Having made my point with regards to my encounter with Moez Masoud and having defended my right to be different or to simply be .... I think it is only fair to share with you ... my very same readers the counter argument of my pervious post: Marwa Rakha broods over Moez Masoud. Written by Ethar El Katatney on her blog
Mass media is a wonderful thing. It gives everyone, qualified or not, the opportunity to air their concerns and worries to the world, whether it's their opinion regarding the Egyptian bread crisis or simply what they had for breakfast this morning.
But as a journalist, I know the importance of measuring my words, knowing the message I'm sending out to my readers, and thinking about the added value of what I've written. And if I'm writing an op-ed, I have to make sure it doesn't turn into pointless, biased, ranting, especially if I'm arguing for a case and trying to prove a point.
I bought The Poison Tree last week, and although I found the author, Marwa Rakha, slightly oversensitive and slightly exaggerative for my taste, I thought it was a good solid read with some perceptive insights into Egyptian society. And yesterday, I stumbled upon the author's rant about Moez Masoud—a young religious scholar—in Campus Magazine.
First off, let me say that I've known Moez for over a year, and I've worked with him for a large part of that year. So obviously, I'm going to be slightly biased. But since I've known him for a lot longer than Marwa has, I'm also more qualified to speak about his character, and I called him up after I read the piece to get his side of the story.
Brief summation of the incident that Marwa says brought her "shame and disgrace": She's one of a group of people in a show where Moez is the guest speaker. The wardrobe people give her an outfit to wear, which is unsuitable to wear in the presence of a religious figure. She's asked to change by a member of her own editorial team, who apparently wasn't very diplomatic. She gets upset. Seeing how upset she is, Moez takes her aside and apologizes even though neither of the two things that upset her were his fault, whether it was the religious standards being upheld or the insensitive way her team member dealt with it.
Now, I can't deny that this is an embarrassing incident. But a couple of points need to be borne in mind before we decide if the reaction is worth “a wave of numbness […] followed by a heat flush and an urge to cry […] anger and indignation." Firstly, and I know this first-hand, Moez discusses in advance with those in charge of any show the dress code of the episode he is about to appear on. He does this specifically so as to stay true to his message and what he believes in and also so as not to embarrass anyone when it is time to start filming. Secondly, the insensitive manner in which Marwa was approached was not of Moez's doing and in fact had nothing to do with him: again, it was solely the responsibility of her team member.
The issue of there being a dress code should really be a non-issue. Almost all TV shows have dress codes—whether the audience has to wear suits, jeans, or even swimsuits for that matter. You cannot violate the dress code, it's just not done.
Well, all religions dictate that women must be modestly covered in some way. Look at Mary's outfit in any nativity scene. She is wearing a scarf on her head and long, loose fitting clothes. Think this is all hype? Skim through to 1 Corinthians 11:5 in the New Testament and you will find this passage: “And every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head - it is just as though her head were shaved.” Orthodox Jewish women have to cover their hair with the tichel, a piece of fabric. And similarly, Muslim women have to wear loose clothes and cover their skin and hair. Some people may disagree with this, but let's not digress and just assume that it is a universal, Abrahamic matter for (at least) certain religious figures to believe that modesty in attire goes hand-in-hand with spirituality.
So when people share the stage with a religious figure who is about to discuss religious matters, they cover themselves to a certain degree out of respect for the topic, regardless of where they are. This respect is not simply afforded the speaker for his/her status but more importantly it is associated with the message s/he is about to deliver. It's clear then that modesty is a requirement where religious discourse is concerned and any religious speaker would have requested it.
Now, back to Moez. As young and charismatic and handsome as all the articles being written about him seem to begin by saying, he is still a religious figure. He's studied religion, he preaches religion, and he's trying so damn hard to make religion a part of the lives of youth. Out of all the preachers today, he has gone the furthest in trying to look for the loosest and yet most valid meanings and opinions in orthodox Islam. So when Moez actually speaks up and says something is not quite right, then have no doubt that he already has in mind the most lax interpretation without compromising on validity and authenticity. Below such a point, one is no longer looking for what is religiously valid but simply what their whims dictate to them at that moment.
For the past year, Moez has been outspoken with his motto of, "though you should hate the sin, you should never hate the sinner." In that vein, he's said that we have to hate the sin of homosexual activity, but not the homosexuals themselves. He's said music isn't haram (prohibited)—for there are other valid interpretations that allow it—and has, himself, released more than one song. His assistant that day (who for some reason Marwa begrudges Moez for having) is a screenwriter whose last movie was El-Gezira, and who entered the field with Moez's guidance and blessings. By offering these valid, looser interpretations, Moez has been accused by some of being a heretic. Anyone who has seen his shows, and more so anyone who knows him on a personal level, knows that this is not the person you accuse of being judgmental or hypocritical.
So to see Marwa try and dismiss the hassle Moez gets into for promoting such interpretations at his own cost by indulging in a vindictive character assassination doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, it grates on my nerves.
But back to the issue at hand. It is one such looser, yet valid interpretation that allows Moez to appear with women who have not covered their hair. It doesn't matter that Marwa, as she says, is "far from busty, sort of skinny, and kind of demure and frail looking." Again, Moez has already agreed to accept the opinion that modesty is alright even if the hair is uncovered so is it really too much to ask her to compromise on dress? After all, he is still a religious figure who has to maintain a certain standard when he delivers God's message.
Moez wasn't imposing anything on Marwa and didn't judge her because of what she was wearing; he simply upheld God's command that spirituality should manifest itself in one's physical appearance, male or female. Even the loosest interpretation of Shari'ah wouldn't accommodate her attire in this situation.
The mix up with her dress is an in-house issue, and not his fault, since the production team knew he was a religious figure who had pre-arranged a particular dress code to begin with. By highlighting to Marwa the consequences of carrying on with the episode as is, instead of focusing on her clothing’s incompatibility with spiritual principles, he was simply trying not to hurt her feelings. His other option was to tell her that her attire was not in line with God's command, which, under the circumstances of her being already visibly distraught, would have probably worsened the situation.
Personally, I don't think Moez had to apologize to her at all. If there's one misunderstanding that should have been cleared up, it would be the wrong impression she got that he was allowing what people think of him and his public image to dictate what he wanted her to wear. Obviously the only entity he's allowing to dictate to him is God; but with the aim of not insulting her, he may have gotten the wrong message across to her.
The last critique I have of Marwa's account is that unfortunately she herself is guilty of the very accusation she made against Moez: judgment. Let’s address some of her claims.
First of all, she alludes to the fact that Moez gave strict instructions against discussing certain topics, namely, sex, homosexuality, virginity, dating and Islamic legislation. She concludes from this that he has bowed to pressures from other religious figures who now dictate what topics he is willing to address. The truth of the matter is that Moez's only request (and one which he makes during all his appearances) was to exclude Islamic legislation or fatwa from the discussion as he is not qualified to answer such questions. Shame on him! If Marwa had bothered to watch his last show, The Right Path, she would have been pleasantly surprised to find all the aforementioned topics discussed.
