Part 1
I had to leave the house. Our lives depended on it.
In the past, I've been scared to leave the house---that was in America, where I was often harassed for wearing hejab. Here, in Egypt, I've felt so safe. To a person, every single American living here has always said the same thing, "I feel safer walking in the streets here than I feel in America."
I had thought the feeling of safety here was due to the people of faith coming together for the common good. I mean both Muslims and Copt Christians in that statement. All were, in my estimation, creating a civil society.
All that changed last week. What I didn't realize was that some very real sources of evil were waiting for a door to crack open. The protests of Tuesday began the process.
The protests against totalitarianism and classism seemed timely---like Tunis. School was out for that Police Day holiday but we returned the following day. I talked with other teachers and none of us were unduly alarmed. We all agreed that Friday's scheduled protest would be the telling day. At that time, we all had working cell phones and internet connections. I could go to Facebook and Blogger and post messages. I wrote an email to my teenage son in America and told him to call my (technologically challenged) mom. I needed everyone to know we were fine.
I thought we would be fine. Thursday was a special day at school: non-uniform day, January birthdays to celebrate and even a carnival outside in the stadium (organized by the high school students for local orphans). I look back on Thursday from this new place and I almost cry for a room of innocent, happy children, dancing and laughing and eating cake. We had famous singers with amplified music blaring through our afternoon. I made the best out of it--as everyone has to in Egypt. You do what you can with the constant surprises.
There was a staff meeting at 12:30 which I tried to make but couldn't. I knew it would be about the protesting. Already, our field trip for the week had been cancelled. What was our principal going to announce? I found another staff member afterwards and asked for the latest. Turns out that nothing NOTHING at all was said in regards to the upheaval. I was shocked.
I went to the principal. She was in a curriculum meeting. I waited patiently. I felt that what I had to say couldn't wait. I was summoned over.
"Please," I whispered discretely, "Talk to Mr. J. I think he might need some reassurance. He's shaky about staying and I can see on Facebook that all his family and friends are telling him to leave." She said that she would and she thanked me.
I talked to my friend the art teacher on my way back to class. Her husband was a police officer. What did he think?
"Oh," she tried to calm me, "It's going to get smaller not bigger. Don't worry."
I wished that our pay envelopes had been handed out that day. I had spent so much money the past month. Truly, it was uncharacteristic of me to spend so much in one month. Usually, I kept some set aside for emergencies. I had purchased a new bedroom set for my son AND taken a trip to Luxor. I only had 1,000 LE left. That was around $200 USD. It would buy us enough until the next pay---if it was soon.
Thursday night, we stayed in. We'd gone out shopping earlier in the week. I made sure to buy peanuts, almonds, breadsticks and crackers, oil, frozen chicken and so on. My husband couldn't believe how much I was buying but I needed it in the house. I needed the security of food. I knew there was food downstairs but that was for everybody---visiting daughters and their children included. Our food, in our house would be there to sustain us if...
If what? If there was an unrest which disturbed the natural flow of life. That was a realistic assessment, I thought, on that Thursday.
Friday, my husband readied for Jummah prayer, like always. He was more serious. We all were. The protests were set to return to the streets after the prayer got out. Facebook, Google---actually every internet connection was gone.
When he left, I tried to carry on as usual but my thoughts were with him. While sweeping the rug from our luncheon meal, I began taking out all my pent up rage on the broom. It broke in half! I stared at the two halves and quickly stashed them under the stairs. I grabbed another broom's wooden handle and replaced it secretly.
When the prayers ended, I was upstairs. I listened for the end. I listened for a riot. There was none. I heard my husband's voice downstairs. I took in a deep breath and exhaled the tension out. A part of me actually felt sorry for the protesters not getting a big rally as they had wished. I went downstairs and heard on the TV that only a few hundred had been turned away from Tahir Square
I knew all the places they talked about and showed. I've been here for a year and a half now so I've been around and made connections to Cairo. Tahrir Square holds a big bureaucratic nightmare of a building where we went to get visa extensions. It's across the road from the Cairo Museum on one side and from Cairo University's bookstore on the other side.
