By Skye Edrees

“Those who faithfully observe their trusts and covenants

and who (strictly) guard their prayers—

these will be the heirs,

who will inherit Paradise:

they will dwell therein (forever).”

HOLY QURAN 23:8-11

I WAS BORN TO AN AMERICAN MUSLIM FAMILY

on October 9, 1962. My father accepted ISLAM during one of his visits to Saudi Arabia as visiting diplomat in 1962. Every year thereafter he visited the Kaba and made his Hajj. My father owed his notably accomplished professional success to his devote faith in the new religion he had embraced with all his heart. Never doubting, never questioning and ever faithful, he believed all his good fortune came from his living a Muslim life. He married good and was blessed with two beautiful children. During one of his visits overseas he became acquainted with a Muslim family of good standing in Cairo, Egypt. The head of this family became my father's best friend and was transferred to the United States Government where he still works with my father. It has been a long-term friendship with his youngest daughter, myself, marrying his son Sami on Mother's Day 17 years ago. My husband Sami was killed in a terrorist bombing, June 21, 1996. I have so many memories, so much laughter, so many tears, I could write a book. My husband was my King. This story is about faith. Where and when does faith begin? Who has the most faith? Who is the most devote in ISLAM?

CAIRO, EGYPT HAS BEEN MY HOME FOR FIVE WONDERFUL YEARS.

All my friends and some family are here. My husband is a doctor of computer science and works in the region. He is a very well respected man in the community and in his religious faith, ISLAM. I am his American wife, also raised in ISLAM, and was married to my husband in an arranged agreement between my father and my husband's father. They have been best friends for years.

I have only kindness and good words for everyone, even if I don't like you, I'll never let you know. I am very polite and have never raised my voice in anger. I love to cook and raise my children, a boy of 3 and a girl of 4. I love children and take great joy in my family.

I was very happy that my husband's father and mother came to live with us, for three months out of every year. The rest of the time they stay at the homes of my husband’s other brothers and sisters. My husband's mother told me, she likes to stay with us best because my husband is her oldest son and I do not try to impress her with our riches but make her feel comfortable and loved. She is a wonderful woman.

We go everywhere together. Like the day we went to the Woman's Islamic Society. I can't believe that my name came up for the election of madam president for the Islamic society. This is a great honor and coveted by all. The person elected will represent the society at all religious and political functions and will get to socialize with President Sadat and his wife. My mother-in-law, Sallawa, was impressed. She was happy that all of her children had become professional doctors, lawyers and teachers, like myself. I am a professor at a local university. I teach Criminal Psychology and two classes outside of the university at a private Muslim school—Criminal Psychology and English as a Second Language. I love my work. My husband comes home to Cairo, only one week out of every month so I am grateful for the friendship of Sallawa. She is great company and knows so much about life in Egypt. We do everything together.

Fawaha is a beautiful woman who has been the secretary of the Woman's Islamic Society for the last nine years. She tells all women who will listen how talented she is and how this year she will become madam president. I am surprised to say the least. I hardly ever see her and her family at the mosque on Fridays. Our family usually go to the mosque with our neighbors.

Today Fawaha is being unusually nasty about appropriate dress and deportment of Muslim women and she always looks directly at me? Why? Ok, so I dress in the western clothes but I am covered and I am well dressed in sophisticated clothing. I do not reveal myself, nor do I prance around to get attention. Fawaha is covered from her head to her toe, as prescribed by the QUR’AN. I feel that this does not make her holier nor a more devote daughter of ISLAM¾any more than I am. But every day we see each other she has to talk into my face and condemn me for my dress and habits. I am not trying to be Egyptian, I am an American Muslim woman living in Egypt. I feel a person should be honest and should not pretend to be something they are not. On and off for the last three years I have known her. She talks down to me as if I am a servant, dirt, not good enough to be in the company of the righteous Women’s Islamic Society.

So against my better judgment and that of my mother-in laws', I had had enough. I told Fawaha that at least I attend mosque regularly and my children are best in their grades at school and that my three year old son can at least pray by himself. Fawaha's son, Hamid, cannot do that. That if she would stay home sometime with her three children instead of letting her husband do all the cooking and babysitting while she runs around Cairo, she too would have a good life. I am not trying to impress anyone with my dress and I give 100% to my family and they know where I go. It took me three years to get up the courage to quietly tell her this.

Fawaha already hated me. She said it was because I was foreign. Then she said it was because my family was rich. Then this year it was because of the way I dress and because I am a happy woman¾something she is not. I told her to pray to ALLAH for insight to how she can become happy and to read her QUR’AN. Of course she could not help but explode in my face with name calling, screaming and throwing dust at me. So I just walked away with my mother-in-law. We could not believe she would demonstrate what everyone already knew¾that Fawaha was having a problem. We just didn't know what.

