Unique Muslimah

I always believed that I would marry a person based on his character and vision in life. Of course since I am an artist I would like my husband to be attractive, but that doesn’t mean he has to be gorgeous. Even ok-looking individuals can look beautiful because their wonderful personality makes them look very attractive. It’s all in the eye of the beholder.

Speaking from personal experience, a few days ago it dawned on me that some girls will marry a man based on his vital statistics. Najma, for example, will marry a man who is an Arab so that she, non-Arab, can climb up the cultural and thus societal ladder. This is what she believes. Some women will want others to treat them as royalty because they believe they have married into a superior culture. Hanna, an Egyptian, will believe no one will beat her trophy-husband-of-a-catch, a husband who is half American, half Egyptian. And she will simply die out of jealousy and rage if someone marries a better catch than hers. She wants to climb up the cultural and social ladder all by herself. No sharing here!

I’m not sure if this is prevalent in many societies, but it is quite frightening to believe that some people will go to such lengths to build an glamorous sort of exterior to their marriage. What happened to the interior? The relationship itself between husband and wife? The spiritual union? Is it just about having a trophy husband for some girls? (I only concentrate on girls this time round because I’m speaking on my experience on this issue).

Perhaps there are some girls out there who are actually thinking about the relationship, the spiritual union, and are still quite proud that their husbands are from abroad, or are half-half. I’m not criticising them.

I’m just completely flabbergasted with the girls who only think about the social appearance, the girls who get married this way to prove a point- that they have the best guy hanging on their arm and no one else should do better. The girls who show off to their friends that they’ve married a “white guy”, or a “rich guy”, or a “westerner”, or a “convert”.

These labels must add a lot of pressure to some of the girls receiving proposals. They might reject a really great guy just because he doesn’t fit with what she thinks people will be impressed with.

She will wait around for a guy who will make everyone envious towards their union, so she can smile with pleasure that people want her life and want what she’s got and what they haven’t: a trophy husband she can polish once in a while and place in a shelf with her other materialistic societal “must haves”.

So where does that leave me, I wonder. Will I ever stoop so low and marry someone for trophy purposes, so I can make others jealous, so I can show everyone how well I’ve done for myself, so I can show others that I’ve got a better catch then theirs? Or will I marry for the right reasons. The reasons that will make a happy marriage last.

Maybe it was because my time of the month was approaching like a faithful servant that I felt that I was in no mood to see a potential suitor, or perhaps it was due to the fact that I had been sick with a fever for the past ten days and was exhausted, both mentally and physically- so understandably I had no interest in what life had to offer me- just for me to get better. But for some unknown reasons I found myself getting ready at the mention of the time the meeting was to take place, though I was still wondering if I should even go.

Since getting sick all the will power I once had seemed to evaporate with the buckets of sweat I had produced over the course of my fever. I recognised the classic symptoms of depression, a state of mind I had seemed to develop after an illness enveloped my body. I realised that I did not have the enthusiasm for things I used to two weeks prior my physical degradation. My interest in photography diminished alongside my confidence that I could actually take a decent photograph. I had no interest to beautify myself and my lack of interest in food worried my near and dear.

But there I was, on a Monday evening, dressing up to meet a random stranger, a “blind date”, set up my by aunt who is on a mission to get me married. However it seemed that external forces were just as nervous as I was, because just as I started to apply some make-up, the electricity was cut off, leaving me in complete darkness. How ironic, I had thought, whilst trying to familiarise my eyes with my shadowy surroundings. I wasn’t keen to go but was going for the hell of it and now that I was finally getting into the swing of things, it looked like I wasn’t going to go after all. How could I when I lived on the sixth floor with the elevator not working? How could I when I was not even half ready? It was only then that I tried to defy this intervention, electrical or otherwise, by lighting a handy torch and pointing it to the mirror. Slowly I put in my contact lenses and some eyeliner. Half an hour later when I was finished, the lights came on. Was it a test to see if I was going to give up easily or fight on? I haven’t a clue.

Our journey to the cafe where we were going to meet the potential suitor was quite nerve wracking. In the past I haven’t been this nervous. But perhaps I was nervous because of my lack of confidence, which I explained was diminishing due to being sick for a long period of time. As we arrived before the guests, we sat outside and waited; well everyone else had a bite to eat but I hadn’t been hungry since that morning.

While sitting, listening to the random conversations that my aunt and family were initiating, I fed myself the usual negative thoughts about what was going to happen so that I didn’t give myself any hope. Previous suitors had not been to my taste, though I had been to theirs, which was a disappointment because I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to meet a man that was my type.

Then during a moment where I was not looking out for people who were coming into the cafe wondering if it might be my blind date, I found my aunt saying hello to two people who came over. To be honest I didn’t have a chance to have a look at him, they came over so quickly and so oddly positioned themselves when shaking our hands. The young man shook my father’s hand and immediately started a conversation with him as though they had known each other for years. I have to admit, no man has been so conversational and easy-going the second they arrive at what can be perceived as an awkward situation. But it was like he was a natural at it. My aunt insisted that I sit in her seat so that I was opposite the young man, as before I wasn’t and she knew that we had to have a good look at each other to see if we had any mutual attraction.