Later, of course, as the day progressed, so did the amount of protesters. Our concern, here in the family was for my husband's two brothers who worked downtown. Who would go to downtown Cairo during a protest? Ordinary working folks had to work. So, the ones without jobs shouted in the streets while the ones with jobs struggled with protecting theirs. We didn't want them to go. They didn't want to go. The look of dutiful sorrow etched on the face of Mohammed as he said goodbye to his wife and child. While stoic practicality was on the face of Mahmoud. Me? I had the day off.
All of the family came over to eat that Friday. It was a full house of daughters and grandkids. However, we ate half-heartedly knowing that the trouble on the TV was very real for the two men. A collective cheer went out as soon as the two men stepped in the room. It was the most joyous we've ever been. Alhumdulillah! Those two men got a hero's welcome. They ate.
Later, I'd learn that Arcadia Mall had been looted even while Mohammed had been walking through it to take Mahmoud home. Remember that Mohammed is the father of a little toddler. He could have just left by himself easier but he wanted to retrieve his younger brother and make sure he got out safely. It was then that Mohammed saw the looters and the men killed by the looters. Mahmoud was being pulled out just in time. Mohammed told my husband what he saw and I don't know if he's been able to tell Mahmoud yet.
That night, on TV, we saw many sights of disregard, of disrespect and destruction. For me, seeing the burning of Arcadia Mall was the saddest. We had gone there often as a family to see Mahmoud. It was a fun place for us to go and get a high-class, almost American experience. Walking through the Toys R Us was this transportive experience. It made me believe that it's a small world. All the restaurants, all the shops and especially Mahmoud's shop flashed through my memory. Everything was gone. The arcade on the top floor was gone. Mr. Boo had always wanted to go to Fun Planet but I'd put it off. Now? It was something he could never do. And all those jobs! That beautiful mosaic in the atrium! All that was burned. For what? Why?
Yes, the protesters got voices heard. I'm glad that the people can be powerful shapers of their country. However, within that group was evil; young Egyptian men who were raised by coddling mothers to feel entitled. They destroyed what others had built and loved and protected.
The Cairo Museum looting was something which made all of us sick and fearful. If the country's richest treasures could be stolen what hope was there for us?
I knew that this was news going out worldwide. I felt for my mother and my teenage children in America. I prayed that my father's Alzheimers was preventing him from remembering where I was. The whole time I've lived here he hasn't been able to remember. Now would be a good time to forget.
There are various times when I can't stand my husband, but I loved him that night. He stood in front of our house all night with the proverbial big stick. He heard gunfire surrounding our area and he stayed protecting us. The other men kept watch as well. They built barricades at the main road to prevent cars from coming in. Motorcycles were turned back. Strangers were questioned and frightened away. He had no sleep.
No one got much sleep. I had taken my son into our bedroom and slept with him behind two locked doors. Previously, I had regretted having a cave of a bedroom with no windows onto the street but now I was very happy of this. I heard the noise outside and prayed that none of the 2,000 escaped prisoners found their way to our house. That broom handle which I had broken? I kept that by the side of my bed and I was ready to beat the hell out of anyone who tried to enter. Alhumdulillah, we all made it through---and without cell phones or police.
The next morning when the sun shone again, I hung the wash out wondering what the day would bring. There, down below was a young man talking on a phone. A PHONE!? I ran to get mine. Vodaphone was reinstated first and the others followed suit. Can you imagine a whole country without cell phones?!
When I got another phone card, the first person I called wasn't in America. I called Mr. Boo's grandma on the coast. She was relieved to hear from me. Mr. Boo's uncle, a former supply officer in the army, got on the line to ask my assessment of the situation. Frankly, I knew nothing more than he knew.
I gave a missed call to AbuBoo in the U.S. Despite the time difference, I thought he'd pick up. He didn't. When he did call back, I wanted to know if my mom had called. She hadn't. I tried not to get upset at people half a world away. They didn't understand the fear I was having. They couldn't put themselves in my place---as I could barely do that myself.
I asked him to send money. I didn't have my January paycheck. If I could get that, we'd be OK. Without it? I could only last a month---maybe two. He hemmed and hawed and gave me excuses why he couldn't send money.
"I'm worried about our son. It isn't right that I'm worried alone. You need to help him out."
When I did talk to my mom, I used a 25 LE calling card to do so. That would have lasted through a month of local calls. I used the time to reassure her. I was tearful to think of her sadly watching the news events unfold. I told her that it was all in Cairo. it was true at the time, but that night the men took to the streets with sticks and knives to guard their homes and families.
