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Published: October 27th 2012
The eight of us had only one thing in common--we used the same coupon to book this Nile cruise. We all know these Groupons are sent to thousands of people. I remember opening my email at work, seeing a Groupon for a Nile cruise in my in-box and thinking to myself how cheap it was and also how it would simplify planning a portion of our trip to Egypt. So it goes, there were six other people sitting at their computers that day thinking the same thing. My new best friends, and they didn't even know it.
Omnaya was simply pretty. I remember first seeing her in the airport in Cairo. She wore a pink and brown layered hijab with a bit of sparkley fabric interwoven around her forehead. She looked young and cautious with a beautiful pink complexion and perfectly arched eyebrows. She and Muhammad were on their honeymoon and had been married only three days prior. Her husband was an Egyptian, a ruggedly handsome young man who grew up in Brooklyn, but had gone back to his family's village in Egypt to find a wife. He said he wanted to marry someone young, that he could mold, a
Omnaya and I on the Nile
Young bride and her American friend.fiercely devout Muslim girl he could count on to raise his children the way he wanted. Sweet Omnaya, being barely eighteen years old, having never ventured outside her village, agreed to this union.
Waleed came to dinner every evening with a story that started something like, "Bad news. My mom just found out she's had a baby dead inside her for 30 years." Or, "Bad news. My best friend's girlfriend just left him for Queen Latifa." Then followed that moment of awkward silence. "Wow Waleed, so sorry to hear about your mom....and the baby....and your friend...and Queen Latifa," we'd say.
Waleed was 40-something, born in Yemen, spent much of his life living in different parts of the world, but is now a settled and successful businessman living in Canada. His wife, Fatoom, was the beautiful bombshell Yemenis woman with a penchant for bright colors, spandex and bling, complete with a tiny diamond nose ring. I immediately liked her, especially when we both found out our favorite color was leopard print.
One night we were sharing a late dinner at McDonald's in Aswan. All of us were huddled around a tiny circular table telling stories, swaping photos and
laughing. Fatoom wore several gold rings, but one inparticular caught my eye.
"Wow! I gotta tell ya Fatoom, that ring is just beautiful!" I said to her.
Her English wasn't very good, but she knew what I said. She grinned at me and looked over at Waleed. He smiled back at her. Some kind of lovers agreement. She took the gold ring off her finger and carefully placed it on my empty wedding finger. "Its a perfect fit!" I said.
"She's giving it to you," Waleed told me.
"Really? No! Its beautiful but I'm not taking it from her," I said.
Waleed and Fatoom exchange words in Arabic.
"In our culture, if you compliment a friend on something, then they give it to you," Waleed informed me.
"Are you kidding me?!" I replied. I look at Fatoom and begin talking way faster than she'll be able to follow. "There's no way I'm taking this ring girl! And there's no way I would of said I liked it if I knew it meant you'd give it to me. It was really just a compliment. Please don't think you must give it to me."
My beautiful friend
Sunset on the Nile. "This for you," she said. "You are my sister now." And thus, our friendship was solidified.
......................................................
I always felt a little bad that Omnaya couldn't be a part of our conversations; she only spoke Arabic. The sweet young girl would just sit at dinner folding and refolding her napkin or stare blankley out the window. At night she'd pace the upper deck with a death grip on her mobile phone, then return to our small group looking sober and red eyed.
"She's having a hard time being apart from her mother," Muhammad would tell us. "They've never been separated and now with Omnaya getting married and moving to Brooklyn with me...Its just difficult."
"Well, surely you'll make sure she can visit home often, right?" I asked.
"I can't have her going home all the time. She needs to get used to life with me in New York. Besides, its too expensive," he said.
"Muhammad, a girl's relationship with her mother is priceless. Why would you want to deprive her of that? And besides, just let her go back to visit her mother on her own. That way you just have to buy one
ticket," I reasoned.
He took exception to that thought. "She is only eighteen and far too young to travel alone. Besides, she would want me with her I'm sure. I just bought a house in Brooklyn and let me tell you, it pained me to have to borrow money from Jews to pay for it. I can't be spending money on trips to Egypt when I have all these other expenses now that I'm married."
I bit my tongue; a rarity indeed. I liked Muhammad. I admired his devotion to his faith and ability to explain and reason on the things he believed. I had so many questions about Islam and its practices and I felt he always gave me a very logical response.
My heart broke a little for his bride. This innocent and naive girl plucked from an obscure Egyptian village where the homes had dirt floors and spontaneous electricity, the only way of life she's known, now married to a man she barely knows and moving to New York City.
