Category: memories

memories

July 1999—More shocks

nhpureandsimple

As it’s the holiday season, I’ve found it a bit hard to write like usual. Are you having the same challenge?

Anyway,  I remembered that I had planned to complete my last post—so here it is, finally! Today, I’m writing it, crumpling  all my other first shocks from Jully 1999 into this one.

Have you read my previous post? I hope you have, but don’t worry if you haven’t. It was just about some funny memories — which you might not find funny at all.

So, the second shock was the rain—not just normal rain. No. It was torrential downpours that welcomed us on our first night in the UK.

Imagine leaving the blue sky in Cairo with its boiling 40°C heat, only to land in semi-sunny weather—and just before going to bed, hearing the symphony of heavy showers outside. There, in that dark night, fat drops of rain started smashing against the windows of our room. That night, I thought it would never stop.

Being a bit imaginative, I exaggerated and turned the typical English weather into an unexpected phenomenon— with yellow warning alerts. I wove scary tales about myself walking through a hurricane with a useless umbrella. My tales seeped into my dreams and turned them into nightmares. That night, sleep was hard to find or even to invite. I wept buckets all night.

The next morning, the sun shone and reigned over the sky, proud to have melted all the puffy grey clouds from the face of the earth. The day was so warm that I wondered whether the heavy showers from last night had been just a dream.

Can you guess what my third shock was?

It was the quiet nights.

Since there was no availability in student accommodation, we ended up renting a flat in a good area that was a bit expensive but so quiet. Not that there were no humans around. Of course, there were! But the thing is, they rarely crossed your path.

When night fell, life seemed to pause.
No open shops.
No family outings.
No dogs barking in streets.
No fighting cats.
No neighbours yelling out of balconies.
No children chasing each other on the road.
Nothing but quiet, dark roads stretching out into the night.

And then, one night, out of that dead quietness, our doorbell rang at midnight. Our friends were too far away to pay us a visit. And midnight visits? That was impossible.

My husband was studying, and when he saw me standing before him, my eyes wide open, staring at him. He told me it was a drunk man who had mistaken our flat for his own and had probably found his by now. But then… we heard keys jingling and turning into our door lock.

‘He’s going to break into our flat,’ I gasped.
‘No, he’s going away soon,’ my husband said, just as the drunk man began signing and laughing.

Soon, he disappeared.

These first shocks turned into funny memories later on, and whenever it is July again, I remember those first days in England back in 1999.



With hope and peace,

Nahla

 

memories

July 1999 — First Adventure, First Shock

nhpureandsimple


It was in July 1999 when a young couple boarded a plane for the first time —full of hopes, dreams, and a touch of fears. That was me, accompanying my husband, flying to England for an academic adventure.

Those first few days after landing safe and sound on British soil were so dramatic and unexpectedly funny.

Our first shock was the heavy burden we had to handle once we left Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t homesickness— of course, we were emotional before, during, and after embarking on the journey. But, it was another kind of burden that pushed our emotional drama aside: our two heavy pieces of luggage. That was the worst action drama one might experience while travelling. Shocked, my husband and I stared at them, couldn’t believe how and when we packed these two big beasts, and managed to get them onto the flight.

Oh my… May God forgive our families for stuffing our suitcases as if we were flying to Antarctica. And, we just let them—how we could not? The most common and “sincerest” advice we had received from my husband’s colleagues abroad was to pack as much as we could because “life was incredibly expensive in the UK.” By the way, that was a bit of exaggeration.

But, there’s a funny bit after every shock, right?

From London, we travelled to Manchester, and after a short stay there, we headed to Birmingham. The train journeys across these parts of England were hilarious—mainly because of our two bulky companions.

It was a miracle not just to get our two pieces of luggage onto the train but to find enough space for them. Actually, the two bags, lying in a straight line, were like a massive crocodile that swallowed most of the space in the carriage. My husband did the whole job; pushing and lifting. I was blessed to be excused from taking part in that embarrassing show, for I had just discovered I was pregnant.

Looking around at the cute suitcases and backpacks, we couldn’t help but wonder: why on earth had we packed so much? I did my best not to laugh, but I couldn’t. It seemed that my pregnancy hormones were getting the best of me. Thank God they were pressing on my sunny side.