Shahd, which means
Honey, was sent to our house. Honestly, I was resentful that her family wasn't taking care of their youngest girl. Then, I learned that her uncle had died. It was the uncle who had been burned in a gas stove explosion, along with his wife and little girl. The beautiful baby girl with her unusual porcelain skin and blue eyes had been so lovely that her eventual death in the hospital affected many. Her mother had lost her mind at the time. Understandably, the mother went to screams again. I felt for the young boy (just a little older than my son) who had lost his baby sister, his father and now his mother to madness. Of course, Shahd's mom, as the boy's aunt, needed to step in and care for the two remaining survivors. The story was a tragedy inside a tragedy.
I heard, for the first time, from my friend and supervisor. She was in the wealthy part of town in Mohandisen. All her jewelery, silver, antiques,and electronics made our sparse offerings look laughable.
She told me to go to school. No, of course there would be no classes. It was to pick up our salary for January. MONEY! Oh my GOD! I was beyond happy to hear we'd be getting paid. I'd have thousands to weather the storm. The catch was: I had to leave the house and pick it up by 9 AM.
When I dressed that Saturday morning, I really didn't know if I should try to look Egyptian or American. Which look would keep me safer? The police were no longer in charge. It was all army surrounding us. Based on my husband's advice, I opted for a more American look with jeans and a long top. As I adjusted my hejab in the mirror, I thought of the quote, "For those of you who are about to die, we salute you." I dismissed my gallows humor. I had to be brave...as brave as my husband. I had to leave the house. Our lives depended on it.
Part 2
I thought of Queen Elizabeth II's mother who had refused to leave London during WWII. She had said that her place was beside her husband . Reading it years ago, it had seemed oh-so-royal. Here, it made common sense. You don't leave from your protector in a time of war.
Have no doubt. Whatever you are hearing about a happy, "carnival-like atmosphere" among the protesters gathered in Tahrir Square, it is a civil war. Even if thousands or tens of thousands gather, they are still a minority. I knew that I would be putting us both at risk by leaving the house that morning.
Many thoughts came to me on that long walk to the school. Women were all tucked safely inside in our neighborhood. Only the little naughty girl with the pigtails was playing outside. The barricades were up on the church's street. There were the guards whom we used to pass all the time when we stayed in our first home. I got nervous and let my husband take the lead as I followed behind. He started to talk to the guards.
"I'm guarding my home all night and guarding the church here all day," said the big guy in Arabic.
The little guy started to speak, looked me in the eye and said in English, "Sorry," and then he called me by my honorary mother's title. "I didn't recognize you."
That moment of a police officer remembering and addressing me by name startled me. He seemed so kind, yet who was anyone anymore? They both advised routes to take---if we really had to go (which we did). We said goodbye and I parted with "Allah mak"
God with you because I really did wish that Allah protected them and the church.
The walk was surreal. Gone were the tourists. The tourist shops had guards with anxious eyes. We took a quiet side street. My husband greeted a man who greeted him back by name. It startled me again. As much as people seemed like strangers, we did have many connections.
I saw a streetsweeper. In Egypt, it's an actual person with a palm branch broom. I watched her and could have almost cried. She kept Egypt going in her simple way.
We turned the corner and I saw a young boy carrying a tea tray to some men plastering a brick wall. It was such a slice of everyday life that it made me remark to my husband, "That is so Egyptian----like it used to be."
We passed by our first group of young guys. These dudes could have been very nice for all I know but I knew who was destroying Egypt and it was young men. I tensed up and my husband had to pull at my hand to get me to go.
Once at the main street, which we had been avoiding until now, we could see the military presence. Never before in my life have I see so much military power in one place. Amazing! Restaurants closed. The hotels were open but empty. The Square belonged to the soldiers. Only a few cars to trouble our crossing. We walked right next to the soldiers.
They were so young! They were the same age as the young guys doing the damage. We walked hand in hand. Normally, we don't hold hands as we walk but the only way I could carry on through that walk was with my husband's grip on me. I never asked him. He knew. The first soldier we passed saw us and touched his gun in the holster. No joke. No false move. Tank after tank of young guys with guns.
