken breast to Sara's plate.

"Eat honey, and make up for that useless food they feed you in that ship. Eat. I cooked all this just for you."

Gameela watched her daughter as she wolfed down her hot meal. The sound of the spoon and knife's clattering as they hit Sara's plate jangled her nerves. She stood up reached a pitcher and poured some water in Sara's cup.

"Mama, why aren’t you eating?" Sara asked through a mouth full of food.

"Honey, I'm full and good as long as you're full. Bel hana wyl shefah. Enjoy your meal. I'll put the kettle on the heat so by the time you're done you can have a nice cup of tea. "

Sara stopped eating and stared at the window above the stove.

"Thank you mama, but I'm done here. I have something important to tell you."

Gameela detected anxiety in her daughter's voice. She twisted her lips into a smile that hid the tension that gnawed at her insides.

"I have something to tell you too honey, I'll get this tea done, and then we can talk. Go wash up, and I'll be down with you."


Ten minutes later Gameela walked in the living room holding a medium sized tray with two cups of steaming tea. She placed the tray on the coffee table and chose to sit in the armchair across Sarah, rather than sitting beside her on the sofa.

"Now, habibty, tell me, what's going on with you? Let me guess. There's someone in your life. Right?"

Sara smiled shyly and looked at the steamy brown transparent liquid in her glass, she took a sip and then nodded to her mother.

"So is this someone serious and wants to come seek your hand in marriage."

Again Sara nodded her head and said nothing.

"Ya Alf nehar abyad…that's just delightful. Thank God, finally. Honey I want to see you married and all settled before I die."

"Ba'd el sha'r mama. Don't say that. May you live a long, healthy life."

Gameela reached out and kissed her daughter's cheek. She noticed the uncertainty that hovered over her daughter's pretty features.

Sara leveled up to face her mother before she carefully laid out her words.
"Mama, there's something I didn't mention to you."

"What is it honey? Speak up. Something's wrong with your 'Arees?"

Sara smiled at the sound of the word Arees or groom, she just couldn't picture Jan as the typical groom who comes along with his family to seek her hand in marriage the traditional way. She sighed deeply before she spoke.

"Mama, My groom is not Egyptian."

"So what habibty, as long as he comes from a good family, and could provide a decent life for you, then there's no problem. He is living permanently in Egypt right? I wouldn't like you to leave and live like a stranger in some far-away land."

Sara felt her stomach lurch. She toyed with her fingers and bit her lower lip before she started talking again. "Mother he's settled in Egypt and he's a Muslim, but…"

"But what? Speak."

"He's British."

Gameela turned her head away from Sara. Her fingers unconsciously shot up to the heart-shaped locket that she never took off. Images flicked through her mind like old postcards. Her pulse ran electric in her veins,as she pursed her trembling lips. She closed her eyes for some time, before openning them again. She struggled to keep on a composed expression.

"Do you love him, Sara?"

"Yes mama, I do, but if this upsets you, I'll put the whole thing off. Mama, you mean the world to me. Your consent and blessing is more important than anything else." Sara spoke with a choked-up constrained voice, as she watched her mother's neutral face.

Gameela sat staring into the void. In her mind, time slowed interminably and she shifted her fingertips lightly over its surface. She remembered his face, his eyes, his touch. His image was a fleeting one, but his memory was solid, carved in her heart.

"Mother, please say something! I knew you'll be upset. I'm sorry mother!"

"Sara, come sit here by my side. I have a confession to make, one that can make you hate me."

"What? Don't say that mama."

"You know something Sara, Mahran was never my true love."

"You didn't love daddy?"

"Sara, I lived a lifetime you knew nothing about. A life full of secrets. I fell in love, and then lost my love. I lost all the people I loved, but God made it up to me and sent you. You, my angel. I never loved Mahran, but I respected him and looked up to him."

Sara was baffled by her mother's revelations, and something told her there was more unsettling surprises yet to come.

"Sara I need you to know everything about my past. I have to tell you everything before it's too late."

"Mother, don't say that…"

"Honey, I'm dying. I have a tumor in my head." Gameela cut brusquely, in a matter of fact tone. She was tired of holding back this secret for so long. It burdened her, weighed her down, it was time to break free of it.

Sara's hands flew to her mouth. A wretched look seized her face and sprung from her eyes along with the shocked tears that fell heavily across her face.Her mother's words stung and burned her. Anguish ate at her very core. She gave her head a vigorous shake as if trying to come out of a nightmare.

"Don't cry my sweet Sara, El a'mar beyady el lah, Our lives are in the hands of God."

Sara flung herself between her mother's arms, and buried her head at her mother's shoulder. She wept like a little child, who lost his way and had nowhere to go.

"Sara please, calm down. We're all going to die. I've lived a long life. Now listen young lady, here take this and wipe your tears. I need you to hear me, and to know everything there is about my life."

"Mama, I don't care about you're past life or your secrets. I just want you here with me forever. Please don't leave me!"

"Astaghfero allaho al 'azeem. Ask God to forgive you Sara. Come on young lady, toughen up a bit. Please do it for me. You have to listen to me. Now go wash your face, and come back honey. For mama's sake."

Sara did as told, and then came back. Shock still registered on her features. Her body shook involuntarily, and her face went paler than it already was with eyes that clouded with fear and anguish.

"I'm listening mother, I'm listening."