A real story from my trip North and South
By Isra Abozid
It was the fourth day of my trip to the South. And it was my first
time visiting the mosque of Abu Haggag, although I had been in Al’Aqsar
before. After taking a walk around the mosque, my digital camera gave me
a real sense of what was standing before my eyes. Its actual weight had
eluded me until that precise moment, since in order to be able to fully
comprehend it I first needed to climb to the balcony of the mosque and
contemplate the temple from above. The call to prayer began to sound
while I stood there. I thought the place was stunning. It truly inspired
me! Hence, I began to mull over its gravity.
Suddenly, a girl interrupted my musings, asking without any sort of preamble, “Are you married?”
I turned my head toward her and gazed at the beauty of her face, as
well as the long, loose black garb she was wearing. She had sparked my
curiosity and I was hoping to start a conversation with her to find out
why, despite looking so young, she was already thinking about marriage,
why she was there to begin with, and whether she might be seeking to
marry at such an early age. Therefore, I replied in a rather nonchalant
way, “No, I am single. What about you?”
She then answered in the dialect of Upper Egypt, “No, I ain’t married nor have I studied.”
I offered her a seat. The fresh air was invigorating and I felt for her. The day had been long and exhausting.
Right after we sat down, I took a deep breath to summon every ounce
of strength I could envision myself needing in order to swallow the
answer I feared she might give me after I asked, “So you haven’t
studied. Why is that?”
She replied, “I have not studied and neither have any of my sisters.”
That didn’t come like a bolt from out of the blue, since I was
already aware of the traditions ingrained in Upper Egyptian families.
However, just in case she might actually offer some revealing insight
about the matter, I asked again, “Why?”
She shrugged her shoulders as if she didn’t care and I’d just asked
something utterly preposterous. But in the same breath, she said,
“Because. I have another question; you are from Egypt, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
Visibly cheered up, she moved a little bit closer and asked with sparkling eyes, “And is Egypt like this, like Al’Aqsar?”
I told her while at the same time caressing her hands, “No, of course not. Al’Aqsar is much better.”
Unexpectedly, she burst into a fit of anger as she moved away a little, back to where she had been sitting before.
“Do not lie to me,” she said. “My sister ran off to Egypt! It has to be a lot better over there.”
Dumbfounded, I asked, “Did she really run away? Why?”
A loud husky, rasping voice interrupted our conversation. “I demand
to know who the hell this person you hang out with is, child!”
The girl got scared and moved closer to me, grabbing my hand and signaling me to answer in her stead.
“She is with me, sir. There is no cause for concern.”
The girl’s father, speaking in the Upper Egyptian dialect, then said, “She’ll run off as well.”
In response, I stated, “You have nothing to be afraid of. I am going to stay put.”
He clutched her arm as if to drag her somewhere else, maybe some place with a less charged atmosphere.
However, instead, he calmed down and took a seat next to us. He
stayed there gawking at us for a while and the girl did not utter a
single sound. Poor man, I thought. Once he had completely cooled down,
he went inside the burial vault and sent up his prayers. Perhaps he
asked Abu Haggag to allow him to see his daughter again.
The girl then turned toward me and asked me once more, “Why are you still single?”
“Because I’d rather wait to get married,” I told her.
“Know what?” she said, letting her imagination run wild, “I will also stay single and go to Egypt to make my own decisions.”
I then realized I hadn’t asked her about her age.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen, and I am still not married,” she confessed, as if she were already over the hill.
I smiled at her and said, “Don’t you worry, you’ll get married someday.”
Thereupon, her mother, a dejected and gaunt-looking dark-skinned
woman wearing a black jilbab came out of the vault, grabbed her
daughter’s hand without saying a word, and pushed her to enter the
mausoleum. I looked at the girl while she was being dragged away, forced
to leave without any strength to put up a fight. I didn’t want her to
go either. Her eyes were begging me to take her with me, but I couldn’t
pull any strings on her behalf. I wished Abu Haggag had some strategy up
his sleeve.
I completed my tour around the place and realized that I hadn’t asked
the girl her name. Perhaps the situation hadn’t led to the occasion or
perhaps I had deemed what I’d already learned about her to be enough
information. I was glad the girl’s sister had been able to cut loose
from her family. In spite of her becoming a sinner beyond dispute, she
must have boasted some true grit. Besides, what is the greater sin: to
deprive a young girl of education and force her to marry at an early age
or to break away from such a fate? I really don’t have a clue. Life as I
understand it is certainly poles apart from how Upper Egyptians seem to
spend it.
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