My husband said that it all made him feel safe. For me? I felt very scared. I saw the cars getting stopped and searched. Though it was a long way to walk, it was taking as much time as if we were sitting in a taxi; stopped and waiting. The only difference is that I was getting extremely close to the men protecting the Square and it was upsetting me. I knew I had to chill or my nervousness could tip off a solider that I was suspicious. My U.S. passport was in the bag.
Once past the line of tanks and soldiers I could let go of my husband's hand. Really, I was embarrassed to be so fearful. The whole country was fearful. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that my money was waiting for me. Except...
When we got to the school, the gatekeepers told us that there would be no money. The banks had closed. We had nothing. Another co-worker had been at the gate with us. She drove us back past the tanks, past the men with the automatic rifles just standing on the side of the road. We weren't stopped and searched. We got out, thanked her profusely and walked the rest of the way home.
My husband had not slept. Neither of us had eaten. I was dejected beyond belief. I had failed. All that effort for what? It was time for us to eat before we talked.
I went to the kitchen to help with getting the food out. Mohammed's wife was in charge. I was going to keep my mouth shut--but (if you know me at all then you know) I couldn't. She kept the gas burning even after the pot was off and she was planning to peel and mash the boiled potatoes before returning them to the stove. I tried to tell her in Arabic, "That is money! That gas is costing money! Please turn it off."
She wouldn't. She would only turn it down. I bit my lip and helped her peel the potatoes so she could get the pot back on the stove quicker.
Then she started on the scrambled eggs for the grandma. We already had boiled eggs on a plate ready for the table but you don't mess with the matriarch of seven kids. A huge glop of butter was dropped in the fry pan and again I couldn't keep quiet. When I told my sister-in-law that half a cup of butter was too much, she argued with me. She told me that she had to cook with that much butter or the grandma would be mad at her. Again, I tried to tell her, "That's money! There's no more money!" Why didn't she understand that none of us who normally worked were bringing cash in the house?!
Instead, she rushed past me to the room of waiting men and complained to them that I had taken butter out of the pan. They didn't have one thought to piece together between the three of them. I was indignant. I had just risked my life to bring home money (and failed) only to have what little money was in the house wasted by carelessness.
The grandma blew up at me for my attempts to curb eating habits. My husband then blew up in general. I blew up at my sister-in-law for not just keeping quiet in the kitchen. No one enjoyed the food. My husband didn't even eat. I ate in anger. The eggs cooked in butter sat swimming in fat.
Somewhere in the uproar my husband had told me that if I didn't like it here I could go to America. I pondered why I was in this country anyway. Why be here if I had no money and no safety and nobody understanding the need to ration and conserve?
The phone rang and I listened, then fell into tears.
It was my supervisor again. She apologized for the money not being there and told me that all the Americans were leaving Egypt.
Part 3
"I don't know what I'm going to do," I told her. I was in shock.
My husband rushed to my side and tried to find out what had happened. I couldn't speak. A million thoughts rushed through my head and none of them made any sense. I had just been told to leave by my husband. I now was being told to leave by my government. My school was telling me there would be no money and that was the same response from AbuBoo previously. I only had Allah.
I gathered myself together and explained the situation. My husband tried to comfort me. I explained without any more hysteria that I needed to pray istakkarah. I needed to be careful.
Apparently,
Mr. J had already made it out of the country with his wife and child. I knew his emotions. When you are an adult, you can stay longer and stay living on the edge but not when you have a child.
I had brought my son to Egypt to give him a better life. I was dealing with a country in turmoil, crime sprees, food shortages, lack of connection, loss of businesses, friends, and money.
There was also the curfew to contend with. Staying put in our house was alright because I kept myself busy. My feeling was that the outside world was going to hell so I had to make the inside of our apartment as clean and organized as possible. I began pulling things down from the tops of the armories.
"Why are the suitcases down?" was my husband's worry. He thought I was leaving.
I wasn't---at least not yet. If I did leave...could I simply go to the coast? There was no trouble on the coast. Maybe I could stay with AbuBoo's family. It would cause friction...maybe even a divorce here. I still wouldn't have any money. Were schools open there? Round and round I went.
I didn't feel I could go to the U.S. There was no money to travel. Even if I begged money from my mother, she would welcome us for a short term but not the long haul. I couldn't leave everything here and simply be lost in America with nothing.
This wasn't about me and my man. It wasn't. Not having my relationship being the main focus of a life decision was a bit of a first. I was being very practical. Yes, I felt for him and his family and I knew they were stuck. Was I? Was I stuck here---with him and them?
