Zahra E-Book

Ghada Gad

• Herausgeber: دار زحمة كتاب للنشر والتوزيع
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 154

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Zahra.. STRENGTH OF AN ARAB WOMAN!! This book is issued by Dar Zahmah Kitab for Publishing and Distribution, by the great author Ghada Gad. It is a wonderful book about Arab women, their strength and resilience, and also about the issue of women's empowerment.

Leseprobe

Zahra…

Strength Of An Arab Woman

Title of the Book:

Zahra… Strength of An Arab Woman

Author:

Ghada Gad

Internal design:

Salem Abdelmoez Sawwah

Cover art:

Doaa Hussien

Deposite Number:

2023/25548

ISBN: Numbering

978-977-835-384-6

Publisher:

Zahmet Kottab House

4 Badie Khairy St., Abdel Hamid Badawy St., behind KFCAl Shams Club, Heliopolis - Egypt.zahma book publishing house

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Email [email protected]

Tel 002 01205100596

002 01100662595

All Copyrights Are Reserved For © Zahmet Kottab Publishing House

No entity has the right to print, copy or sell this material

in any way of any form and whoever does that

exposes himself to legal accountablility.

Zahra…

Strength Of An Arab Woman

A Story of An Arab Woman Against Identity Obliteration

Ghada Gad

To

My Father

Mohammad Gad

*****

Special Thanks To

Dr. Haifaa Ibrahim Faqeih

Professor of Linguistics in Om Al-Qora University

for her sincere support, valuable remarks

and thoughtful guidance

Deeply Grateful To My Dear Friend

Rumana Monzur

The Great Bangladeshi Heroine

who encouraged me to bethe voice

of the voiceless

Content

Content

Introduction

(1)Salad Days; Happy Days

(2) Just a Transitional Time

(4)The Man of My Dreams

(5)The First Impression

(6) “Oh, I’m Trapped !”

(7)A Way Out

About the author:

Introduction

By the end of the second millennium , Zahra the pretty young girl, who belonged to a moderate, open-minded Muslim family, was over the moon to be graduated from university and join the postgraduate studies.

The energetic, confident girl was on the top of the world to find a convenient job. Carrying to the world a beautiful soul full of great ambitions and wonderful dreams , she was exquisitely capable of proving herself and achieving success. Yet her desperate need for love and to be a mother blinded her innocent eyes. Her wrong choice proved to be more fatal than committing an awful crime . It turned her peaceful successful life upside down!

At first, her choice appeared highly pious and gently refined. Yet it seemed that it was just a very sly tactic in his game to increase his suppressive power over her.

Suffering the bitter tortures of cruel seclusion and frustrating humiliation , Zahra was so afraid she might someday happen to forget who she was.

She couldn’t stand to remain powerless , and be just a feeble humble pawn someone else was enjoying playing with.

So patiently , discreetly, and perseveringly , she made her own way to repair her mistakes and be back the one who was born to be. So fortunately , her attemptyielded a great success.

(1)Salad Days; Happy Days

How relieved I feel while smelling the sea breeze of Alexandria in the early morning, especially in winter ! It grants me the feelings of freedom and optimism. Looking at the sea always keeps my spirits up!

I usually had a pleasant outlook on life .“Make your way, Zahra, on a solid ground. Welcome, days!” that’s how I used to say to myself as a young girl.

In 1980s , my father was so elated to see his two young beloved daughters joining the most prestigious English girls’ school, not only in the country, but in the Middle East. It was the school where Queen Sophia, the Queen of Spain, graduated from. I and my younger sister, Zeinab, enjoyed going to school so much.

My school was indeed a profound impact on its students. It was the sweet refined world for all of us. Girls'd join it at the age of five and leave it at the age of eighteen .

Teachers treated us with respect and care as they were truly mothers. Our headmistress was proudly the first Arab headmistress. At the first glance, you’d think she was really English, since she was a blonde fair lady, with wide blue eyes and very thin lips, who spoke English as fluent as Britons , but to one’s big surprise she wasn’t English; she was a well-educated Egyptian.

Also, one could never forget the head of the senior department. All of her students had a big deal of fear, love and respect for her. She had a short, gray hair, wide, brown eyes and a buxom body. How aristocratic she was as her father was the leader of the government in Egypt in the royal age.

Our school was the first place where we learnt how to choose. It was a real democratic institute. We were able to choose the class we wanted in our school grade. We were able to choose our favorite activity, and there were really a big variety of interesting school activities , such as: playing different kinds of musical instruments, singing, sewing, sculpture, versifying, physical exercises, dancing…etc. Surprisingly, we were also able to choose any color, from the four colors (pink, light blue, yellow and pistachio) specified for the school uniform, to wear. In summer, we used to wear a light-colored dress and a pair of white shoes, while in winter we put on an elegant jacket, a long-sleeved colored shirt, a tie, a short straight skirt and a pair of black shoes with grey stockings. Moreover, we were able to elect prefects and head of students. We also learnt how to take on responsibilities. We had, for example, the social work time when we used to visit hospitals and orphanages. I was fourteen when I paid my first visit to these places. I was swept by pity and sadness as I couldn’t endure seeing an innocent child staying in a gloomy place, not knowing where his/her parents were , eating some pasta in an unpolished metal plate. That day, I went home crying, and asked mum to put any kind of food, even if it was stale, for me to eat. She couldn’t believe her ears, “what’s wrong with you, dear?!” asked my mother surprisingly, as she got worried about my unusual mood. When I’d come back from school, it seemed unlikely that anybody in the neighborhood wouldn’t have known that I was home. My voice was too loud, and my first question was always about food ,“ what have you cooked today, Mama ?”