Well, that night I had several things to do. The first was to send some sweet bakery bakalava to Fawaha's house and apologize for being so opinionated and verbal. How she runs her life is no business of mine. The second thing was to hurry and get dressed for a special dinner at the Shoot Club in Giza. It is a romantic, beautiful place, overlooking the Nile River in the moonlight with my wonderful husband. I was dressed in a royal blue Channel suit with a white collar, small blue hat and matching handbag and shoes. Our driver drove me and we sat in the car until my husband arrived. I had some paperwork from the university to complete in the meantime. Jamal, our driver, interrupted my work asking if a car looked familiar? Yes, it looked like a neighbor's car, but I couldn't be sure whose it was? I had seen it around the neighborhood several times. When the man got out and went around to help the lady out, I thought she looked familiar, but I couldn't be sure. She was dressed in a western style evening gown, off the shoulder, very elegant. What a beautiful woman. Something about her.

Oh well, by then my husband came and we went in to eat. The Shoot Club has the most delicious fish dinners. We were so happy enjoying conversation with our friends and the night was so beautiful¾everything was perfect. In the background of the restaurant's noises, someone was talking very loud. It sounded like someone I knew. I thought I would look, you know just take a peek on my way to the bathroom. The voice got more shrill and loud. I looked from behind a palm and I could not believe my eyes. There sitting next to a strange man, not her husband, was Fawaha. The great one, the religious one, the perfect one? I could not believe my eyes. I went to the bathroom. On the way back to my table, I looked again. Yes, it was her.

The rest of the night, I thought about what had happened. I have never thought about cheating on my husband. I do not even let anyone (friend, brothers, or repairmen) in the home when my husband is not home. I would never be disloyal to the man I am married to. I told my mother-in-law what I saw. She could not believe it either. Maybe I was mistaken. You know in criminal justice (the subject I teach) the criminal always gets caught eventually. Usually, (1) Someone sees you, (2) You always repeat the same crime, because you got away with it for so long, and (3) You always leave some kind of evidence. I saw Fawaha again that week at the Woman's Islamic Society. Again, she was covered from head to toe. She was preaching about how women in the United States were ruining the women of ISLAM? I could not help but to question¾if a woman is secure in ISLAM, how could she consider not portraying herself, in actions and deeds, befitting a Muslim woman? A woman would not stray because she would not even think about betraying her beliefs, right? I saw it coming. Fawaha, wanted an argument. This time she came down from the podium and got right in my face. She told me to shut up that I was nothing but a stupid foreigner, in a very shrill, loud voice, exactly like the woman at the restaurant. I made instant recognition. I knew! It was her! And that was not her husband or family member she was with that night. I couldn't wait to tell Sallawa. She wouldn't believe it.

The next week was the election for the society's president. Everyone was anxious to see who would win. It was down to two entries, Fawaha and myself. That afternoon my mother-in-law had planned a small party of women to enjoy a small lunch in the park. She wanted to invite everyone, even Fawaha, but Sallawa didn't see her to invite her.

What a beautiful day. Swans on the lake. Children in the paddle boats, laughing and playing. All my friends were here and we were having a great time. I saw a man having lunch alone at a small table. Yes, it was Fawaha's husband. We told the waiter to ask him to come over to our table. We asked him where Fawaha was, if she was ill? No, he told us she had gone to the doctors and his sister had showed up at their house and offered to let him get away for a little rest in the park. He was a very nice man and dedicated to his family. Fawaha's husband works very hard as a design engineer. So while we were talking to him, he looks over across the lake and excuses himself. We all thought we had said something wrong or maybe he thought we were being nosey. We watched him as he made his way around the lake to a table under the trees.

What happened next could only be seen in the movies I'm sure. Fawaha's very shy, quiet husband, grabbed a lady in western dress by the arm, and threw her in the lake and then walked off. Everyone was rushing to look. I too was guilty of curiosity. I went with my friends to look. It was a very muddy, wet Fawaha. A strange man was helping her out of the lake. Fawaha had on a very tight, short suit, with very high heels. She was dressed like a low class western woman the kind she is always preaching about. And, who was this man?

We all gathered around the couple and questions flew fast and hot. All of us women just could not believe it was Fawaha. The man turned out to be a businessman from Lybia who also was married with 4 children. He told us he had met Fawaha at an American style night club near the pyramids. He thought she was a prostitute.

The next week at the Women’s Islamic Society meeting I won the election. Fawaha never came back and her house was closed. They moved away. I find it hard to trust people who present one face to you and act another way to someone else. My first speech as Madam President of the Women’s Islamic Society was: “The QUR’AN is a Modern/Ancient Book For All Time” with emphasis on the code of dress. That it is important that a woman is respectful in dress as well as manner, benefiting her family and station in life as a good Muslim woman. She must honor her husband, family and self. The issue is what is in the heart. You are Muslim in faith, in your heart, as well as in your dress. Above all, ALLAH.