I prayed istakkarah. I wanted Allah to direct me.
I went back downstairs. To add to the problems, my son was the naughtiest he'd been in a long time. He wouldn't stop being a goof. He wouldn't shut up. He wouldn't settle down. All of us wanted to hear the news on the TV and he wouldn't let us. In hindsight, I know now that it was all too much for him but at the time, I simply couldn't cope. Shahd, the little niece staying with us, kept staring at my every move. I tried to reprimand my boy with everything else going on and then the grandma yelled at me.
I couldn't take it. I yelled back. And see...the matriarch can yell at you but you're not supposed to yell back. Once I started yelling, I couldn't stop. Everyone was telling me to stop and I couldn't. It was the release of every stress I'd been accumulating. I had tried to stay calm and trust Allah and it just wasn't working any more. My husband hit me in my arm. Everyone had lost their minds. Really.
I decided I could leave. I could pack only our passports and my camera and go. I got my son dressed and headed for the door. The family tried to stop me. I resisted them. I thought I could go to my friend's house down the street and leave for the coast after that. I thought that I didn't have to stay in a crazy country with crazy people.
They locked the door and wouldn't let me leave. The friction was still there but so was the love. They cared about us and feared for our safety. It was terrifying to stay and terrifying to leave. I had to stay. We had to trust. It was not an easy decision but it was the only one I could make.
Later, I called my co-worker and learned that she'd had a meltdown too. It was inevitable. She had put all the important documents in a bag and talked to her husband about their plan. They would leave if the violence in the street escalated and if the food ran out.
Why hadn't our boss called me? My co-worker told me that the principal was under such stress in the wealthy area of Cairo. Her house would surely be attacked by looters since it was above posh stores.
The next day, I did get a call from my boss, who also apologized about the money not being there. She told me that honestly she'd been in a kind of shock. She hadn't functioned like a good employer because she simply wasn't functioning. She had never in a million years believed that her country would fall apart. She hadn't even stocked her pantry with food. She had been in complete denial.
At her house, there had been similar freak-outs among people locked together with the political revolution raging outside. There had been upset and yelling and she advised me to find some place to be by myself and away from the others. I valued her advice and knew she was right. None of us were used to that much time confined together---let alone in a time of stress.
I told her that my husband was keeping the house safe but that it was so hard on him, even if the others helped. My boss admitted that for her family the guard duty was too strenuous and so they had brought in a big burly village thug to guard her property.
I laughed and said, "Sometimes, it's hard to be married to a tough guy, but right now I sure wouldn't trade him for an intellectual."
It was true.
Little by little my husband and I patched things up. I washed his clothes, which I had vowed never to wash (since I was working outside the home) because now he was working and I wasn't. I made good with the family.
I woke up to the fact that Shahd hadn't asked to come to her grandma's. In fact, my husband confided that
her disabled father might have wanted her to stay with us since he couldn't really protect her. That was sad.
I took Shahd up to our apartment. We looked over a mish-mash of hand-me-down clothes which hadn't yet been on my boy and we picked out an outfit. Then, I took care of her; showering, shampooing, getting her dressed, brushing and braiding her hair and brushing her teeth. I was a bit ashamed that I had not made any effort before then. I've always loved this little girl. Mr. Boo fosters hopes of marrying her (and having two kids--and yes, he's picked out names for them already). I can only say, "astragferallh." I found myself in survival mode and really fell flat in some areas. Inshahallah, I've learned some lessons of the importance of keeping quiet, calm and helpful in times of stress.
Part 4
The following morning, I was once again at my apartment window hanging up the morning wash (with more of hubby's clothes) when I saw the grandma in the street. Yes, she had opened the door and was determined to sweep the rubbish off the street. The door was wide open! Where was everybody?
I ran downstairs and had her come inside. I found out that my husband and his brother Mahmoud had gone to the market. Mohammed was asleep with his family in their apartment. It was down to me to convince the grandma to stay inside. I tried my best and went back upstairs.
Sure enough! From my window view I saw her exit the house again. She was going to finish her sweeping job even if it meant that criminals might kill us all. I ran downstairs again and call for her to come in just as a group of men came walking up. My husband might know everyone here but I don't---especially the men---so that group scared me. I got her inside and had her come sit with me in my apartment.