So, whenever my eyes fell on our luggage, I burst out laughing. My husband wished we could push them off the train. ‘Let’s pretend we forgot them somewhere,’ he whispered, and my tears rolled down my face from laughing.

To be continued…

With hope and peace,

Nahla










memories

To Panic is To Laugh

nhpureandsimple


I once heard that laugher can relieve panic attacks. You may wonder, as I do, how someone in a panic attack could think of anything funny. Some say a person can force themselves to laugh. Perhaps this advice is based on scientific studies, or maybe it’s just an old folk remedy.

But, based on my own humble experience, I can also say that many cases of panic attacks end up being hilarious incidents.

One day before last Christmas, things went a bit spooky—just like a halloween night. December is known for its freezing weather, short days, and long nights—not to mention its violent storms. That evening, my daughter was invited to her friend’s birthday party at some restaurant in town.

Darkness fell early that evening, and strong wind began to pick up. My plan was to take the bus, stop by my husband’s workplace, and then we go together to pick up my daughter.

The moment I stepped onto the bus and scanned my ticket, I felt as if I were in the wrong time or on the wrong bus. The bus was almost full, but not of the usual passengers. Instead, it was packed with people who looked as though they were going to a party. Men and women with different ages were dressed in shiny, glittering outfits.

Slowly, I made my way to the nearest available seat and sat next to a woman who was deep in slumber. I checked the time and it was just past five pm, and I was sure I was on the right bus.

As the bus pulled away, the party started—not with singing or dancing but with loud, chaotic conversations. It was as if they were on separate buses, shouting across the road. They were planning and arguing what food or drinks to order. It was such a noisy and amusing gathering that I didn’t know whether to frown or smile.

We arrived early in town and decided to have a hot drink until it was time to pick up my daughter. The wind pushed and pulled at us as we hurried downhill toward the nearest café. The streets were almost empty— no one was around. If it wasn’t for the Christmas lights, the town would have looked like a haunted place.

We arrived home safe and sound, but not without a few surprises. My husband hurried to the nearest convenience store to buy a few things as weather warnings announced severe conditions.

For the first time since our move, the wooden front gate was locked. (It’s the type with a metal latch that you push up to open or down to lock.) That night, it was fully down and stuck. It became so dark as if it was midnight rather than just past seven pm.

I tried to unlock the gate, but my attemps didn’t work. When I asked my daughter to jump over to try from the inside, she looked shocked as if I had asked her to climb a tree. I tried and tried until the metal moved up— not completely, but enough to be pushed open.

My daughter hurried upstairs to her room to charge her phone while I heated our dinner. Then, all of a sudden, a loud alarming sound echoed all over the house. I ran back and forth, checking everything, trying to find where this sound came from. Then, my daughter started screaming from upstairs, and I ran up to her room.

‘Mama, it’s my phone. It’s making a horrible noise and it’s so hot.’ My daughter was shaking, her face pale as a white sheet.
‘Turn it off,’ I shouted, snatching it from her hands.
It burned in my hand, but the alarming sound had stopped.

We both ran downstairs and left the phone on the kitchen counter, and watching it as if it might explode. The only thought popping into my mind was to throw it away into the garden. Just before taking this action, my phone rang. One of my sons was calling, and I poured out everything that had happened, except my idea to throw the phone away.

‘Are you sure the sound was coming from the phone?’ My son asked.
‘Yes,’  my daughter and I answered at the same time.
‘Was there anything else strange about it?
‘Yes, the screen turned all yellow with a warning message.’ My daughter explained.

My son burst out laughing, just as my husband walked in.
‘Did you get the storm warning message?’ he asked

‘And you were going to throw my phone, Mama,’ my daughter said, the colour returning to her face.
‘And you didn’t even try to read the message!’ I said, and breathed in relief

My daughter and I fell onto the nearest sofa, shaking with laughter, tears rolling down our faces.

What a day! But see? Sometimes, to panic is also to laugh.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

memories

Wives, Husbands, And Household Appliances

nhpureandsimple

One day, while mowing the long grass in my garden, the lawnmower began a weird noise, and then smoke come out of it. I ran to unplug it. Everything was under control with no serious damage caused.

