A Hope More Powerful Than the Sea(30)
“I feel fine,” she insisted, trying to ignore the fainting episodes, constant dizziness, and the depression that was beginning to creep up on her.
It seemed that everyone in Gamasa knew that Bassem was in love with Doaa, and that she had rejected his proposal. He soon became known around town as Romeo Bassem. Doaa’s sisters liked Bassem and ended up taking his side. They tried to persuade Doaa to change her mind and accept his proposal. Even the owner of the factory where Doaa worked interrupted her ironing one day and asked, “Why don’t you want to marry Bassem?” All this just made Doaa more entrenched in refusing him. She hated being told what to do.
“I cannot love him,” she told her family. “And, anyway, I don’t want to get married outside of Syria.”
Doaa’s outright refusal of Bassem worried Hanaa. She feared that Doaa’s fatigue and depression were making her shut out any possibility of love or happiness. Hanaa’s once ebullient daughter was now always grim and serious. Hanaa knew that she could never force Doaa into anything, but felt a responsibility as Doaa’s mother to push past her stubborn daughter’s barriers on this. Hanaa had gotten to know Bassem well by now from all his phone calls and walks in the neighborhood, and she trusted his sincerity. She began to get annoyed with Doaa’s obstinacy.
“He is Syrian!” Hanaa countered. “And he is a kind person who wants to help you, Doaa. Please open your heart to him.”
Doaa felt that everyone was ganging up on her. She didn’t see why she should accept Bassem’s proposal just because people thought she should. When she found out that he had found a nice ground-floor apartment in his building for her family to consider moving into, she felt as if this were all part of some big plot to make her accept him. She continued to refuse him and to make the best life that she could in Egypt on her own. But that life was about to get much harder.
Doaa and her family hadn’t been paying close attention to the Egyptian news since they were too busy watching the daily horror show that was the destruction of their own country. But on June 30, 2013, the first anniversary of the inauguration of President Morsi, mass demonstrations in Cairo and Alexandria against his rule had reached a level that they couldn’t ignore. Growing frustration and disenchantment with the government brought millions of people to the streets, complaining that the revolution that had brought down President Mubarak two years before had now been hijacked. Living standards were deteriorating, secular politicians were being alienated from their own government, and Morsi’s draft constitution had an Islamist slant that troubled much of the population. Egyptians began to worry their country could unravel violently the same way that Syria had. The protests in Egypt continued for four days. Then, on July 3, 2013, eight months after the Al Zamels had arrived in Damietta, Mohamed Morsi was ousted by the army. General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi orchestrated the coup that swept Morsi out of power, and overnight, attitudes toward Syrian refugees in the country changed, swept up in the same wave that overthrew Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood. Since Morsi had been welcoming to Syrian refugees, people believed they were part of his movement and were his supporters.
Doaa’s family could do nothing but watch as Egyptian news anchors began to label Syrians as potential terrorists who were allied with the extremists that were emerging in Syria. And if they weren’t terrorists, then they were considered Morsi supporters. Allegations arose that the Muslim Brotherhood had paid Syrian refugees to join demonstrations in support of Morsi. Youssef el-Husseini, a well-known state TV talk show host, delivered an ominous message to Syrians: “If you are a man, you should return to your country and solve your problem there. If you interfere in Egypt, you will be beaten by thirty shoes.” In Middle Eastern culture, hitting someone with a shoe is considered to be belittling, and to Syrians, hearing this threat was both frightening and insulting. Egypt’s open-door policy came to an end with an announcement that a visa would be required for any Syrian to enter the country, and any Syrians already in Egypt who didn’t have the proper residency paperwork would be arrested and possibly deported.
The atmosphere in Egypt for Syrians changed dramatically during this time. They got no more friendly greetings in the streets, just cold stares. The aid they used to receive from the local Muslim Brotherhood community dried up, and instead locals in the street told them that they were ruining the country.
The girls began to get harassed whenever they left the house. One day, Doaa was walking to the supermarket with her mother when a man on a motorbike slowed down and rode close to them. He leaned over, almost touching Doaa, and taunted, “Hey, girl, would you marry me?” Then to Hanaa, he called, “Would you let me marry her? She is very beautiful.” He leered at Doaa, ogling her body up and down and making kissing sounds. Doaa could smell his sour breath and recoiled from him, disgusted and afraid. The man circled them twice on his motorbike, then drove away, laughing at their fear. Doaa and her family had been aware that sexual harassment was pervasive in Egypt but had never experienced it themselves, and now it seemed that it was predominantly directed at Syrian women. Doaa and her sisters no longer felt safe in their neighborhood. What had once been a country of refuge was now just one more place of menace for Doaa and her family.
Bassem, meanwhile, had grown desperate in his love for Doaa. One day, one of his flatmates came to the Al Zamel apartment to tell Hanaa that he thought Bassem was going to kill himself if he couldn’t marry Doaa and that he’d seen a bottle of poison in Bassem’s room. When Hanaa went to check on him, at the door he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Bassem had become pale and thin, and Hanaa pushed her way past him and into his room and found the bottle of rat poison.