I was quite shy, like the role of the girl who was being watched to see if she was a suitable bride. Though I had not had a good look at his face, I did get a glance at his physique and liked what I saw; tall, broad shoulders and quite fit. When I was positioned to sit opposite him it was still awkward for me to look over at him because my father and he were deep in conversation, but after a while we all began to talk to one another and we had a good look at each other. Teeth are very important for me, I’m not sure why, and some of the suitors I had seen before, well let’s just say some of them had poor oral hygiene. So I was glad that this young man had good teeth and a pleasant face. He was actually not bad. But still, he wasn’t the type of guy I had imagined I was going to marry…and he was quite talkative. But like someone had told me, I wouldn’t find the perfect guy, so I shouldn’t be too fussy.

I remember the previous Saturday my father telling me that my aunt had found someone for me to meet, a distant relative of hers who had been raised by his elder sister when their parents died. My mother, in fear of me having a tough mother-in-law, always wished that I had a lovely mother-in-law or no mother-in-law at all. Of course she didn’t mean that the boy suffer from the absence of his mother. But when we heard that he didn’t have any parents we said that this was a major tick. But what was important for me was if this man could be the one I really imagined I could spend the rest of my life with.

Did I want to marry an Egyptian that had no idea of my life in the West, about the culture I grew up in? Even my mother asked me at that moment that I would have to decide where I wanted to live, because if I married an Egyptian there could be a great chance I was going to leave the West and reside here in Cairo. The normal alarm bells started to ring for me as I realised that my future was not going to be a piece of cake. For a moment I was in a fantasy world where I believed that falling in love and getting married was as easy as one to three, but I realised then that it wasn’t. But just as the alarm bells came they were forced away because I told myself I had to put my trust in God; my parents weren’t to know they were going to live in West when they married, they had each other which is all that mattered.

That’s why I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he had stayed in the West for a few months (which was better than nothing I suppose) and he described the familiar streets and places that I had grown up in. This was a man who had seen both my worlds, Egypt and the West- did that mean there was a greater chance for him to understand me better? As the hours passed one or two boxes in my check list were ticked, though there was one thing that seemed to puzzle me…His eyes.

When he spoke to me, (I was so shy to answer and had a blank mind for a few moments which might have come across to him as me being retarded), I realised that his eyes were vacant, as though he had put a wall up.  I looked around the table into the eyes of the people next to me, even his sister’s, and realised I could look into their emotions, bits of their souls if not all, but with him, they were fixed on revealing nothing. It’s not that they were cold, he was a pleasant man, but where were his eyes, I kept wondering all evening. I have met so many people and never have I seen such disturbing eyes.

That night I didn’t sleep (I did take two Panadol tablets which contained 65mg of Caffeine each). I was excited, restless; the feelings of hope left me hating the weak state I was in. I liked to be in control, my emotions under control, but that night had to be an exception. I was excited that I may have come close to finding the one, even though it was still the first meeting, I felt hopeful. My father came into my room while I lay asleep and asked me if I liked the man. I asked him what he thought, he insisted to know what I thought first. I told him he was nice and my dad said yes, he thought he was a good man, a real man.

The following day my time of the month arrived. I heard a song on the television that described exactly what I had gone through the night before. In Arabic the traditional male singer says: Lelt embarah magaleesh noum, wehna lessa fe awel youm. Abl matermeeni fe behoorak, kont 3alamteni el 3om! (Translation: Last night I couldn’t sleep and we’ve only just met. Before you throw me into your oceans, you could have taught me how to swim!)

It described my feelings perfectly as I was restless, but quite certain that it was just my hormones playing up and not much to do with the suitor I had just met as I was still quite puzzled as to why I couldn’t see “him” through his eyes…Yet I was still excited, seeing and being seen…that would surely bring me closer to my search for the one…I hadn’t received any updates from my family about whether he had called to express any further interest and I was too shy to ask as I didn’t want to appear too eager. 

Hours after writing this I found out that they were interested; only the man was planning to live in Germany and work there and was wondering if I would be interested in the ride. I laughed because I am confused enough as it is on whether I should live in the country I was raised in or in Egypt without having to throw Germany into the mix. It was completely out of the question, for myself and my family, so a big X was marked which ended any hope in my search for the one. My aunt also had some reservations once she investigated further into the man’s life, learning he wasn’t religious, which is something important for me to have in a husband. I have learned to trust my instincts and I knew, even from the first meeting, that this man wasn’t for me.

I have to admit I felt depressed, that again my hope had been raised only for it to be crushed. It seems that my search for the one is still very much underway. I cried a silent tear and slept for a couple of hours, saddened that I might never find a companion…But then I woke up feeling refreshed and better. It is the hormones, I believed. My cramps were worsening by the minute and any little thing was sending me into despair.

Now that I am rationally thinking, I believe that it didn’t work out because God has something else in store for me. As usual I will continue living life and concentrate on getting better and when it is time to reveal the one; God won’t be late in His deliverance.