Next, she said he tried to "score points" with a Christian colleague. How does she know that? Did she look into his heart? Isn't it possible he was simply trying to make the Christian woman feel included?
She then says Moez "allowed the gap between who he is and who he should be to grow wider." An unsubstantiated opinion—she knows who he is after meeting and listening to him for a mere 30 minutes?
She then accuses Moez of allowing his assistant to speak on his behalf. Um, he's his assistant? That's what they do?
Far from becoming the hypocrite who has been corrupted by fame, as Marwa states in her blog, Moez actually utilizes his fame to get a crucial message across to people: do not judge people based on their appearance. Marwa mistook his standing up for the loosest interpretation of God's command of dressing modestly (at least when in religious discourse) as him judging her character and that he did so because of fame. It still baffles me how she was able to conclude that this incident put her character into question in any way.
Ultimately, who is Marwa really brooding over? Moez, who worries about the consequences of his message and so had an agreement with the show to avoid such problems and who then apologized for her hurt feelings? Or the show's team members who failed to get the message across and in doing so jeopardized the very filming of that episode? Or is she simply brooding over God Who requires a certain degree of modesty particularly when He is the topic to be discussed?
In conclusion, I ask that Marwa do what Moez tried to do with her, which is to try and not be so narrow-minded. In the words of Metallica, who I know Moez likes to quote: "Open mind for a different view." So you have an opinion, great! But sticking so firmly to one side and refusing to bend the slightest will get you nowhere in life. It is so easy to jump onto the 'curse the preachers' bandwagon and brand everyone who speaks in the name of religion a hypocrite.
I've read your book. I know how you feel you have to stick up for every little thing or else you'll get steamrolled. But accusing someone who's doing so much good as being "as fake, as pretentious, as superficial, and as gutless as the rest of them" is not a light accusation—make sure it's true before you say it. And above all—don't start the music unless you're willing to dance.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
Food for the Soul
Yesterday was tough .. it is not out of my system yet .. but I guess it will take sometime.
I had a book signing event in a lovely compound in Sheikh Zayed on Thursday 3 April that was organized by "A New Book in the Market". One of the guests asked me to read outloud a certain part of my book ... I choked on tears twice as I read it ... I want to share it with you;
It was raining heavily and I do not like heavy rain. It was cloudy and grey and I do not like grey clouds. It was windy and cold and I do not like cold wind. I put a few drops of cranberry fragrance oil in my burner and lit the tiny candle underneath, took my laptop in my arms, sat on the sofa, threw a blanket over my legs, and got online. I decided to browse Egyptian blogs and bloggers to see who is writing what. I typed “Egypt” in the search box and I was redirected from one blog to the other until I found his page. I do not know what made me stop and read; his words emitted a sincere and genuine vibe that blended well with the warming scent of cranberry that filled the room.
He is a typical Egyptian guy – not my favorite – who has a typical Egyptian wife to whom he got married in a typical Egyptian way. They were leading a typical Egyptian life and they had no serious issues but for the every now and then character clashes between him and his wife. She had a free spirited genie locked within the bottle of the traditional Egyptian girl and she thought marriage will set the genie free. She pursued her love of nature in desert trips, safaris, and excursions, and he never understood her urges to sleep on the sand or to watch the sunrise from a boat. Nevertheless, they reached some sort of an agreement whereby she can have her breaks when he said that it was ok.
Gihan went blind; she lost her eyesight all of a sudden and the doctors said that it was a rare case. My eyes watered as I read Ahmed’s lines: “My 25 year old wife will never see the nature she loved again.” He went on describing how she got depressed, shut him out, wanted a divorce, wanted him to remarry, quit her job, isolated herself, neglected her friends, and just gave up on life. There were a lot of tears between his lines and there were a lot of tears running down my cheeks. I could not even begin to imagine walking the famous mile in her shoes, or in his shoes. On her birthday, he nearly forced her to get dressed to go out and, to spare her the discomfort of being around people, he took her for a long cruise in a felluca.
Gihan asked Ahmed to lend her his eyes; she wanted him to tell her what he saw. He began talking about the scenery and she began asking him detailed questions. She wanted him to describe the sky; its shades of blue, the birds, the clouds, and the buildings in the horizon. She needed to know the color of the sun at the moment and he understood that orange is not a solid color. She asked him to tell her what he saw in the water and he learned the power of reflections. Gihan was the one who lost her sight, yet she was the one who lent Ahmed her eyes. For the first time he saw what she saw in nature and for the first time they enjoyed nature’s beauty together.
His words came to a full stop and my day came to an end. Ahmed and Gihan were in my dreams all night, and when I woke up in the morning I did not jump out of bed. I did not run around the house trying to get myself in the car to go to the office. I sat in bed and smiled at my cats, slowly reached out to the curtains, pulled them away, opened my window, and watched the sunbeams smile back at me. Their light filled my room and their warmth filled my heart. I reached out to my cats and for the first time I felt their soft fur; before, I used to touch them but that day I felt the warmth and the beauty of something that is beyond words – something that I took for granted.
What else did I take for granted? Who else did I archive unintentionally? What other signs did I miss on the way? What more could I not see? What did I never have the time to do because I was so busy? Who did I never had the time to meet because I had other priorities? I got a cup of tea and sat back in bed and enjoyed a lovely new beginning to my morning. Eventually I got myself out of the house and drove to work; I decided to take a different route. I wanted to see new things and I reminded myself of how lucky I was to be able to look at such beauty. I am lucky to have the heart to enjoy it and I am blessed to be able to feel it. I am eternally grateful to Ahmed and Gehan – two people that I never met. The smile lasted that whole day, the day after, and many days that followed.
New beginnings are always loaded with many contradictory feelings; hope, fear, optimism, doubt, resolution, skepticism, comfort, hesitation, and determination. The skeletons in the closet and collective experiences are a threat to new beginnings. Regret, or the fear of regret, weighs heavily on our hearts as we try to embrace the sunshine. We remember when we were last burnt or when we were last hurt, and we subconsciously look at our scars. Memories of how deep and how painful they were rush back to our heads, and with an involuntary movement we clench our fists as though we are holding on to the past. Something inside of us refuses to let go and that very same thing resists the change – the new beginning.
The tree will shed its old dry corrupted infected leaves and will grow new soft fresh green leaves. I will slow down and enjoy the drive rather than the destination. I will take off my masks, let my hair down, face the sun, smile, and breathe. I will borrow Gihan’s eyes and, from now onwards, I will use them to carefully watch what I used to carelessly look at; to deeply look at what I used to superficially see; to simply see what I simply never saw. “Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. It comes in to us at midnight very clean. It is perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands and hopes we've learnt something from yesterday." --John Wayne
I had a book signing event in a lovely compound in Sheikh Zayed on Thursday 3 April that was organized by "A New Book in the Market". One of the guests asked me to read outloud a certain part of my book ... I choked on tears twice as I read it ... I want to share it with you;
It was raining heavily and I do not like heavy rain. It was cloudy and grey and I do not like grey clouds. It was windy and cold and I do not like cold wind. I put a few drops of cranberry fragrance oil in my burner and lit the tiny candle underneath, took my laptop in my arms, sat on the sofa, threw a blanket over my legs, and got online. I decided to browse Egyptian blogs and bloggers to see who is writing what. I typed “Egypt” in the search box and I was redirected from one blog to the other until I found his page. I do not know what made me stop and read; his words emitted a sincere and genuine vibe that blended well with the warming scent of cranberry that filled the room.