Everybody, except my father, thought my manners were too stubborn and rush to be for a girl. My younger sister, Zeinab, was calm, decent, and obedient,as my mother always thought. She was deeply interested, unlike me, in the house chores and helping mother. Although I was impulsive, talkative and rather a tomboy, I was loving, sincere and wholehearted.

My father was wise enough to know how to listen to his beautiful young daughters. He granted me and Zeinab a big deal of freedom that we could participate in making some family decisions. My father was indeed a master in the art of listening. As a young lady, I myself never thought of having a boyfriend like others, “what a nonsense! Do you want Papa to be ashamed of you? If you can’t tell him about it frankly, then you should never do it! ”

He was a close friend of mine. He always spoke to me tenderly ,“sweet Zahra, you are so dear to your Papa. Keep on reading, learning and never stop! ”

At Friday nights, he used to take me to the neighbourhood cinema to watch Indian movies. I was about twelve years when I first went there. How greatly exciting and impressive it was! When a film started, I’d never speak a word. I’d keep my eyes curiously open just not to miss any of the exciting details. Indian films were always too long, but highly interesting that I never felt I had already kept still on the chair for more than three hours. I remember the first film I watched was called The Twins. How handsome and pretty the Indian movie stars were ! and how tragic their fates were that I almost shed tears at the end of each story ! Going to the cinema with my father was as exciting as travelling to wonderland. My mother and younger sister didn’t show a big interest in movies, especially the Indian ones. They felt quickly bored with them. Sometimes, we all went together for a stroll in the downtown or along the corniche.

School years passed quickly as sweet days always do. I became a young lady of eighteen. How much I think of those days ! My father ,then, had to leave for Kuwait to his new job. He was a chief engineer in an oil company . But, before he left, he had promised to attend my graduation day .

We used to call it The Speech Day , perhaps because the school headmistress and her assistants used to make long speeches on that day.

The greatly anticipated event arrived with excitement. In the evening, I got perfectly dressed and looked greatly pretty. My parents, who showed also a great care about their appearance, were greatly amazed by the good-looking of their young lady; she grew up to be a beauty. “ What a beautiful day!” as the weather was perfect in October. It was seven o’clock , my heart was beating fast as we approached my school. I was dazzled by the glaring lights that surrounded the school entrance and its front garden. Various pleasant fragrances permeated the air. Everything seemed to be well-appointed. I felt overjoyed as I had never been before, even the moon shone gladly in the garden. We entered the school theatre , and I stood proudly among my colleagues as our headmistress was giving her speech.

And then excellent students were honored, and by distributing the graduation certificates the formal ceremony ended . Suddenly, and to our big surprise, loud music was heard from the big garden. “Oh! It’s DJ!” all the girls screamed joyfully. “Yes, it is,” said our headmistress,“we’d like all of you to celebrate your graduation day the way you will on your wedding day.”

We couldn’t believe our ears and eyes, since it had never happened before at school . It was a surprise party. For the first time in my life, I could see all the school teachers singing so joyfully among us:

“ Good-bye, dear school,

Good-bye, sweet days,

Good-bye forever…”

This sweet song of Magda El Roumy, the famous Lebanese singer, still has a melodious resonance that brings high mixed emotions into my soul. I had never seen my parents so pleased as they were that day .

And how excited we were while throwing our mortar-boards up high in the air at the end of the ceremony to signal the beginning of a new life!

****

My father had to leave soon after my graduation . Although I had too many friends, I felt so lonely now . His departure was of a major influence in my life. I tried to deal with his absence in so many ways. I started drawing, reading and listening to various types of music. I kept on writing letters and sending him post-cards. Gradually, I became accustomed to his absence, and I never even referred to its painful impact on my soul to anyone.

After my father had gone, my mother tried to handle our matters firmly. She found the whole issue a big challenge that she became more mindful of her responsibilities. Being a teenager and not mature enough, I couldn’t understand her actions this way ; as I thought she was only making things more difficult for me. I hated her firm grip.

“I know how to handle myself,” I said to myself, “I am mature enough to judge things wisely and take decisions.”

On the other hand, my sister was always quite ready to do whatever she was asked that she proved to be more obedient than the shrewish (me)! In short, everything went badly.

I was much criticized by my mother. She thought I was such an ungovernable, loud-mouthed creature. She was deeply worried that my behavior would cause problems. She paid much attention to protect me, as she thought, from evils. However, when I became mature enough to understand facts of life, I found that everyone has his own way of expressing love. My mother wasn’t talking too much. Yet, she was doing a lot that she was always too busy to listen to me. She was over-busy with more new responsibilities , beside doing her usual house chores, which I didn’t appreciate so much . How different the whole situation would have been if my mother had been a good listener. Yet, she was assuredly a strong devoted mother that she bore a heavy burden for so many years.

