Playing With The Queen Of Hearts

Playing with the queen of hearts
And knowing it ain't really smart
The joker ain't the only fool
Who'll do anything for you

And laying out another lie
And thinking 'bout a life of crime
If that's what I'll have to do
To keep me away from you

Playing with the queen of hearts
Playing with the queen of hearts
Playing with the queen of hearts
Playing with the queen of hearts

We always ate Egyptian at our house, especially Mahshy, stuffed grape leaves, eggplant, and peppers. As a Canadian kid, I hated it. It tasted so slimy and over cooked. I liked Pizza and McDonalds Instead. My family’s views on my eating habits were mixed. My father humored me by taking me to McDonalds at dinner time while my brothers and sisters reeled with disgust at him spoiling me. Mama made great food that everyone was raised on, why should I get special treatment. There was no doubt that I was the youngest spoiled first Canadian born kid to the family. In the absence of my father, Brother K once tried forcing me to eat liver under threat of a spanking, Brother R force fed me eggplant Mahshy by shoving it down my throat. I still don’t eat liver to this day, and can still remember Brother R’s fingers being shoved in my mouth, I gaged repeatedly both times. Some memories are more permanent than others.  

Sister L was the youngest of the sisters, she was fun, kind hearted, extremely loyal, and understanding. She humored me and took care of me like a young loving sister would. They tell me she had monthly birthdays for me until I was one. She made me special food all the time. She made homemade potato chips by slicing potatoes as thin as she could, then frying them in a pan. They were salt and pepper flavor, she tried salt and vinegar flavor too but they came out soggy. She would order vegetarian pizza for me and freeze the slices individually, then she would heat up a slice whenever I started whining for pizza. She was in city parades swirling her baton, she made the paper as a fashion model one time, and she was in track and field in high school. I remember her bouncing around the house singing along to juice Newton’s “Playing with the queen of hearts”.

With all of Sister H’s the mistakes and wrong marriages in mind, the focus was squarely on Sister L no not repeat there errors of the past. Sister L was under surveillance for any sign of trouble. One day she made the mistake of telling our mother that there was a cute guy she liked at school. This put her squarely in line for immediate Muslim marriage to avoid any additional trouble or dishonour she may create for us. Sister H worked at a hotel and met a bearded bespectacled religious Egyptian guy she thought was cute, his name was Ebrahim. He was interested in marriage to an Egyptian girl. Since Sister H was already married he agreed to meet Sister L. My father was in Egypt at the time, and out of fear of a straying daughter, my mother agreed to an engagement between sister L and this Muslim pious man without ever knowing who he was or anything meaningful about him. At the time, the fact that he was Muslim and Egyptian was more than enough qualification to give away her daughter and avoid any chance of dishonour. Sister L complied out of curiosity and loyalty and obedience to her family, she was 19. You see, western values are not the same as Arab values, they are quite different. In the west we value human life, freedom, and independence most of all. In the Arab world we value honour, loyalty, and dignity most of all. For an Arab, honour will trump human life, freedom, and independence every time, even if that means selling out your own daughter. So many daughters have been sold.

The engagement was supposed to be a getting to know you period to determine if they should move forward. As we got to know Ebrahim, we started seeing instability in his character, there was something wrong with him, we didn’t like him. My mother asked Sister L what she thought of the engagement, she responded with “I think I am in love”. Something still drove my mother to end the engagement, so she sent my brother in law Leon to break the news in the absence of my father and brothers. After all, he was one of the family now. He came back and told my mother that it was too late, Sister L was pregnant.

The news of the pregnancy sent my mother into frantic disaster recovery mode. She needed a wedding immediately and before Sister L started to show, otherwise the greatest shame would be all over us. So, without my father, she put on a big wedding, and invited the who’s who of the Egyptian community, including the Egyptian ambassador who actually came to the wedding. Bother O was the photographer. This great open celebration with everyone invited was my mother’s way to save us from wagging tongs and prove that nothing untoward had happened with my sister.  I wanted to sit with her at the head table, but was told children weren’t allowed. Other kids did end up sitting there and I was vexed at the injustice.

The wedding cake was the best wedding cake I ever had, it was pink and other colours I can’t remember. I am not sure if I was just particularly hungry or if it really was that good. There was lots of leftover cake though. Sister L it packed in her fridge at her new apartment with her new husband. She was only a bike ride away from home. I rode my bike there a number of times to get some more cake until one day she told me it spoiled and threw it all out. Her apartment was small, and she was a cute young wife. It was strange to see her playing house at a new home, I rationalized it by thinking I could go see her any time and I had a new place to hide out, watch movies, and be alone with Sister L.

Now that Sister L was married, she and Sister H became regular visitors to our home and our family dynamic expanded to different households, we were growing in Canada and our roots just got a little bit deeper.

Misaligned Expectations and Expensive Long Distance

Like Velcro ripping apart, the tearing of our connections to Egypt were rough. There was an attempt on my parents part to solidify our connections people in Egypt through engagements and marriage. At different points in time and through different trips back home Sister H was engaged to a Tahir, Sister L was engaged to a Abd-Elaziz, and Brother O was engaged to Nayirah. In spite of all the good will in the world, all three engagements fell apart. But none was as sincere and tragic as Brother O's engagement to Nayirah. 

