Thursday, June 30, 2011

MAKING HIJRAH 35 "Banging Your Head"

Asalamu Alaykom,




We got into routines.

One of the funnier moments is how we learned to establish a routine when we left the house.  Ahmed almost figured out how to organize an exit when he shut the door and then aked, "Andi moftah?" 

Do you have the key?

Um...no, I didn't.

Did he?

Ahhhh...no....he didn't either.

We just locked ourselves out.

There was a brief yelling and blaming session.  Then, we realized that our small boy could fit through the small window.  We pushed the screen out and pushed him in.  All he had to do was unlock the door.

After about 10 minutes of instructions, sigh....yes, 10 minutes of trying to talk very nicely to a little boy who can't seem to just turn the handle...the door opened.  We were laughing by then. 

From that point on, Ahmed remembered to ask about the keys BEFORE he locked up.

We would go over to the  family house to eat dinner.  There are actually very few dinners I've eaten alone with my husband.  I might eat alone or with just me and Mr. Boo.  A romantic tete-a-tete has not really been something we have enjoyed.  Funny the things which used to be so important and then suddenly aren't.

On one of my many Saturdays at the family house, I was typing away to get my lesson plans done on time.  Mr. Boo was playing with his older cousin.   They were rough-housing the way boys do here.  I was glad that he was occupied.  Then---

someone got hurt.

Astragerallah, but when you're the mom you hope it's the other child. 

It wasn't.

It was my guy.

He was in the bathroom covered in blood and his auntie was trying to wash him off.  It was insane.  You don't wash a gushing head wound!  What if I hadn't been there...

but I was there.  I jumped into action. I hate the sight of blood, however I take charge with a kind of superhero intensity during any gory crisis (and collapse afterward).  We got a towel compressing the wound on his head.  Ahmed picked him up and off we went.

There is a hospital a short walk from here so Ahmed's long legs transported my boy as I tried to keep up; my hand holding the blood soaked cloth on his head.

As we went through the streets, everyone parted as if it were the Red Sea.  It was, perhaps, one of the most touching moments in the last 22 months.  Everyone stopped.  Everyone prayed.  I could hear them in waves of whispered sound as we went through.  I tear up now to recount it all.  This was God.  This was a community of God-fearing people.  We were invoking prayer with every step.  No one was mindless or thoughtless of our crisis.  I felt the spirit.

Alhumdulillah for feeling the power of God at work in a moment of hardship.

I will honestly never forget the feeling.

Sometimes, I hate all things Egyptian and all Egyptians from the past, present and future.  It's a horrible feeling and I go there---not for very long but I enter into a pity party about being misunderstood.  Yet, remembering the day my son broke open his head will bring me back to center.

He got his stitches.  He took the medicine.  He got all the attention and love.  All the neices and nephews brought him juice and cake and candy. 

Yet, because my son is a stubborn guy, a month later, he fought with the wall again.  Can you stand it???  That was only a small cut.  More stitches.  More medicine.  And a moratorium on playing in the entry way.

Two scars on his forehead remain.  Scar tissue is the strongest on our bodies.  Alhumdulillah, his head is stronger for his time with Egyptian walls. 

Alhumdulillah, my faith is stronger too.


Chapter 36

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