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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 Nov. - 1 Dec. 1999 Issue No. 457 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 25 Nov. - 1 Dec. 1999 Issue No. 457
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Features Profile Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A common friend
By Fayza Hassan
I don't believe that young children have a clear perception of the way they look, even if they have ample opportunity to see themselves in the mirror. The image is slowly created as they grow up, through the opinions of others and by comparison. Although I vaguely suspected that I was a big child, the reality of my chubbiness did not hit me fully -- until Ophelia danced into my life. Reading the recently published autobiographies of Edward Said and Laila Ahmed brought home the fact that our generation grew up in a unique environment. Had I lived in Paris or New York at the time, I would certainly not have felt as familiar with the recollections of people I do not know personally. As it happens, both authors' memories are made of the very fabric of my adolescence. We went to similar schools, played tennis at the same club, swam in the same pools, attended the same concerts and were thrilled by the same books. Our parents moved in identical circles and had the same friends. That we did not actually meet in our teens was a matter of mere coincidence. A good example is Edward Said's mention of one of his friends, André Dirlik, whose father's pharmacy my mother patronised regularly.
Like me, André enrolled at the French School of Law in Munira in 1955. Several of my friends had gone on to finish their education in France, and a couple had even gone to the States, a step I considered absolutely awesome, since in those days it seemed like the end of the earth. It boggled my mind to think that someone my own age could travel alone so far and have to deal with living in a foreign country, speaking a foreign (English as opposed to French) language.
My parents, who valued higher education in general, did not think of my own performance as deserving special further attention although, by the school's standards, it was said to have been excellent. I had the grades to prove it. After I obtained my Baccalaureate, not really wanting to leave the nest, I had asked anyway if I too could go to Switzerland, for instance, to continue my studies. My mother had given me a surprised and horrified look, in which I detected a measure of contempt. "You?" My father had asked, as if the idea had never occurred to him -- I have good reason to believe now that it never had. "Why isn't Egypt good enough for you?" I had no satisfactory answer to this question and in October of that year I simply enrolled at the Law School.
The fact that I showed little interest in the intricacies of the study of law did not rattle my parents unduly. Enrolling me at Munira was part of their good housekeeping. There was a proper place for everything in our lives, and it would not have done to have a daughter suddenly at a loose end. I had not been distressed, however, since my best friend Wanda followed suit and very soon there was a pleasant little group around us, or rather around Wanda, who was a stunning Italian beauty, our own native Pierangeli.
André did not mingle at first. He appeared to be a loner. He missed most of the classes because he spent time in the desert and at the Red Sea. He was a bit older than us and handsome in a rugged sort of way, with amazing clear eyes. I found him a little too stocky for my taste, but then I was quite chubby myself and, unlike Wanda, boys were not exactly falling over each other to date me. I was therefore quite surprised at first when André approached me and not her. He offered me a ride in his second-hand army Jeep one afternoon after classes. Accepting was akin to committing a heinous crime against my parents, as riding in such a strange, open vehicle, would have endangered my life, according to them. It took me less than two seconds to haul myself into the passenger seat. I was so thrilled my head was spinning. I remember that I was wearing a rather flashy red dress that day, and fancied that it must have attracted André's attention. In a reckless gesture, I pulled the pins out of my heavy chignon, letting my artificially straightened hair tumble down my back.
In all honesty, I do not recall the first few minutes of our little spin. André was driving very fast and I was busy hanging on to my seat as well as trying to look sexy, quite a feat when he took hairpin turns. When I realised that we were sailing over Al-Galaa Bridge, it was too late to tell him to turn around. The second villa on Al-Messaha Street was ours, and we passed it at top speed, giving me just enough time to glimpse my mother standing at the gate, waiting for the driver to bring her car around. I was so terrified at the idea that she had seen me that, when André finally came around to telling me how much he fancied Wanda, I did not feel the usual frustration at being used as a go-between. I eagerly promised to help him, if only he would drop me somewhere where I could grab a taxi. He complied promptly.
Having removed the red dress as soon as I had arrived home, I was very quiet at dinner, waiting for my mother's wrath to fall upon my head. "I saw that crazy Dirlik boy today," she began, and my heart skipped several beats. "Who does he go out with?" she asked, as if she was seeking a trivial piece of information. I precipitously babbled a confused and idiotic answer. "Anyway," said my mother impatiently, "he was driving a ridiculous army tank with a fat, hairy woman wearing an appalling red dress next to him. What kind of company does he think he is keeping? His parents should curtail their social life a bit and look after their children better," she concluded sternly. I never found out if my mother chose this way to let me know that she had seen me; nor can I remember if Wanda and the "Dirlik boy" did ever go out together. All I know is that from that day on, I kept well out of André's way.