He is a typical Egyptian guy – not my favorite – who has a typical Egyptian wife to whom he got married in a typical Egyptian way. They were leading a typical Egyptian life and they had no serious issues but for the every now and then character clashes between him and his wife. She had a free spirited genie locked within the bottle of the traditional Egyptian girl and she thought marriage will set the genie free. She pursued her love of nature in desert trips, safaris, and excursions, and he never understood her urges to sleep on the sand or to watch the sunrise from a boat. Nevertheless, they reached some sort of an agreement whereby she can have her breaks when he said that it was ok.
Gihan went blind; she lost her eyesight all of a sudden and the doctors said that it was a rare case. My eyes watered as I read Ahmed’s lines: “My 25 year old wife will never see the nature she loved again.” He went on describing how she got depressed, shut him out, wanted a divorce, wanted him to remarry, quit her job, isolated herself, neglected her friends, and just gave up on life. There were a lot of tears between his lines and there were a lot of tears running down my cheeks. I could not even begin to imagine walking the famous mile in her shoes, or in his shoes. On her birthday, he nearly forced her to get dressed to go out and, to spare her the discomfort of being around people, he took her for a long cruise in a felluca.
Gihan asked Ahmed to lend her his eyes; she wanted him to tell her what he saw. He began talking about the scenery and she began asking him detailed questions. She wanted him to describe the sky; its shades of blue, the birds, the clouds, and the buildings in the horizon. She needed to know the color of the sun at the moment and he understood that orange is not a solid color. She asked him to tell her what he saw in the water and he learned the power of reflections. Gihan was the one who lost her sight, yet she was the one who lent Ahmed her eyes. For the first time he saw what she saw in nature and for the first time they enjoyed nature’s beauty together.
His words came to a full stop and my day came to an end. Ahmed and Gihan were in my dreams all night, and when I woke up in the morning I did not jump out of bed. I did not run around the house trying to get myself in the car to go to the office. I sat in bed and smiled at my cats, slowly reached out to the curtains, pulled them away, opened my window, and watched the sunbeams smile back at me. Their light filled my room and their warmth filled my heart. I reached out to my cats and for the first time I felt their soft fur; before, I used to touch them but that day I felt the warmth and the beauty of something that is beyond words – something that I took for granted.
What else did I take for granted? Who else did I archive unintentionally? What other signs did I miss on the way? What more could I not see? What did I never have the time to do because I was so busy? Who did I never had the time to meet because I had other priorities? I got a cup of tea and sat back in bed and enjoyed a lovely new beginning to my morning. Eventually I got myself out of the house and drove to work; I decided to take a different route. I wanted to see new things and I reminded myself of how lucky I was to be able to look at such beauty. I am lucky to have the heart to enjoy it and I am blessed to be able to feel it. I am eternally grateful to Ahmed and Gehan – two people that I never met. The smile lasted that whole day, the day after, and many days that followed.
New beginnings are always loaded with many contradictory feelings; hope, fear, optimism, doubt, resolution, skepticism, comfort, hesitation, and determination. The skeletons in the closet and collective experiences are a threat to new beginnings. Regret, or the fear of regret, weighs heavily on our hearts as we try to embrace the sunshine. We remember when we were last burnt or when we were last hurt, and we subconsciously look at our scars. Memories of how deep and how painful they were rush back to our heads, and with an involuntary movement we clench our fists as though we are holding on to the past. Something inside of us refuses to let go and that very same thing resists the change – the new beginning.
The tree will shed its old dry corrupted infected leaves and will grow new soft fresh green leaves. I will slow down and enjoy the drive rather than the destination. I will take off my masks, let my hair down, face the sun, smile, and breathe. I will borrow Gihan’s eyes and, from now onwards, I will use them to carefully watch what I used to carelessly look at; to deeply look at what I used to superficially see; to simply see what I simply never saw. “Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. It comes in to us at midnight very clean. It is perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands and hopes we've learnt something from yesterday." --John Wayne
Sunday, April 6, 2008
From Sharkawy's Finacee
last night was almost ordinary.. I went to my workout class and had a nice dinner with my fiance.. After a night of sleep interupted several times by very disturbing dreams.. I woke up to find that my fiance was kidnapped by the so called security forces - i'd rather call them the self preservation forces, given how secure we, the egyptians feel!!- while he was changing the flat tyre of my car.. I went -like any decent citizen- to the police station to report the incident.. Only to get a confirmation beyond doubt that this country is no place for decent citizens.. The esteemed officer refused reporting the incident on my behalf.. Insisted on going off topic.. Tried every stupid way that he learned to intimidate me and scare me off.. And -exactly as expected- offered me a dead end with a stupid smile on his face!.. Until that moment i was in trauma.. I haven't realized it till i got home to find a note that my fiance left me.. Telling me that he loves me.. Asking me to take good care of myself and be strong.. Was he feeling endangered?.. Did he know what was going to happen deep inside?.. Only then did i come to my senses and realized what was really happening.. I felt angry.. Frustrated.. And devastated.. There's nothing that i can do at this point and it feels like my hands are tied behind my back.. This is disgusting.. Inhumane.. And brutal.. As i sit here writing about it.. I feel even more helpless.. While the question keeps banging inside my head.. What becomes of us?.. What becomes of this?!!To be continued...
Free Sharkawy .. Free Egypt
I never thought that there would come a day when I would write anything with political inclination ... I was never interested!!!!!!
OK .. it is the 6th of April ... so what?!!! People are on strike!!! .. Who Cares?... Certainly not me!!
I woke up today .. like I wake up on any other day ... got my tea ... and my laptop ... then I got a call from Sandmonkey that my publisher has been arrested ... yeah right ... the cynical monkey joking!!!
An hour later JSC announced the names of those who were arrested ... Mohamed El Sharkawy has been arrested!!!
I called his finacee. In tears she told me what happened ... early that morning he stopped by her house to pick up something he left there and the taxi waited downstairs. Sharkawy told her that she had a flat tyre and that he was going to change it. The next thing she knew was the taxi driver screaming in the street "amn el dawla khatafo Sharkawy" - State security kidnapped Sharkawy.
Four private cars - mallaky ya3ni - and three motorcycles stopped under their building and 20 people got out and "kidnapped him"!!! ... they also took his fiancee's car keys so she would not follow them!!!
She went to report it in the Sheikh Zayed police station .... they refused to file a report!!!
WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!!
He is my publisher ... he started a new business ... he found a new way to voice his opinion ... he was just starting ... he is gone!!!!!!!!!
I do not know how to feel ... I am partly angry .. shocked .. resentful .. and scared.
As an Egyptian I am provoked .. As a writer I am pissed ... As a human being I am offended and ashamed of YOU .. ashamed of Egypt!!
