K...A Walk With The Pharaohs

I have decided to open the doors of my traditional Eastern household
for the world to see, judge and probably ridicule just so everyone can
see what it's really like living in what has got to be one of the
loudest, most crowdedly schizophrenic societies in the world. The
Egyptians.

So welcome to our humble home.

Contrary to popular belief we don't walk like pharaohs or use camels
for transportation. I actually walk quite comfortably in my worn out
Levi's and my white Peugeot gets me around quite fine, thank you very
much.

I was born in Cairo, Egypt and raised in Boston, Massachusetts. That's
where the cultural shock comes from. And after 7 years of being back in
Cairo I have suddenly discovered that I got lost somewhere along the
way.

I refuse to be just another lost and confused girl searching for the
true meaning of life. So instead I live my Westernized, liberal life
and then go home to my Eastern, conservative family in denial.

Ah, the family, a very important aspect in the Egyptian culture. In
Egypt you are born into your father's arms and pretty much stay there
until a suitor comes along. Then you're off to live the Egyptian dream,
which, if you're a woman, is to marry, a rich man if you're lucky, have
and raise the children in between hosting the famous dinner parties.
That's what I have to look forward to.

And I just wish that I could fit in. I wish that I didn't want more
than that.

My family. My father is a practicing Muslim. I look up to him and seek
his approval in everything I do, which makes it harder to be me. And
that is probably why I am currently studying computer science and
trying so hard to be a good little girl though I must admit, theses
days I seem to be failing.

My mother. Well she just spent a fortune on a new dinning room for our
house to impress the suitors who will soon come to have tea with my
father in our living room and ask for my hand in marriage. I didn't
tell her that I don't think they're coming. You see, I am 20 years old
and in my last year of college so Mr. Right should be here any minute
now?

Well maybe he stopped for directions.

Or maybe, in this conservative country my loud voice and low cut tops
label me as not marriage material. Well admittedly if the above
statement is true, it would be due to more than just my cleavage
bearing tops. It might be the severe partying. Apparently it's ok to
stay out late at bars and parties once or twice a week max. More than
that and you're in trouble. It could also be my friends. They're a bit?
eccentric.

Eccentric meaning that they are not willing to live by the society's
rules. They live by their own. And I am so jealous.

So that and my repeated breaking of the once-a-week rule make me? Well
if the nice ones call me liberal and the rest call me a slut. And I
wish it would stop bothering me.

But Life goes on.

And later on tonight, my family will gather around dinner, rice,
chicken and molokheya, and chatter excitedly over our expensive, new
dinner table. My father will ask me and my younger sister Heba if we
remembered to pray Al-Maghreb and we'll both look sheepishly to the
floor and shake our heads. My mother will raise an eyebrow and
shamelessly ask what car he drives the second me or Heba mention a
guy's name. And Sema, my youngest sister, will play with her food while
singing "Akhasmak Ahh" at the to of her lungs.

Welcome to our humble home.