Nayirah was ever so beautiful and was easily the best looking girl around. Her deep dark eyes full of warmth and mystery, straight flowing black hair that complemented lighter skin. She was a classic pure Arabian beauty. I remember her being incredibly warm, you just wanted to throw yourself in her arms and let her beauty engulf you. Naturally, she liked Brother O, the best looking guy around, they were young, in love, and were engaged. The night prior to Brother O's departure back to Canada he sat with her struggling to fight sleep to keep his eyes open, he remarked that he didn't want to blink and miss one second of her before he left. That's the way he left her, with their hearts aligned and longing to be together as one.

Misaligned expectations and expensive long distance calling was their undoing. In an Egyptian family, once a groom proposes he starts to take active steps towards fulfilling his financial obligations towards himself, bride to be, and her family. Her family expected to start seeing signs our family was taking the engagement seriously. This would take the form of a constant stream of gifts and presents flowing their direction, a down payment on an apartment, plans for a concrete and solid job and future, and planned visits and regular communication. The truth was that Brother O was just too young to worry about all these things and was already being westernized without anyone noticing. He felt their love was an unbreakable bond and could concur all.  He needed time to finish school, get a job, and go get her. He thought he had that time. He knew she loved him and would wait for him. He was in a different universe form the one she was in. His time meandered slowly, her time rushed like a speeding train. 

Our family was struggling with so many children growing and could not support him the way Nayirah's family expected. They could not understand our struggles, after all we were in the west, the land of opportunity and money. We should have been organized by then. We had been in Canada long enough. If we were serious, there would have been singes by now. Why were we not supporting this engagement? They were getting wrestles. After all, if Nayirah got too old she would have a hard time getting married at all, no matter how beautiful she was.

This was the 80s, there was no internet, long distance calling was extremely expensive, and the preferred method of communication was air mail. Sometimes we would record tapes and send them by mail. It took months for letters to arrive. So communication was not smooth to say the least. Long distance relationships had a different meaning then. One day Brother O got the fateful letter from Nayirah, it was three months late. In it she explained that her parents had gotten impatient and have engaged her to someone else, she was going to be married to someone else. She was pleading for him to rescue her and their love. Brother O immediately got on the phone and called her at her mother’s home, she was there but explained it was too late. She cried as she told him that she got married and was already pregnant. Shocked, Brother O's tears came hard, he told her he didn't care, he still loved her and still wanted her pregnant and all. He asked her to leave her marriage and come to him. Leaving a marriage for another man in Egypt? An unthinkable act that would dishonor her whole family. She repeated and said it was too late. Yes, these tragedies do happen in real life too. We all remember and feel that heartbreak as if it was our own. 

Brother O later became a fashion photographer, he was constantly surrounded by women to an excess. There have been many beautiful exciting girlfriends. But I don't think he ever recovered from the loss of that first love. I know I haven't and it wasn't even mine.

My Parents Never Gave Out Any Candy

Growing up Canadian in an Egyptian household wasn't always straightforward. All the fun holidays and traditions were forbidden as my parents either interpreted them as either Christian or Devil Worship.

After Christmas, all the teachers and kids at school would talk about what presents they received. I received nothing. For a while I thought Santa never came to our home because I was bad at some point. Easter was okay. My mother thought the rabbit and eggs were cute. We colored boiled eggs and ate them from breakfast. I had to explain and reconfirm the tooth fairy leaving money under my pillow ritual to my parents several times, I remember their laughter and giggles. Halloween was a big one and I absolutely insisted on participating. My parents let me, but on several conditions and compromises. I would make all the decorations, ghosts, pumpkins and bats, but they would go up on the windows Halloween evening and would be taken down the next morning. I could carve a pumpkin put a candle in it and leave it outside for just a little while. My mother would take it in before it spoiled from the candle or cold and make pumpkin jam. I got to go trick or treating but my parents never gave out any candy.

Our community center in Ottawa was large and active with many programs. A new addition was the drum room where all the kids in the neighborhood would get free drum lessons for a $5 deposit.  I was so excited and wanted to play the drums badly. Michael Jackson was at the height of his popularity and Prince was just coming out with a wicked drumming video. I asked my mother for the $5 deposit and was refused. This was too strange for her, no one of any class in Egypt played the drums. A few days later at school my teacher asked me to go to piano lessons at lunch recess. I said I wasn't in piano, she said yes you are, your mother called and enrolled you. Since I had expressed an interest in music, she enrolled me in piano as it was refined and classy. Piano would make her proud but drums would not. The thing is, she never asked me or told me anything about piano. Her wishes always superseded mine and with no consultation. There was also karate, but that was too dangerous. Sleepovers were forbidden and dangerous too. Summer camp was a definite no, they might have fed me pork there. Michael Jackson came to Montreal during that time. All the kids at our community center got free tickets to the show. We were going to be bused there and back. all the kids from school were going too. Like everyone else at the time I was enthralled with Michael Jackson and his Thriller album. My father was dead set against this and resented popular culture. He felt Michael Jason's popularity was unnatural, in conflict with Islam, and elevated him as a false deity. It was sacrilegious. The community center worker pleaded with my dad to let me go, my father's response stills rings in my ears "No, we are Egyptian...No, we are Egyptian". To this day, I regret not being able to play the drums or go see Michael Jackson' Thriller tour.