Blurb:
I am sitting now at home next to Mohamed El Sharkawy's fiancee ... we have no clue where he is .... she is sitting there looking all helpless and frustrated ...
"Whatever happened to new beginnings? Whatever happened to second chances? He knew they were going to come after him .. he felt it .. he told me that he will be arrested ... he left me a note asking me not to worry and to be strong" she said
What are they expecting? Is that a way to deal with anger? Is that a way to deal with our countrymen? In all my posts I have called for independence, dignity, pride, and character .... how could anyone raise his head up high and walk like an Egyptian? I know that Sharkawy will go home tonight or tomorrow .... but what kind of person will he be? Defeated? Ashamed? Oppressed? Livid? Resentful? Negative?
And here I am .. calling for a better life, better love, better relationships, and better future ... bala nila!!!!! PS I just heard on JSC that the Egyptian government said that people did not go to work/ universities/ schools today because of bad weather conditions!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Update:
خبر صحفى من مركز هشام مبارك للقانوناصدر مركز هشام مبارك العديد من البيانات والوثائق عشية بدء احتجاجات 6/4/2008 منها نداء موجه للزميلات والزملاء المحامين تسجيل بياناتهم للتطوع دفاعاعن حقوق المواطنين المصريين http://hmlc.katib.org/node/167ونداء لمواطنيين لاستفادة من هذه القائمةhttp://hmlc.katib.org/كما اعد المركز بعض الدفوع القانونية التى قد تكون مفيدة على الموقع التالى http://hmlc.katib.org/node/165وسبق للمركز اصدار بيان بهذا المعنى موجه للمواطن العادى بيان مشروعية الاضراب http://hmlc.katib.org/node/162كما نشر المركز النص الكامل لحكم البراءة فى قضية اضراب سائقى السكك الحديدية لاهميته فى هذه المناسبة http://hmlc.katib.org/node/156
OK .. it is the 6th of April ... so what?!!! People are on strike!!! .. Who Cares?... Certainly not me!!
I woke up today .. like I wake up on any other day ... got my tea ... and my laptop ... then I got a call from Sandmonkey that my publisher has been arrested ... yeah right ... the cynical monkey joking!!!
An hour later JSC announced the names of those who were arrested ... Mohamed El Sharkawy has been arrested!!!
I called his finacee. In tears she told me what happened ... early that morning he stopped by her house to pick up something he left there and the taxi waited downstairs. Sharkawy told her that she had a flat tyre and that he was going to change it. The next thing she knew was the taxi driver screaming in the street "amn el dawla khatafo Sharkawy" - State security kidnapped Sharkawy.
Four private cars - mallaky ya3ni - and three motorcycles stopped under their building and 20 people got out and "kidnapped him"!!! ... they also took his fiancee's car keys so she would not follow them!!!
She went to report it in the Sheikh Zayed police station .... they refused to file a report!!!
WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!!
He is my publisher ... he started a new business ... he found a new way to voice his opinion ... he was just starting ... he is gone!!!!!!!!!
I do not know how to feel ... I am partly angry .. shocked .. resentful .. and scared.
As an Egyptian I am provoked .. As a writer I am pissed ... As a human being I am offended and ashamed of YOU .. ashamed of Egypt!!
Blurb:
I am sitting now at home next to Mohamed El Sharkawy's fiancee ... we have no clue where he is .... she is sitting there looking all helpless and frustrated ...
"Whatever happened to new beginnings? Whatever happened to second chances? He knew they were going to come after him .. he felt it .. he told me that he will be arrested ... he left me a note asking me not to worry and to be strong" she said
What are they expecting? Is that a way to deal with anger? Is that a way to deal with our countrymen? In all my posts I have called for independence, dignity, pride, and character .... how could anyone raise his head up high and walk like an Egyptian? I know that Sharkawy will go home tonight or tomorrow .... but what kind of person will he be? Defeated? Ashamed? Oppressed? Livid? Resentful? Negative?
And here I am .. calling for a better life, better love, better relationships, and better future ... bala nila!!!!! PS I just heard on JSC that the Egyptian government said that people did not go to work/ universities/ schools today because of bad weather conditions!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Update:
خبر صحفى من مركز هشام مبارك للقانوناصدر مركز هشام مبارك العديد من البيانات والوثائق عشية بدء احتجاجات 6/4/2008 منها نداء موجه للزميلات والزملاء المحامين تسجيل بياناتهم للتطوع دفاعاعن حقوق المواطنين المصريين http://hmlc.katib.org/node/167ونداء لمواطنيين لاستفادة من هذه القائمةhttp://hmlc.katib.org/كما اعد المركز بعض الدفوع القانونية التى قد تكون مفيدة على الموقع التالى http://hmlc.katib.org/node/165وسبق للمركز اصدار بيان بهذا المعنى موجه للمواطن العادى بيان مشروعية الاضراب http://hmlc.katib.org/node/162كما نشر المركز النص الكامل لحكم البراءة فى قضية اضراب سائقى السكك الحديدية لاهميته فى هذه المناسبة http://hmlc.katib.org/node/156
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Marwa Rakha broods over Moez Masoud
I met him for the very first time when I was shooting E7na show and I was pleasantly surprised with what I saw; Moez Masoud is a young handsome charismatic man who is blessed by sound logic and common sense. He is nonetheless knowledgeable and passionate about his message. Unlike many other religious figures, Moez is witty, funny, and speaks perfect English. Whether I agreed or disagreed with him, this brilliant role model is definitely worth admiration and respect. As a trainer from the corporate world, I would give him a ten out of ten in presentation skills, attitude, and talent. As a woman who was insulted and humiliated in front of the whole crew, I would take it all back!
Let me start from the start! Moez was our guest on a few episodes and we had strict instructions from the editorial team not to bring up topics related to sex, homosexuality, virginity, dating, or Islamic legislation - “fatwa”. That day Moez came with his friend and avid follower Mohamed Diab – the dude who wrote El Gezira. For an unknown reason Mohamed shouldered the responsibility of looking after the interests and image of Moez. The first episode went well and although Moez relied on his personal charm than on his knowledge to get his message across, I still admired the guy and listened to his arguments with nothing but respect. Then the whole team had to change for the second episode and that was the beginning of the end.
Wardrobe is the responsibility of the stylist and that is directly coordinated with the editorial team and the director. Like everyone else, I went to change and I was handed my outfit - the outfit that put me to shame and disgrace! A pair of beige crop pants and a colorful crochet top underneath a long sleeve crochet black top. Mind you that I am far from busty, sort of skinny, and kind of demure and frail looking. I put on the cursed outfit and walked back to the set where Moez and Mohamed were sitting outside with some members of E7na team. Like a normal girl who has neither inhibitions nor passive aggression, I pulled a chair and joined them. Silence filed the air. Mohamed Diab gave me the “how dare you?” look and Moez offered me a sandwich.
I was still oblivious to the impact of my outfit when I walked back to the room where we were actually shooting. I sat in my place next to everyone else and waited for Moez to come in and start his episode. When that did not happen, I raised my head, looked outside, and saw what seemed like Moez refusing to come in and Diab speaking to one of the big guys. The team was getting restless and one of the editorial guys walked up to me and whispered in my ears “Marwa, can you change?” I said that I could not as my stubborn streak took over and suddenly everyone was looking for a scarf to hide my shoulders and whatever skin that upset Diab/Moez/God!!
