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Al-Ahram Weekly 15 - 21 April 1999 Issue No. 425 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 15 - 21 April 1999 Issue No. 425
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Features Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A princess for the pauper
By Fayza Hassan
Khaled was gorgeous in a rugged sort of way -- which was only normal, I assumed, since he came from what my mother euphemistically termed "a different milieu". In other words, he was poor and, unlike us, was not enrolled at AUC. The rumour had it that he was already working, although he never said so himself. Actually, he hardly ever said anything. Most of the time he sat silently, observing us with an ironic smile which informed us, more eloquently than a thousand words, that he felt utterly superior.
I never found out who had brought him along or why he had chosen to join our little group, but thought him awfully romantic and, when he proposed, I was literally bowled over. I was just 17 and, as was the fashion with girls of my age in those days, despised grownups' values. "Don't think it will be easy," Khaled warned. "You are used to pampering and I can't afford to spoil you. You won't have an apartment, or furniture; we will have to start with a mattress on the floor in a small room, on a roof maybe, in Sayeda Zeinab or some such place. The building will probably be infested with cockroaches. There will be no elevator. Your parents may not be pleased to see you in such surroundings." I almost hooted with delight. I would scrub and clean and carry water pails on my head, I would cook and wash and keep the vermin away. The fact that I hadn't a clue how these things were done did not deter me one bit.
Khaled was less enthusiastic, however. He mentioned in passing that he had wanted to marry another girl, but her parents wanted him to move in with them after the marriage. He liked his independence, and a young couple should have their own apartment, he believed. This is what he had told them, but they had not understood. Now he was only seeing the girl occasionally and was trying to forget her. Would my parents consider giving me an apartment? he asked casually. "Why should they?" was my prompt answer. "We will make it on our own, starting from scratch." I had read many books where young people did just that. I immediately started designing in my mind the various simple dresses I would order from the dressmaker before embarking on my new life and was transported with happiness.
From that moment on, I embraced the idea of poverty with exhilaration. I would use gallons of disinfectant every day and would shell peas sitting on the floor. Since I disliked peas intensely, I was convinced that they were fitting fare for the underprivileged. We would have them often. I would mend socks and hang the washing out to dry on the terrace. I even practised humming popular songs when I was alone. Poor young married women always sang in films when hanging out the washing.
Khaled listened to my enthusiastic babbling but did nothing to encourage me. When he spoke, he steered the conversation toward the advantages of affluence and the luxury I would be deprived of if I married him. He would feel humiliated if I didn't have the very best, he explained. The more I insisted that all I had ever wanted was to be poor, the less I seemed to be able to persuade him.
He kept urging me to discuss our plans with my parents. "See what they have to say. Maybe they would like to help you start your life. Maybe they would want you to have your own apartment, a car and a maid. They can afford to give you these things, so why be deprived if you can have it all?" I hated to hear Khaled mention my parents' money. "We are the ones getting married, it is none of their business, I won't tell them anything," I screamed on several occasions, then dejectedly watched him sulk.
I began cutting down on my visits to the hairdresser, stopped using make-up or buying new clothes. I was determined to prove that I did not need the frivolous privileges Khaled claimed I would miss sorely. The plainer I became, however, the less eager he seemed to be. Soon he only spoke of expenses or, for a change of topic, of my lack of maturity. I was a rich girl who knew nothing about real life. 'When I was going to tell my parents' became the leitmotif of each of our encounters.
My stubbornness must not have boded well, because Khaled eventually lost patience. He was a young man in a hurry. Others may have seen it coming, but I was totally shattered the day he came to tell me that he had met that other girl and was going to marry her. In the course of our last conversation, he casually mentioned that her parents had promised to give the young couple an apartment and a car as wedding presents.