The following day (or week) I seized the opportunity that my husband was working from home and asked him to go with me to buy a new one. Since, the store was not far from home, he agreed.

It was a hot summar day, and my husband, clutching the heavy box, was drenched in sweat.

‘That’s why one shouldn’t work from home,’ my husband grumbled.
‘That’s why one should work from home every now and then,’ I said, stifling a laugh.

We arrived home safe and sound. My husband left the box in the kitchen and ran upstairs.
‘Aren’t you going to help me fix it?’ I called after him.
‘I’ve got a meeting, but give me a shout if you need any.’

I opened the box, took everything out, and gathered all the emply packaging. For a moment, I thought whether to throw away the cardboard, but decided against it. I grabbed the manual which I always found useless. I tried my best to put things together, but that mower, though small, was more complicated to put together. After a dozen attempts, I managed to fix the handle, but there was some wires I had no idea where to place. So, I shouted for help and waited for my husband, who promised to come in as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, I dismantled all the pieces I had put together and made me a nice cup of tea.

‘Oh, you haven’t started anything.’ My husband wondered, and I knew he wished half the job was alreafy done.
‘I did, but things didn’t work. So, it’s your turn to fix it.’
‘At least you could have made me a cup of tea like yours.’
‘I will, but only after you fix it.’I said with a smile.

My husband crouched on the floor, trying to put things together, asking me loads of questions as if I was the one who had invented the machine.

”I’ll try later.’ He gave up.
‘But it won’t get fixed. Something is wrong. Can you just take it back to the store and ask them to assemble it.’

Grumbling and murmuring under his breath, my husband asked about the box and the receipt. I whispered a thankful prayer that I hadn’t torn and bin them.

An hour passed, and my husband neither came home nor called. I finally called him.

‘Why is it taking so long?’
‘They can’t fix it. They called an expert to check it, but he couldn’t either. I got a refund.’ My husband said, sounded both happy and relieved.

‘So, you’re coming home.’
‘No, I’m going to work.’

With hope and peace,

Nahla

P.S. I know the photo is not related to the topic of my post, but l love nature. Isn’t it better than a lawnmower?

memories

Feelings And Eyesight

nhpureandsimple



Changes in your eyesight do not really imply medical problems. Sometimes, they can be affected by how you feel and think.

A few years ago, my daughter didn’t feel happy in her class because her best friend left the school ‐ just like that, without even a short notice. There were other friends, but she couldn’t feel the same happiness as if  something was missing everyday at school. Then, one day, as we were walking back home after school, she told me she couldn’t see the board well. I let a few days pass while observing her reading and writing at home. All seemed fine. Yet, she insisted that she couldn’t see well at school.

I arranged an appointment at the optician’s, and to my surprise, he prescribed glasses for my daughter. Honestly, I didn’t trust his diagnosis. He seemed miserable himself, and imapteint too. I could feel my daughter’s nervousness during the eye test. But, sometimes, you can’t just disagree with the doctor with a reference based on your intuition.

My daughter chose the frame and colour of her glasses, feeling so excited about her new accessory. The following day, she took them to school, and put them on once or twice. The day after, she left them at home. By the third day she had forgotten all about them.

“I see better without them, Mama,” she said and hid them in her desk drawer. On the following year, at her annual eye test check, the optician was such a cheerful person with a genuine smile. My daughter felt relaxed during the examination, and her eyesight was perfect.

“Have you been wearing your glasses regularly,” the optician asked.
‘No,” my daughter quietly replied, feeling a bit guilty.
“Well, it doesn’t happen often, but you don’t need glasses anymore,” the optician gave the news as if announcing the marvellous success of a hardworking student.

“Really,’ my daughter gasped, her face beamed with a beautiful smile.

I smiled too, wondering whether it’s true that mothers have a sixth sense -that intuition commonly known as gut feelings.

Whether you’re a child or a grown-up, your eyesight can be affected by what’s hidden deep within your heart and mind. Some might lose their eyesight because of grief, yet the same ones might also regain it through the power of joy. There are no hopless cases, but hope for every case. It’s the cause of the problem that might need treatment, more than the problem itself.