A wave of numbness took over followed by a heat flush and an urge to cry. I left the room and ran to the next empty room. I hid my flushed face as I tried to work on my breathing. The editors followed asking me what went wrong and amidst my anger and indignation I howled something along the lines of “I am not coming out ... go ahead and shoot without me!” I was serious! Next thing I knew was Moez himself walking into the room, asking everyone to leave us together (alone), and asking me what was wrong. I asked the pious man sitting in front of me if he were not of afraid of me - the indecent unrespectable me. He kept his cool as he told me that it was not his fault and that being a public figure comes with certain pressures. He said a few things about his image and the problems he could get into because of my outfit. He talked about people and how he could be judged for accepting to shoot with me dressed like that on the same table. He told me that I did not arouse him sexually and asked if that was my skin showing through the crochet work. Moez apologized. He said he did not mean to insult me in any way right after telling me that he did not mean to make me feel like garbage; it was just job casualties so to speak. I am the master of this game; I know how to aim an apology that would sound like a second insult!
For the benefit of the team, I changed my top and went back to that table. I sat across Moez and looked him in the eye as he spoke of how women were sacred and how men forgot that women were more evolved creatures. He went on and on about respecting women, cherishing women, loving women, and remembering how Islam put women on a high pedestal. That was the moment when my receivers shut down one after the other; when I realized that he was just another one of “them”. In marketing terms, women were the segment he chose to target with his product; because of their emotional nature, they would be more receptive to his messages. He would certainly score more points with his soothing words; at a time when his patriarchal counterparts ignored females, here came the man who finally spoke some sense!
I have to admit that he is smart; if the women bought in, the kids would follow, and before you knew it, the men would follow too. Moez even tried to score points with a Christian colleague on the show by always addressing her as the representative of the church in the room and by repeating over and over that all religions are the same – was he thinking of converting her the same way he “cured” the homosexual guy? He was as fake, as pretentious, as superficial, and as gutless as the rest of them – the rest of those who gave in to the pressures of meeting peoples’ expectations and lost their true selves in the process. Moez Masoud allowed Diab to speak on his behalf, allowed the media to dictate his public image, allowed his personal relationships with other religious figures to decide which topics he was willing to address, allowed the gap between who he is and who he should be to grow wider, and allowed himself to judge me based on an outfit! In the middle of the shoot and with his usual smile and wit, Moaz Masoud said “God spare me Marwa Rakha’s evils!” – did he foresee this article coming?!
Campus - April 2008
Campus - April 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
For the love of Chocolate
I was curled up on the back seat of our old little red Seat - as in car - with my half asleep brother, my usually silent mother, and my always in control father. My father always played this tape on our way back from visiting grandma
.. oh mamy .. oh mamy mamy blue ...
I felt the wind blowing against my face and I was growing cold and stiff by the minute. It was a long drive from Hadayek El Kobba to Dokki ... the 6th of October bridge was still under construction I guess.
By the time we got home, I was longing for my blanket. I had a little blue blanket and a little pillow that I kept for many years. I left them behind when I moved out.
I got in bed and crawled under the cover pretending to be a crab digging a home in the sand. I was thankful for having a bed and I was happy to be in it. I dozed off as happiness crept inside of me and in that magical moment before a person actually falls asleep, I got stuck in a chocolate factory.
I stood there as I watched a big round tray rotate on an axis. Little chocolate pieces of all sorts and shapes were lined up on the tray. My eyes caught a one of a kind piece and I set my sight on that piece as I watched the tray rotate. Every time I saw that chocolate piece I would squint as warmth filled me with a quiver ... I opened my eyes and looked again at the tray .... and another shiver followed ...
God ... I was 9!!
.. oh mamy .. oh mamy mamy blue ...
I felt the wind blowing against my face and I was growing cold and stiff by the minute. It was a long drive from Hadayek El Kobba to Dokki ... the 6th of October bridge was still under construction I guess.
By the time we got home, I was longing for my blanket. I had a little blue blanket and a little pillow that I kept for many years. I left them behind when I moved out.
I got in bed and crawled under the cover pretending to be a crab digging a home in the sand. I was thankful for having a bed and I was happy to be in it. I dozed off as happiness crept inside of me and in that magical moment before a person actually falls asleep, I got stuck in a chocolate factory.
I stood there as I watched a big round tray rotate on an axis. Little chocolate pieces of all sorts and shapes were lined up on the tray. My eyes caught a one of a kind piece and I set my sight on that piece as I watched the tray rotate. Every time I saw that chocolate piece I would squint as warmth filled me with a quiver ... I opened my eyes and looked again at the tray .... and another shiver followed ...
God ... I was 9!!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Connected
Like the stink of your breath, your words disgust me
Like the stench of your armpits, your embraces disgust me
Like the dirt under your nails, your hands disgust me
Like the wax in your ears, your pauses disgust me
Like the ashes on your teeth, your hissing disgusts me
Like the man you're not, the man you are disgusts me
***
There you are and here is your cynical face;
Is that a smirk or a smile that lost its pace?
Are you here for me or have you lost the way?
Let me hear your voice or have you nothing to say?
Let me reach into your skull with my claws;
Let me pluck those eyes that could only see my flaws.
***
I cannot promise to love you but will you have me?
I know I hurt you yet could you have me?
I might hurt you again so should you have me?
I am reconnected,
Have been resurrected,
Have me now,
I am finally connected!
Like the stench of your armpits, your embraces disgust me
Like the dirt under your nails, your hands disgust me
Like the wax in your ears, your pauses disgust me
Like the ashes on your teeth, your hissing disgusts me
Like the man you're not, the man you are disgusts me
***
There you are and here is your cynical face;
Is that a smirk or a smile that lost its pace?
Are you here for me or have you lost the way?
Let me hear your voice or have you nothing to say?
Let me reach into your skull with my claws;
Let me pluck those eyes that could only see my flaws.
***
I cannot promise to love you but will you have me?
I know I hurt you yet could you have me?
I might hurt you again so should you have me?
I am reconnected,
Have been resurrected,
Have me now,
I am finally connected!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
From the diary of a single white female in Egypt
I am now sitting on my cozy sofa in my new living room absorbing the warm orange tones that surround me. The walls, the sofas, the carpets, and the radiant heaters in my fireplace seem to congratulate me on my long-awaited hard-earned independence. I have moved into what I hold as my biggest achievement; I have moved into my new home … my very own home. People make homes everyday. I know it is not such a big deal. But you do not see everyday working middle class Egyptian girls buying, finishing, and furnishing their own homes regardless of the absence or presence of a man. You rarely see that sort of utter independence and autonomy in a society that did, and continues to do, its very best to keep its female half handcuffed to their male counterparts. I am writing this article in celebration of female supremacy. But before you share my feelings of pride, joy, achievement, fulfillment, and warmth I want to share with you my interesting experience in a perplexing patriarchal society.