When my husband returned, he brought the smallest bread I've ever seen in Egypt. Usually, our pita bread is the size of a dinner plate. The day after the riots, the size shrunk to the size of a salad plate. Now, I was looking at a pita the size of a teacup saucer.
"Alhumdulillah," was all you could say because you knew some people didn't have any bread at all.
The grandma started baking bread later that day. I was grateful for her work ethic. She was not going to let her family go without good bread. Bread is such an important symbol for Egyptians. If you hear a person begging, they ask for bread not money. Soon, I thought, there are going to be a lot more people begging.
I realized that I needed to request
CNN a couple times a day to keep understanding the fast changes taking place. Before then, I would listen with the rest of the family to Al Jeezera or local news ---in Arabic and what I didn't understand, I would ask for translation. That was causing stress on all sides. This was better, although it meant having to read the schizophrenic crawl at the bottom scene go from taking about killing and looting in Cairo to "Charlie Sheen admitted to rehab."
I did have a drop in my stomach when I saw Anderson Cooper arrive in town. The man who traveled to Indonesia after the tsunami, and Hati after the earthquake was now here. He said that he always was flying in to the countries when everyone was trying to get out.
The idea, by the way, of the American government, "flying everybody out," is false. The American government was flying out only the non-essential consulate staff and dependants. It had nothing to do with us Americans living and working here. We were on our own.
My son's father called and I told him the truth: times were tough. I was trying to explain it better when the thought occurred to me: someone else could explain this better so I asked my husband to speak to AbuBoo. This was something huge; a real first. Those two talked about the safety of my son. Inshahallah, we would keep him out of harm's way. I was proud how patient my husband was with a man he didn't particularly like.
Another night of guarding but with more calmness. The presence of the army was helping stabilize the community. Alhumdulillah. My husband no longer spent every moment outside. He would come in and get warm. He would not, however, return to our apartment upstairs. He kept alert downstairs no mater what.
In the morning, I got another call from my supervisor. The money would be there. Really! So, we dressed quickly. The slated pick-up time was only 20 minutes from when we got the call. The men would only be giving out the money for one hour. After that, there would be no money available for a long time.
My co-worker arranged to pick us up at the main road. All we had to do was walk six blocks or so. Those blocks had vigilante justice patrols with sticks, clubs and knives stopping cars and buses. They were not going to let any bad guys in. We walked on by without getting stopped whatsoever because my husband and his family are well known in this area.
After our big to-do, this was our first chance to talk. My husband told me that he didn't like to hit my arm. I told him I didn't like him to hit my arm either. And I didn't like to yell and I was sorry for that.
"I'm a good man?" He asked me in all seriousness.
"Yes," I answered. "Very good. I'm walking with you, yes?" I answered in Arabic.
We crossed the main street with ease and in a way it saddened me. There weren't enough people! I missed the hustle and bustle at the intersection.
There was the car. We jumped in and took off. Check points were still in effect. We saw others getting searched but not us, thank God. We were able to make it to school. The other cars there told us in advance that people and money were waiting.
We did get our pay. I was so relieved. Money isn't everything but without it you can't buy anything. Alhumdulillah for getting paid!
It was also nice to see familiar faces and even to joke and hug with people we missed. I learned one more American teacher had left but only to Greece and then she'd be back when school reopened. Good plan.
When we got home, both of us could finally relax. We would be OK. We were done traveling to school for a while. We were financially sound for a while. My husband hadn't showered in days so he remedied that. I could just lay on the bed, close my eyes and rest. It was the first time in days that my husband had been in our apartment for more than a few minutes. It felt almost normal.
My mom called. She had gotten a little worried from watching the news. We talked for an hour. It was good to spill. I had my boy watching a movie on the computer with earphones so he wouldn't hear a thing.
The next day, I even got my internet back.
It almost seems normal now
...until you see on the news that the horses and camels from down the street from us in Giza arrived in the Tahrir Square and protesters tried to beat them up. The resulting melee looked straight out of "Gone with the Wind."
...and while reading my boy his bedtime story we had to move out of his room at the front of the house and back into my windowless room because of gunfire outside somewhere.
...and my dad called. I had not spoken with him for over a year. He had seen the news and did worry for our safety. He wondered what our escape plan was.
I told him that my plan was to stay in Egypt inshahallah.
