A shared remembrance of the past – Jamil Matar

When I was six, my mother and sister each had a new baby, both girls. The older of the two, a few months older, was my new sister, Nabila, and the other was Amira. Since I was not much older than them, I was assigned a role. It was decided early on that at the age of two we would play with Amira’s sister, Mushira, and that as teenagers, the three of us would study together in a classroom at my sister’s house, which was first on Al-Falaki Street, then Dokki, and then Khairat Street.
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I remember that every summer we would spend some time at a summer resort in the suburb of Sidi Bishr. There, by the standards of the adults at home, the children were grown up. The four of us were a very cohesive group. It was no secret to any of us what the others were doing or planning to do. Together we received lessons from my sister’s husband, Dr. Farid, on the Western civilized world and a deeper understanding of social behavior that was different from the popular ones, as well as courses in geography and classical music. As a result of these courses, most of which were conducted at home and some of which were conducted in the music laboratory on the top floor of the Business School building, I said that as a result of these courses, at the age of eighteen I was given the responsibility of supervising the music room attached to the American Library in Garden City, in addition to internships in other departments of the library. I graduated from college after a year in the library and chose to take the diplomat examination. It was prepared and completed in two years, including the Suez War.
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There is a reason and a need for me to write this long introduction. The reason is that there has been an important discussion about nostalgia going on in academic circles recently, and I have noticed that when I write now about the time I lived with my family “group”, I turn to one or three of them as a result of the fact that if the three of them were more interested in what I wrote than I expected, a thought or question will arise. I thought about it. Doesn’t each of them have a right to acknowledge their role and the help they provided? As for the need to write this introduction, it can be traced back to my discovery that I often write about the past that I actually experienced, forgetting or ignoring that others, far or near, also experienced this past. Thoughts on it, contributed to its formation, influenced its course or were affected by it. It did not occur to me to ask how they knew the news and details of my past, and I lived in a long, albeit intermittent exile without them. I left the country and began to forget many details of our past, and we did not create it together as we usually did.
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For this reason, and to meet the need, I asked Nabila and Amira, both in their eighties, to write down their memories of my dangerous and problematic years abroad, and how the family lived through them. My father and mother, in particular, felt the shock, the changes and the crises that my young family and I faced during the first days of my diplomatic career. Here is what Nabila wrote in her style and words:
“You, my brother, my beloved, have dried up the family bloodline three or four times. When you were a teenager, you went to Gaza for the first time on a university trip, and your curiosity drew you and your friends to see what was happening across the border. It was therefore a great disaster for this distinguished family, and the news reached the ears of the mother as if it were the end of the world. There were constant cries, especially in the face of the journalists and the curious who flocked to the house on Sami Street immediately after the news of the kidnapping was released. As for the father, he was always looking for useful information from his superiors.
The second time, you and your family came to China as a political attaché of the Egyptian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and you also had to pass through Egypt on the way to your new job in Rome. We were all waiting to see you, and with you came a new guest, a four-month-old son, when suddenly, the door of the apartment slammed, and Amira opened the door, and behind her stood our father, who was also the most difficult to get along with. He heard the news that the plane had crashed, carrying the most precious relatives on board.
The third time, you were in Rome. Some days were very difficult for us, when we heard that you were sick and tired, the doctors asked us to perform a major operation to find out the source of the pain you complained of and, if necessary, a stomach operation. In Egypt, they were far away from you and didn’t know what to do. But then we went to check on you and heard from your colleagues that your mother-in-law put on a fur coat and went out to beg in the streets. God knows best, they have a habit of asking God for healing, and he responded, and the matter turned out to be simple, but after our blood was dried.
The fourth time was in the nineties, you were in Egypt and something suddenly occurred in your heart and they took you to Mustafa Mahmoud Hospital in Mohandesin, it was a Friday and no doctor was present. We contacted Mr. Hassanein Heikal and explained the situation to him. He came immediately, his son is a doctor. They called the doctors and they came. Of course, our nerves were nothing until God reassured us and they let us go for the injection. Thank God and may God bless you with good health. ”
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This was written by my niece Amira, who is a few months younger than her aunt Nabila.
“The fact is, they were three strikes. The first strike in Gaza. When I was young, I found our house upside down with Nina’s, which they said was a beautiful place in Israel. Just the mention of her name made me panic. And the phone calls of family, acquaintances, the world were still upside down, and everyone was calling on God. I remember the newspapers mentioned it, and I think you had a photo in one of the newspapers. We all remember that when you were still in college, my grandfather would lock you in the corner of the balcony every night, and he would run in to tell us that you had arrived.
The second story is that my dear uncle went to India to join the Egyptian Embassy when he was not yet twenty-two years old. A few months later, he sent us a photo of a beautiful girl, the daughter of the Syrian ambassador. Your Lord wanted you to declare the United Arab Republic so that he could get married in it. It was as if the union was completed in order to complete this marriage. The uncle and his wife moved to China, where she gave birth to a grandson, who was named after the name she had heard for the first time. Dear Uncle Summer.
The third strike: “We were waiting for Algali, his wife and beloved Samer to return to Italy from China. The doorbell rang, I opened the door and found two people who asked: “Yes, your honor, we are representatives of an airline and we are informing you that the plane crashed over India. All the passengers are safe, how do you know what happened? “A few days later, the situation of this small family is tragic. This situation is unimaginable no matter what you say…”
Nabila went on to say: “If I forget, I cannot forget what happened in the hospital after midnight. We were waiting for the test results, in the midst of rumors and our exhausted nerves, a priest, may God glorify him, came in and asked about your room and closest relatives. He came in and sat next to you, unconscious. He preferred to read, recite and pray. And you were not Darien. We were all surprised. When he finished speaking, I went to ask him, sir, who did you sell it to. He did not respond to us at all, only saying that God was with us and that the patient would live. When one of your friends heard that you were in a bad condition, he showed up and invited him to come and see us. The important thing is that God saved you and saved you and all of us.”