First of all, I have discovered that, in Egypt, workers, doormen, shopkeepers, and security guys will call you “madam” as the only sign they know of respect. Whether you are married or not, wearing a ring or not, it does not make a difference. I am not bothered by the title as much as I am intrigued by its connotations; I am “nothing” and a “nobody” if I am not “someone’s” wife! My studies and achievements in life and the workplace do not guarantee me respect and social status. Why couldn’t they call me “ostaza” or doctor or even miss? I was tempted many times to correct them that I am not “Mrs. Anyone” but I decided to spare myself their suspicious looks and inquisitive eyes or pity and sincere prayers that I found “the good man who would make me happy”. I held my peace.
A male friend of mine volunteered to help me out but my bossy demanding self, instead of gratitude, I felt controlled and restricted. Naturally, when someone goes out of his way and offers you sincere help, he would develop some sort of emotional involvement. My friend began giving me suggestions, advice, and opinions on where, when, what, why, and how things should be done or placed. My never-ever-try-to-control-me sensors picked up negative vibes and I gasped for air in my invaded space. The decent me was immediately replaced by a vicious aggressive creature that turned ugly and nasty in every possible way. I drove the friendly hand away and, to avoid more losses, I made a conscious decision to keep my friends out of the way and sight of my green-eyed monster. Bottom line: I am not marriage material … I was created a loner.
Since I mentioned my male friend let me highlight another point in the day to day dealings with our very own Egyptian proletariat; they all spoke to him! It is my apartment, my decision, my choice, my life, and my money – mine alone – yet whenever he was there they insisted on totally ignoring me, and what I said, and only addressed him. I cannot even begin to describe how offensive that felt. I – a very worthy human being – was turned into an invisible person by some ignorant people who denied me the right to be independent. The presence of “a man” made it much easier for them to communicate than to deal with me – a woman! Thus, the man had to go!
Speaking of that I have to share a first of a kind anecdote; in one of the governmental offices, I was kept last – I mean the very last person regardless of whose turn it was – after the employee in charge was done with all the veiled and the “monakaba” ladies in the waiting area. In his eyes, I did not deserve to be served and I certainly deserved to be punished! In another office, the cashier looked me in the eye as he handed me my receipt yet overlooked giving me back the 20 Egyptian Pounds change. In that same office I have been yelled at by some other employee who got so offended because I asked about the approximate time the technician was expected to visit me. It is only fair to say that I have encountered some very cooperative and sincere employees who went out of their way to help me with the procedures and who voluntarily called me to update me on the status of my papers or applications.
The other thing that drove me insane was the fact that almost everyone that I interacted with in the process of finishing and furnishing my home – from plumbers, carpenters, electricians, to government officers like the telephone or electricity guys – they all assumed that “someone will be at home in the morning”. Who could be at home? Even if I were married, I would be at work and so would the husband. Do I look like someone who would have a live-in maid? Or maybe they got the fact that I was single so it was only natural that I lived with my parents – who had to be at home! This made me wonder about the concept of shifts … why don’t we have shifts? It would solve a big deal of the unemployment crisis that is eating away the zeal of the youth of this country. If I finished work at five and drove home in an hour then why couldn’t they send me someone at seven or eight?
I did drugs!!! Yes ... I smoked! On the verge of a heart attack and a nervous breakdown, a friend of mine handed me a joint. Perfection and commitment are two things that are unheard of in this country – ok maybe a few people have heard of them. From leaking new pipes, broken new faucets, and worn out new furniture to unmet deadlines and continuous lies and empty promises, I was always in tears or in rage. I thundered and threatened to use my media power – first time ever – and I exploded with curses and ultimatums at least fifty times in the two weeks that I had to take off from work – remember the previously stated assumption: someone has to be home!
Tips and bribes are two concepts that got so messed up in my head; at first I thought that a tip is money you pay in gratitude to someone who served you well. I also thought that a bribe is money that you were forced to pay to get served well. Today I am no longer sure which is which. I just lubed my way with money – be it tips or bribes – to get things done. I avoided eye-contact with whoever I gave money lest they see how much contempt and disgust I felt towards them. Very few people had integrity and pride – those were the people that I had to “beg” to accept my little token of gratitude for their assistance.
This was a very educating and enlightening experience; I saw the real face of Egypt. I got in touch with the nature of Egyptian labors; lethargy and apathy run in their street-wise smart-ass veins. Even those working in big stores need intensive customer service training; they need to learn how to handle angry frustrated customers instead of switching off their phones. Business owners need to invest in their employees otherwise they will lose customers – and eventually money – because of how unprofessional their employees are. I was swallowed in red-tape and bureaucracy. Two weeks off work were not enough; you waste a whole day to apply, another day to sign a contract and pay, and a few other days with the installation.
I also saw the warm sincere helpful nature of other workers and employees who just needed to be acknowledged as human beings. People never notice them and their services are taken for granted. So many people volunteered to help me and went out of their way to make this tiresome mission less consuming just because I showed some respect or because I smiled while addressing them. Some stores really have gems of employees but they are buried amidst the rubbish of their colleagues and some owners have no clue how much customers are bad-mouthing their companies because of their insolent employees. I have heard of women who suffered during pregnancy and childbirth that they did not want to embrace the baby after it was born; like those women, I have had moments when I hated the apartment and just wanted to back off on my dream. Today as I type this article I could only say that it was worth it … every bit of it.
(Identity - Feb 08)
First of all, I have discovered that, in Egypt, workers, doormen, shopkeepers, and security guys will call you “madam” as the only sign they know of respect. Whether you are married or not, wearing a ring or not, it does not make a difference. I am not bothered by the title as much as I am intrigued by its connotations; I am “nothing” and a “nobody” if I am not “someone’s” wife! My studies and achievements in life and the workplace do not guarantee me respect and social status. Why couldn’t they call me “ostaza” or doctor or even miss? I was tempted many times to correct them that I am not “Mrs. Anyone” but I decided to spare myself their suspicious looks and inquisitive eyes or pity and sincere prayers that I found “the good man who would make me happy”. I held my peace.
A male friend of mine volunteered to help me out but my bossy demanding self, instead of gratitude, I felt controlled and restricted. Naturally, when someone goes out of his way and offers you sincere help, he would develop some sort of emotional involvement. My friend began giving me suggestions, advice, and opinions on where, when, what, why, and how things should be done or placed. My never-ever-try-to-control-me sensors picked up negative vibes and I gasped for air in my invaded space. The decent me was immediately replaced by a vicious aggressive creature that turned ugly and nasty in every possible way. I drove the friendly hand away and, to avoid more losses, I made a conscious decision to keep my friends out of the way and sight of my green-eyed monster. Bottom line: I am not marriage material … I was created a loner.
Since I mentioned my male friend let me highlight another point in the day to day dealings with our very own Egyptian proletariat; they all spoke to him! It is my apartment, my decision, my choice, my life, and my money – mine alone – yet whenever he was there they insisted on totally ignoring me, and what I said, and only addressed him. I cannot even begin to describe how offensive that felt. I – a very worthy human being – was turned into an invisible person by some ignorant people who denied me the right to be independent. The presence of “a man” made it much easier for them to communicate than to deal with me – a woman! Thus, the man had to go!