****

In 1998, I joined university. “Good morning, new life, you are a promising one!” I said optimistically, “hello ,how do you do, everybody!” I said to my new colleagues. At first, I was surprised to find that most of them were girls as the faculty of Arts was their bastion ; perhaps because most of them prefer studying humanities. But there were some boys,too ; just a boy in our section. However, even that only boy was too shy and introverted. Maybe he felt lonely among a group of female chatterboxes, so he preferred to be always silent.

I joined classical studies section . The ancient European civilization was always my big interest , and I was so impressed by its manifestations.

Attending the first lecture , which was about ancient European civilization, was an amazing experience. I kept gazing at everything around in the hall naively. The lecturer started introducing himself. Dr.Zaky was a dumpy man with a big rounded head. His facial expressions were friendly and reassuring, but he sometimes seemed overly ostentatious ; this was perhaps his way when he sought attracting attention.

“I know that all of you are wondering why we study this subject in our modern times,” he said expecting an answer, but nobody answered, so he continued ,“you shouldn’t judge a matter before knowing it. Pay attention now!”

I was so excited by this first lecture . Studying classics was a big a pleasure, yet ,controversial. You may occasionally come across people who keep on asking about the matter. You could feel different among your peers and full of pride because you study classics ;subjects quite unheard of and seem to be too difficult to be learned in our society.

“I’m a classicist. Oh, yeah! I’m so cool!” that’s how I felt among my colleagues who majored in other courses.

I gave up this naïve superficial thought as I grew mature, and became ably specialized.

I used to spend hours at home learning new Latin words with a great enthusiasm, then I’d compare them with some of what I had known in English, French or even Arabic.

“Oh, listen, Mama, to these splendid musical words!” that’s how I usually said to my mother, and she showed some interest in what I was doing, although it was not easy for her to understand what I was about to do with it .

****

At that time, I changed my look, as I thought it would suit a university student. I had my hair cut, then started putting some unnecessary cosmetics, and became convinced that wearing more colorful t-shirts with jeans would be so funky. I stuck to such a look for a long time, thinking it was quite stylish and cool.

Everyone in my section was enjoying a cheerful atmosphere. Staircases, where students used to sit, were always full of things to eat and drink. Young men and girls, from different faculties, used to gather in groups and sit in the campus backyard. On Thursdays, everybody was invited to join the joyful gathering. However, you could see a young couple sitting quietly together in a corner, seeming pleased with each other’s talk than with the crowded conversation and games held by those around them.

I wondered why girls cared, as much as they could, about straightening their hair and putting too much cosmetics that they almost looked like clowns. Moreover, you could see a wide variety of colorful feminine clothes and fashionable styles. You could also be fascinated by the feminine charms; for how delicate and well-spoken the girls were in the presence of young men who weren’t less careful about their appearance than girls ; as they put big quantities of hair crème and gel, and they were always clean-shaven. Wearing tight-fitting trousers was surprisingly something of interest to most of young men . Also, one could never forget their too long, pointed, shiny shoes which were so-called “Texas” that looked funny and misshapen. However, they were considered so fashionable.

****

One day, knowing that all our section would have the first lecture in literary criticism, we gathered near the big hall No. 35 to hear Dr. Nadia , the professor of classics. At the first glance, it was clear that she was a lady from a high-class background. She had a beautiful round face, wide gray eyes and pretty thin lips. She was in her late thirties . Her facial expression was friendly and calm, yet it was serious and reflected obviously a great confidence. She seemed to be a strong leading woman. When she spoke, I was greatly impressed by her high-educated voice.

So skillfully she recited Latin and old Greek verses that she seemed to have a great passion for classics. I noticed that she always wore a formal set of clothes; a dark elegant jacket with a long-sleeved silk blouse, a long loose skirt and a colorful scarf on head. Her appearance showed obviously she was an observant of the religious laws; she never put on tight-fitting clothes. Yet her style was fashionable and attractive.

During her precious lectures , students understood quite well the difference between devotion and carelessness. She kept a highly clever guidance on the discussion and ran it very ably . Moreover, she interacted so smartly with our views that we became greatly interested in the way she introduced the complicated classical topics. Classics were thought to be tough and dry, but Dr. Nadia managed to make her subject full of vividness, brightness and imagination. Gradually, I began to taste classics appropriately, and what a good taste in the mind!

Opening Collins Latin Dictionary, I used to spend hours in order to translate a poem by Ovid, Horace or Virgil. It’s a wonderful imaginative world full of heroes, mythical creature, and ancient adventures, but it isn’t easy to prove how profound it is, especially when it describes the humane experiences and feelings. Facing the fact that the basic nature of humans is eternal and lasting ,whether in ancient times or now, I became deeply interested in the classical literature . Indeed, Dr. Nadia’s high presence impacted greatly my views.