We ended up living in a low income housing area in Ottawa, the nation's capital. We found a five bedroom attached home that was one of the only places that would rent to a family with seven kids.
My father could not find a job. I was told the economy was faltering at that time. So my mother had to go to work for the first time in her life. Back in Egypt she was a beautiful, loving, classy, stylish, upper middle class woman who had servants, went on vacation every summer to Alexandria, and made sure all her children were well mannered and impeccably dressed. Her pride was extreme and her need set her self apart drove us all to reluctantly perform for our extended family, neighbors, and guests. We all called our father Papa rather than the regular Baba because it was French and more refined. My oldest siblings went to French schools. She always made us feel we were better than everyone else. My father never played along. He was from the country and appreciated simplicity.
Her first job was as a dishwasher and kitchen helper at the Lord Elgin Hotel. She could hardly speak English. Her coworkers always put her on dishes. The day she had enough, she poured her self a cup of coffee and sat in the dinning room while on shift. The manager came to ask what was going on, her coworkers said they didn't know. He went to confront my mother. She said "Dishes every day, every day, every day, difficult". She later remarked how proud she was that she used her one big word "difficult". The manager responded with "You know, you are a very beautiful woman". Her defiance tuned into embarrassment, her cheeks turned red. She wan't supposed to hear such things from a strange man, that was impropper. She was later transferred to the dinning room where she worked as a waitress. I remember her standing there in a pastel blue/green uniform and a white apron, flowing black hair tied into a bun, and her classically beautiful face full of care and kindness. She would always bring me a fancy nougat, double wrapped in a silver wrapping and an edible paper, from the hotel.
With her charm, beauty, and work ethic, the money started to flow, her English got better. She was a great success. We got new furniture, new clothes. She got two of my sisters, Sister H, and Sister L jobs at the hotel. Sister G couldn't work, she was mentally handicapped. It was the first time she became a self determined woman and the family bread winner. She liked it and she was on a roll. My father was still unemployed but getting used to it, and maybe enjoying it, a little.
This was the first time in our history that we were not constrained by tradition and society to conform to our traditional roles. We were far away from the judging eyes of our community. We did our best to stay true to our Egyptian traditions, but we were slowly conforming to the realities of Canada. At that point in time my parents never imagined what price they would have to pay and what compromises they would have to make in the face of our new western reality. The plan was always to immigrate, get rich and educated, and go back.
As we saved more money, my parents opened a diner. We served burgers and soup with some traditional middle eastern cuisine. The place was a hit, especially the Kofta. My mother was the cook, cashier, cleaner, and server. My father read economics journals and the news papers. To him, this was all temporary, soon enough he would get a job, get back on track with the plan and go back to Egypt where everything would be as it always had been and always should be.
My father could not find a job. I was told the economy was faltering at that time. So my mother had to go to work for the first time in her life. Back in Egypt she was a beautiful, loving, classy, stylish, upper middle class woman who had servants, went on vacation every summer to Alexandria, and made sure all her children were well mannered and impeccably dressed. Her pride was extreme and her need set her self apart drove us all to reluctantly perform for our extended family, neighbors, and guests. We all called our father Papa rather than the regular Baba because it was French and more refined. My oldest siblings went to French schools. She always made us feel we were better than everyone else. My father never played along. He was from the country and appreciated simplicity.
Her first job was as a dishwasher and kitchen helper at the Lord Elgin Hotel. She could hardly speak English. Her coworkers always put her on dishes. The day she had enough, she poured her self a cup of coffee and sat in the dinning room while on shift. The manager came to ask what was going on, her coworkers said they didn't know. He went to confront my mother. She said "Dishes every day, every day, every day, difficult". She later remarked how proud she was that she used her one big word "difficult". The manager responded with "You know, you are a very beautiful woman". Her defiance tuned into embarrassment, her cheeks turned red. She wan't supposed to hear such things from a strange man, that was impropper. She was later transferred to the dinning room where she worked as a waitress. I remember her standing there in a pastel blue/green uniform and a white apron, flowing black hair tied into a bun, and her classically beautiful face full of care and kindness. She would always bring me a fancy nougat, double wrapped in a silver wrapping and an edible paper, from the hotel.
With her charm, beauty, and work ethic, the money started to flow, her English got better. She was a great success. We got new furniture, new clothes. She got two of my sisters, Sister H, and Sister L jobs at the hotel. Sister G couldn't work, she was mentally handicapped. It was the first time she became a self determined woman and the family bread winner. She liked it and she was on a roll. My father was still unemployed but getting used to it, and maybe enjoying it, a little.
This was the first time in our history that we were not constrained by tradition and society to conform to our traditional roles. We were far away from the judging eyes of our community. We did our best to stay true to our Egyptian traditions, but we were slowly conforming to the realities of Canada. At that point in time my parents never imagined what price they would have to pay and what compromises they would have to make in the face of our new western reality. The plan was always to immigrate, get rich and educated, and go back.
As we saved more money, my parents opened a diner. We served burgers and soup with some traditional middle eastern cuisine. The place was a hit, especially the Kofta. My mother was the cook, cashier, cleaner, and server. My father read economics journals and the news papers. To him, this was all temporary, soon enough he would get a job, get back on track with the plan and go back to Egypt where everything would be as it always had been and always should be.
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