Speaking of that I have to share a first of a kind anecdote; in one of the governmental offices, I was kept last – I mean the very last person regardless of whose turn it was – after the employee in charge was done with all the veiled and the “monakaba” ladies in the waiting area. In his eyes, I did not deserve to be served and I certainly deserved to be punished! In another office, the cashier looked me in the eye as he handed me my receipt yet overlooked giving me back the 20 Egyptian Pounds change. In that same office I have been yelled at by some other employee who got so offended because I asked about the approximate time the technician was expected to visit me. It is only fair to say that I have encountered some very cooperative and sincere employees who went out of their way to help me with the procedures and who voluntarily called me to update me on the status of my papers or applications.
The other thing that drove me insane was the fact that almost everyone that I interacted with in the process of finishing and furnishing my home – from plumbers, carpenters, electricians, to government officers like the telephone or electricity guys – they all assumed that “someone will be at home in the morning”. Who could be at home? Even if I were married, I would be at work and so would the husband. Do I look like someone who would have a live-in maid? Or maybe they got the fact that I was single so it was only natural that I lived with my parents – who had to be at home! This made me wonder about the concept of shifts … why don’t we have shifts? It would solve a big deal of the unemployment crisis that is eating away the zeal of the youth of this country. If I finished work at five and drove home in an hour then why couldn’t they send me someone at seven or eight?
I did drugs!!! Yes ... I smoked! On the verge of a heart attack and a nervous breakdown, a friend of mine handed me a joint. Perfection and commitment are two things that are unheard of in this country – ok maybe a few people have heard of them. From leaking new pipes, broken new faucets, and worn out new furniture to unmet deadlines and continuous lies and empty promises, I was always in tears or in rage. I thundered and threatened to use my media power – first time ever – and I exploded with curses and ultimatums at least fifty times in the two weeks that I had to take off from work – remember the previously stated assumption: someone has to be home!
Tips and bribes are two concepts that got so messed up in my head; at first I thought that a tip is money you pay in gratitude to someone who served you well. I also thought that a bribe is money that you were forced to pay to get served well. Today I am no longer sure which is which. I just lubed my way with money – be it tips or bribes – to get things done. I avoided eye-contact with whoever I gave money lest they see how much contempt and disgust I felt towards them. Very few people had integrity and pride – those were the people that I had to “beg” to accept my little token of gratitude for their assistance.
This was a very educating and enlightening experience; I saw the real face of Egypt. I got in touch with the nature of Egyptian labors; lethargy and apathy run in their street-wise smart-ass veins. Even those working in big stores need intensive customer service training; they need to learn how to handle angry frustrated customers instead of switching off their phones. Business owners need to invest in their employees otherwise they will lose customers – and eventually money – because of how unprofessional their employees are. I was swallowed in red-tape and bureaucracy. Two weeks off work were not enough; you waste a whole day to apply, another day to sign a contract and pay, and a few other days with the installation.
I also saw the warm sincere helpful nature of other workers and employees who just needed to be acknowledged as human beings. People never notice them and their services are taken for granted. So many people volunteered to help me and went out of their way to make this tiresome mission less consuming just because I showed some respect or because I smiled while addressing them. Some stores really have gems of employees but they are buried amidst the rubbish of their colleagues and some owners have no clue how much customers are bad-mouthing their companies because of their insolent employees. I have heard of women who suffered during pregnancy and childbirth that they did not want to embrace the baby after it was born; like those women, I have had moments when I hated the apartment and just wanted to back off on my dream. Today as I type this article I could only say that it was worth it … every bit of it.
(Identity - Feb 08)
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Growing
In the dim light of the room I caught your eyes
wandering in my face;
feeling the fine lines that are bound to sink deeper.
Yes I will have wrinkles.
I am not growing any younger.
Under the faint light our silent still eyes met,
you saw four or five white hairs that sprung on top of my crown.
Why were you surprised?
I am almost a fortnight in years older than your tender years.
I am not growing any younger.
Your face turned to face mine,
but the look in your eyes was different;
instead of searching my soul for answers,
they raised reckless question marks.
I am not growing any younger.
Your face moved closer to mine;
I turned my face away.
I am growing wiser.
wandering in my face;
feeling the fine lines that are bound to sink deeper.
Yes I will have wrinkles.
I am not growing any younger.
Under the faint light our silent still eyes met,
you saw four or five white hairs that sprung on top of my crown.
Why were you surprised?
I am almost a fortnight in years older than your tender years.
I am not growing any younger.
Your face turned to face mine,
but the look in your eyes was different;
instead of searching my soul for answers,
they raised reckless question marks.
I am not growing any younger.
Your face moved closer to mine;
I turned my face away.
I am growing wiser.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The End of the Affair
I have never had a problem writing about myself, my feelings, or my relationships. I got used to sharing everything with you - I mean everything - including the things that make people blush in our society. Today I am struggling with words. I am not sure how to express myself while saving the little face that I have left. Ok! Ok! It is not that dramatic; it is just hard - so hard - to say that it is over. The end has come. The day that I have dreaded for many years has come and I have to be a big girl and do the right thing. I have to quit the game - it is no longer my game.
12 years ago I was a fresh graduate full of energy and dreams. I was born with a natural strength and will power that I knew could get me anywhere I wanted to go. Paul Malcom, the director of sales and marketing at the Cairo Marriott in 1996 saw the piranha-like elements in my character that were perfectly hidden behind my soft demure facade and he honored me with the title that has changed my life - he appointed me as the public relations coordinator of the hotel. He made me a proud little girl. I would flash my business card whenever and wherever possible. I would make sure that everyone who crossed my path got to know what an important job I had. Were it possible I would have put on my name tag all the time.
In less than a month my media database and relationships mushroomed and my learning curve skyrocketed. I was a PR genius driven by ambition and an unquenchable thirst for achievement and growth. I used to scan each and every newspaper and magazine for creative press releases, events, and what have you. I looked up to the PR stars and divas at the time as I secretly competed with each one of them. I had a secret file where I kept count of their published material versus mine and I took note of every successful event they ever created and tested my own creativity on how to make their events better were I in their shoes.
Other than taking courses, reading books, surfing sites, and jotting down my own ideas for when the time was right, I had timeframes for my career. By the age of 24 I was the youngest PR manager in Egypt and my name began shining next to the divas that I looked up to. By the age of 27 I became the youngest director of PR in Egypt and the most expensive. There was a time when I outshined everyone and I used to compete with no one but myself and whenever I reached a benchmark, I raised the par even higher. I became a PR diva myself and my media relations were never better.
On my way up, and sitting there on the top, I forgot to look at the stars that I used to covet. I did not notice how many fell from the sky, how many ceased to shine, and how many grew into stagnation. Only when I turned 30 that I began noticing the changes. I was slowly and gradually falling out of love with the job. My passion and drive was fading along with my media relationships and power. It was a slow process that only reflected on the dim light that I, as a once shining star, was emitting. I began looking for the names that I once scanned the papers for, only to realize that they have been replaced by other names; names and faces that I never noticed before. Some of the familiar names were still there but they seemed weak and faint as though their power had given up on them.
