Why does God give people different paths in life? Why are some blessed with fortune, others tragedy? Is our handling of this life merely preparation for a much larger existence after death? I thought about these questions when my father became sick. My family had just moved to Egypt and we were all not yet accustomed to our new life. My father’s illness brought more uncertainty as the sands continued to shift under our feet.
Egypt was nothing like Canada. The air was dry and people were everywhere. We settled in a villa in Hadayek El Koba, a suburb of Heliopolis. My parents picked it because it reminded them of home. High walls circled the perimeter of the grounds, hiding the garden from the gaze of pedestrians in the street. A tall green gate opened onto a driveway pieced with orange ceramic tiles that looped around the house. It reminded me of the yellow brick road from The Wizard of Oz. The hinges of the green gate squealed each time it opened for my father returning home from his sweet store and I relished the sound.
Our home was one of the few remaining villas left standing in Hadayek El Koba. Its old-fashioned Arabic design, with open courtyards, domes and arches reflected a time long gone. The beautifully manicured garden featured flower beds, vine-covered pergolas, exotic cacti, and a lawn with tall, wild grass. Now, countless apartment buildings towered the villa, blocking the sun, casting shadows down over us. “Drab socialist construction,” my father called it. They spoke of socialism and its ruinous effect on Cairo. The shift from elegance to efficiency had come at a cost they said.
Inside the gates of the villa, I had friends. About 30 meters to the right of the entrance is where they lived. Riddah, Essam, Sherif, Ayman, Ahmed and Hoda all lived with their parents in the one room house built for the groundskeeper. Six boys, one girl, and two parents from the countryside trying to make a living in Cairo – they all became my friends. A great mulberry tree grew next to their home and extended out into the sky like a wild green umbrella speckled with tiny purple fruit. Blackberries fell and burst onto the narrow corridor that led to their door. Right outside, resting against the wall, the family kept gardening tools, bags of dirt and red clay pots. They all worked. I observed how the ground in front of their simple home was uneven. The swelling roots of the mulberry tree stretched beneath, breaking the ground. My friends walked over this uneven ground with bare rough feet, stained purple from the berries.
I lived in the villa and they lived here. Their feet were rough, purple and strong, but my father was sick with Cancer. I didn’t know how to make sense of it all. I hoped that my friends would find success in their life, and I prayed for my father under the mulberry tree.
Ch. 1 https://steemit.com/steemit/@nomadwire/steemit-novel-ch-1-the-unbordered-queen