Don’t they say that a healthy diet and a walk outdoor in the open, wide beauty of nature can improve eyesight? I couldn’t agree more, becuase they actually can change your mood, brighten your day, and calm your spirit. This is a simple recipe that might help you take off your glasses every now and then.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

memories

River And Ocean

nhpureandsimple

I studied about oceans at school, but I hadn’t seen one until I moved to the UK with my husband. My first shock was how grey it looked, but of course it’s just the reflection of the typically English grey sky most of the time.

In Egypt, we have the Mediterranean Sea in the north, and the Red Sea is the east. Both are magnificent, with shades of blue and turquoise, sandy beaches, and bustling, beautiful cities. But nothing is totally perfect, because they’re both far too hot.

One of the best memories in my life was when my father held me in his arms and took me far, deep into the sea. My small arms clung tightly to his neck as the sea waves carried us up and down. I closed my eyes and screamed while he laughed at me. He was a great swimmer, the only person I trusted to take me into the big sea.

The River Nile in Egypt in another story, a long beautiful one. There are Nile cruises, restaurants and cafes that light up the nights, and sleep during the day. Yet, my best memories are not from Cario but from the village where my father family used to live in the Upper Egypt. I can still remember the view of the river from the backdoor of the village mosque. The river looked so serene, so elegant, surrounded by green trees, listening to small birds chirping here and there. My father would hold my tiny hands as we climbed down a few steps to the riverbank. There, he let me watch some fishermen at work, and sometimes he would teach me how to hold a fishing rod. The smell of its water and fish was so special, so fresh.

In England, I’ve been fascinated by the tides. I don’t recall noticing this phenomenon in Egypt, perhaps because back then I was so young, and didn’t know much about tides. But in England, it amazed me to see the ocean so far from the shore. It felt extraordinary to walk a mile or two on bare, wet sand, scattered with seaweed and shells, and then find just a few puddles left behind, as the tide remains out, with no sign to return any soon.

Have you heard the saying: Flow like a river, and live like an ocean?

Isn’t it beautiful to let your life flow with the wisdom of the river and live with the ocean’s tides?

In the end, life is both a unique journey with an unexpected adventure.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

memories

The honest

nhpureandsimple

Honesty is a noble, human trait, and I believe that, along with  kindness, it will never die out. But, honesty is truely unique when it is genuine and touches your heart. I am not referring to the type of honesty that comes with formal interrogation or businesslike settings; I mean honesty that simply slipped off the tongue when you feel you compelled to be honest at that moment, regardless of any costs or requirements.

Last summar, just before moving, my eldest son, my daughter, and I went for a long walk by the seafront. It was a  clear, hot day, with overfed seagulls soaring and screaming all of the sky. They looked as much happy and busy as all the people walking along the parade.

What could be better than having a fish and chips meal on such a summary day? We headed towards a fish and chips takeaway restaurant which was so busy with long queues waiting to either make or collect orders. I always tell my family what I’d like to order and wait outside as far as possible becuase I can’t bear the smell of frying oil, especially on boiling days. However, on that particular day, my son insisted that I go inside with them. Perhaps that was becuase it was so busy outside.

I walked inside with them, and we were waiting for our turn to make the order. As we were talking, I noticed the chef glancing at me once or twice, as if he wanted to say something. When it was our turn, my son gave the order, but then the man looked from my son to me and said: ‘ I just want you to know that we fry pork, sausages, fish and chips, all with the same oil.’

The three of us stood still for a while. It was the first time someone had given us this piece of information without us asking. When we thanked him and declined the order, he said. ‘ I  know you have laws, and I respect that.’

We stepped out hungry, but so happy.

‘Oh, mama, that’s becuase of you,’ my son said.

‘And what have I done?’

‘Your hijab, mama. It’s the first time you came in,’ he laughed. ‘You know how many times we ordered fish and chips from there, and no one told us that before. Such an honest man!’

‘But mama what about the other fish and chips we ate before? My daughter seems more interested in whether we had been making a big mistake.

‘We are allowed to eat fish, so we make an order for fish and chips. God knows that we don’t know it’s been cooked with pork, and in that case we are pardoned. But, from from now on, as we know how things are, we’ll ask every time before having any takeaway.’

I will remember that day forever. This is not only becuase, since then, we know about the frying process, but because of the honest man you come across once in a blue moon.


With all the best wishes,

Nahla