I got into the Ritz-Carlton as the youngest director of PR and one of the most successful and while I was left there to rot, my peers took charge of areas and regions. I watched the young sales people set foot in the hotel as young promising executives and, in the six years that my career came to a standstill, they got promoted to assistant managers, managers, now directors, and will soon head whole sales and marketing teams. Where would that leave me? Exactly where I started seven years back and exactly where I will be seven years from now! A dead end! I will always be the PR girl; little Murva - as one of my GMs used to call me. No matter how big I grew, I will never be on the board of executives - why? Because I will always report to the director of sales and marketing.
The title could change - be it marketing communication or communications - yet the job will always be the same, the boss will always be the same, if not worse, and the GM will always call me for pictures and press releases. Getting an area position now seems like a mirage - not because it is hard, but rather because it is just another title! I will never be looked at or treated as the qualified marketer that I am. I will always be locked up in a box in the sales and marketing department. I will always have a regional dickhead who, at the back of his stupid head, thinks that PR girls should keep their mouths shut while the marketing gurus talk. I will always have someone confusing my title with my experience and turning me into an order taker.
The past three, almost four, years of my life were like an eye-opener. I found the perfect outlet for my marketing knowledge and experience when I began teaching at the AUC. I finally have a chance to create a second line of people who will grow into great marketers. I have also embarked on a career in training - silly hoteliers who have seen nothing outside their little Barbie world think little of trainers and believe that anything outside their hotel is not a career. No one explained to them that a trainer is a consultant in his field and that I have finally found my decent respected position in the training room as a business partner not as the idiotic toy they want me to be.
Too much has been going on in my life on all fronts and I had no more room to keep anything within. I needed to vent; hence came the writing - my true voice! And writing led to my TV exposure ... and I finally got back the fulfillment that my original career has denied me. I am grateful for the options that I have been given and I am thankful for the God-given gifts that I was blessed with. I am lucky that I came across people who recognized my potential and I do not regret that I ever took those risks. I still remember his words when he interviewed me last May for my current position; "I am giving you a career" he said. I felt a slap on the face and, as I swallowed the insult, I felt that my victories, achievements, and success stories on all other fronts mean nothing to this man who thought that the world revolved around his hotel.
I know that some people will delete my number, others will not call me anymore, and others will not answer me when I call - but it's ok. I know that I will no longer have the backup of the corporate world but I also know that I will never be a nobody ... I will always be me .. the me that I have always been true to. I am finally free and happy .... I have resigned and ended the affair.
12 years ago I was a fresh graduate full of energy and dreams. I was born with a natural strength and will power that I knew could get me anywhere I wanted to go. Paul Malcom, the director of sales and marketing at the Cairo Marriott in 1996 saw the piranha-like elements in my character that were perfectly hidden behind my soft demure facade and he honored me with the title that has changed my life - he appointed me as the public relations coordinator of the hotel. He made me a proud little girl. I would flash my business card whenever and wherever possible. I would make sure that everyone who crossed my path got to know what an important job I had. Were it possible I would have put on my name tag all the time.
In less than a month my media database and relationships mushroomed and my learning curve skyrocketed. I was a PR genius driven by ambition and an unquenchable thirst for achievement and growth. I used to scan each and every newspaper and magazine for creative press releases, events, and what have you. I looked up to the PR stars and divas at the time as I secretly competed with each one of them. I had a secret file where I kept count of their published material versus mine and I took note of every successful event they ever created and tested my own creativity on how to make their events better were I in their shoes.
Other than taking courses, reading books, surfing sites, and jotting down my own ideas for when the time was right, I had timeframes for my career. By the age of 24 I was the youngest PR manager in Egypt and my name began shining next to the divas that I looked up to. By the age of 27 I became the youngest director of PR in Egypt and the most expensive. There was a time when I outshined everyone and I used to compete with no one but myself and whenever I reached a benchmark, I raised the par even higher. I became a PR diva myself and my media relations were never better.
On my way up, and sitting there on the top, I forgot to look at the stars that I used to covet. I did not notice how many fell from the sky, how many ceased to shine, and how many grew into stagnation. Only when I turned 30 that I began noticing the changes. I was slowly and gradually falling out of love with the job. My passion and drive was fading along with my media relationships and power. It was a slow process that only reflected on the dim light that I, as a once shining star, was emitting. I began looking for the names that I once scanned the papers for, only to realize that they have been replaced by other names; names and faces that I never noticed before. Some of the familiar names were still there but they seemed weak and faint as though their power had given up on them.
I got into the Ritz-Carlton as the youngest director of PR and one of the most successful and while I was left there to rot, my peers took charge of areas and regions. I watched the young sales people set foot in the hotel as young promising executives and, in the six years that my career came to a standstill, they got promoted to assistant managers, managers, now directors, and will soon head whole sales and marketing teams. Where would that leave me? Exactly where I started seven years back and exactly where I will be seven years from now! A dead end! I will always be the PR girl; little Murva - as one of my GMs used to call me. No matter how big I grew, I will never be on the board of executives - why? Because I will always report to the director of sales and marketing.
The title could change - be it marketing communication or communications - yet the job will always be the same, the boss will always be the same, if not worse, and the GM will always call me for pictures and press releases. Getting an area position now seems like a mirage - not because it is hard, but rather because it is just another title! I will never be looked at or treated as the qualified marketer that I am. I will always be locked up in a box in the sales and marketing department. I will always have a regional dickhead who, at the back of his stupid head, thinks that PR girls should keep their mouths shut while the marketing gurus talk. I will always have someone confusing my title with my experience and turning me into an order taker.
The past three, almost four, years of my life were like an eye-opener. I found the perfect outlet for my marketing knowledge and experience when I began teaching at the AUC. I finally have a chance to create a second line of people who will grow into great marketers. I have also embarked on a career in training - silly hoteliers who have seen nothing outside their little Barbie world think little of trainers and believe that anything outside their hotel is not a career. No one explained to them that a trainer is a consultant in his field and that I have finally found my decent respected position in the training room as a business partner not as the idiotic toy they want me to be.
Too much has been going on in my life on all fronts and I had no more room to keep anything within. I needed to vent; hence came the writing - my true voice! And writing led to my TV exposure ... and I finally got back the fulfillment that my original career has denied me. I am grateful for the options that I have been given and I am thankful for the God-given gifts that I was blessed with. I am lucky that I came across people who recognized my potential and I do not regret that I ever took those risks. I still remember his words when he interviewed me last May for my current position; "I am giving you a career" he said. I felt a slap on the face and, as I swallowed the insult, I felt that my victories, achievements, and success stories on all other fronts mean nothing to this man who thought that the world revolved around his hotel.
I know that some people will delete my number, others will not call me anymore, and others will not answer me when I call - but it's ok. I know that I will no longer have the backup of the corporate world but I also know that I will never be a nobody ... I will always be me .. the me that I have always been true to. I am finally free and happy .... I have resigned and ended the affair.
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