There was definitely palpable tension between the two Muslim women, Omnaya and Fatoom. It was certainly entertaining being caught between their quibbles.
Aswan, Egypt
Omnaya and I Things reached a head one evening. Our diverse little group was sitting by the boat's small disco. We were swapping stories of things we'd done that day and looking at photos. Omnaya had tuned out our rapid fire English conversations and laughter and was once again starring blankly into space. Fatoom, dressed in fire engine red from head to toe, just couldn't take it anymore. The music pulled her to the floor where she danced and shimmied like nobody was watching.
But Omnaya
was watching and she was mad. She wasn't just mad, she was insulted. When Fatoom had her fill of dancing and returned to our group the sweet naive village girl laid into her. "The way you dance! You are a disgrace to Islam. You will burn in hell!"
Needless to say, this exchange changed the mood. Omnaya and Muhammad left and Fatoom burst into tears.
How do you comfort someone who's just been told they're going to hell, literally?
Waleed put his arm around his wife and together they quietly returned to their room.
"Andrea, they all like you," Jeremy told me, "go talk to them."
The next morning
I tapped on Omnaya's door. She greeted me with a big smile and invited me in. Muhammad was laying on the bed and Omnaya was pinning her hijab into place.
“So about last night....” I started. “You guys seem pretty fed up with Fatoom.”
Muhammad rolls his eyes. “It makes me sick to see the way that woman acts and dresses. The Qur'an tells us to behave and dress modestly. She is
not modest.”
“I have no idea what the Qur'an says about modesty guys but she is always completely covered and she does wear a head covering,” I add.
“That hijab is nothing more than a fashion accessory to her. I want to tear it off her head and tell her to stop disgracing Islam. Her clothes are too tight and her make-up...it just makes me sick,” Muhammad rants.
Omnaya can't understand our conversation. She's still standing in front of the mirror pinning together the layers of her hijab.
I asked her husband to translate for me.
“Omnaya,” I ask. “I was dancing last night too and the dress I wore showed my arms. Am I going to
hell?”
She smiles and gives Muhammad her reply.
“No, Andrea, you are not going to hell,” he relayed.
“Well that's a relief,” I said and collapsed on the bed. “I was beginning to think it wasn't looking too good for me.”
I remembered how I was at eighteen; very naïve and even self righteous probably. I couldn't hold the young bride's conviction against her. Then again, I wasn't the one just condemned to hell.
“So will we see you guys at breakfast this morning?” I asked. “Why don't you sit with Jeremy and I?”
They accepted the invitation. “Omnaya really likes you, Andrea,” Muhammad told me. “She says she hopes you are always friends.”
I leaped off the bed, hugged her tightly and planted a kiss on her cheek. She blushed at my enthusiasm. “Of course we'll always be friends! I want to hear all about her adventures in America.”
After leaving their room I decided out of curiosities sake to see how Fatoom and Waleed were faring.
“Who does she think she is?” Waleed started. “Telling
my wife she's going
to hell for dancing! There is nothing wrong with dancing. My wife is a good person
and a good Muslim.”
Fatoom added, “And they say I should not wear hijab!”
“I know,” I said. “I'm sorry. That must really hurt your feelings. Omnaya's really just a kid though. A kid seeing the outside of her village for the first time ever and put on this Nile cruise full of people dancing, showing their shoulders and sipping wine. Maybe after living in New York for a few years she'll look back on this and think she overreacted.”
“I don't see how she'll manage living in New York City,” Waleed stated.
“You know, Waleed,” I said, “I don't either.”
Fatoom still looked teary eyed from her massive insult. “Hey, want to go dancing with me tonight?” I asked her. She lit up. “We'll go dancing and you wear your hijab and I'll wear my sleeveless dress and it'll be just scandalous! Ok?” They both laugh at my idea of scandal.
“Oh Andrea, I hope we are always friends,” Fatoom tells me as she gives me a big hug.
“We're better than that!” I say and
point to the gold ring I'm wearing. “We're sisters, remember?”
I left their room feeling good. I'd just made interesting new friends. They were as opposite as night and day and couldn't stand each other. But we all ended up in the same city in Egypt, the same boat on the Nile, the same table at dinner.
So what brought us all together? Let's face it. Who doesn't love a good coupon?
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GROUPON DIPLOMAT
As far as it depends upon you be peaceable with all coupon cutters. The young bride has alot to adjust to and will as all young brides do. Hope the best for her and hope you keep in touch.