An Egyptian living in Europe but her heart stayed back home. Having some random thoughts about the before and after pictures. Ghawayesh means bracelets. In my context it symbolizes the cuffs of my culture. I don't know if I like them or hate them. Thanks for passing by.

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I started this blog in 2006 as a joke. Now that I look back, I have decided to take it seriously!

26 July 2011

Behind the Mashrabiya*

My coffee is ready. Black as black can be. Symbolic of my life perhaps? Astghfurullah.. That is blasphemy. No matter how bad my life might be, I should be grateful, and hopeful. For Allah promised the patient ones the highest prize in the end.

My hair is still dripping wet. I love the feel of water drops seeping from my hair down on my body, slowly following the arch of my back. Sometimes I concentrate on feeling one particular drop with my mind, as it takes its journey from my hair down on my back, down, down, and... Hop.. It disappears in my crack. It makes me smile of joy to think it could have been your fingertip.

I intentionally use cold water to wash my body; as it keeps me cool in this heat, and according to Saadiya the maid, it keeps the breasts firm and rounded. Allah promised all the good men women with firm and rounded breasts in his holy words of the Quran{ وَكَوَاعِبَ أَتْرَاباً } . I like the idea that I still can keep those rounded breasts just like the fairies of heaven. Every afternoon after having finished the cooking, baking and cleaning with Saadiya, I start my body-washing rituals. It's becoming my new religion to look after my skin since you came along. For perhaps, one day, in this life or the next, you might feel me, skin on skin.

The loofah is new- still hard and rough; my favorite phase before it gives in and becomes too soft and ineffective some weeks later. I close my eyes as I slowly rub my cheeks with it with one hand, while the other hand holds two fingers on my lips. For here and now; imitation is the sincerest form of having you have me. I squat, rub the loofah down there, and try my best not to be heard as my breaths turn into moans.

I make sure all signs of Halawa are well scrubbed off my skin. Ah, as good as new. Not one hair on my body from my head down. As the hope to have you touch me any moment is keeping me ready. A few drops of rosewater in my rinsing jug seal the deal and leave my skin softer than silk.

I'm fresh, soft, delicious and clean- like a plate of hot Om Aly waiting for you.

I check my body in the mirror with admiration. Oh how I wish the mirror to be your eyes. Mirror mirror on the wall, where's my most beloved of them all?

As I wear my favorite white cotton dress with frills, I take a glance at my nipples, give my right one a painful pinch and imagine you doing it. That helps the blood to flow up and down then around and around my cheeks.

I had a dream about you last night. You showed up as gorgeous as you've always been. No one seemed to mind that you took me to show me a new home. I must have been yours in that dream. I could smell your scent, I could slowly hang my hand on your arm just like I was ready to hang my life on a word from your lips. I was too afraid to look you in the face. That fear was unlike any other. It was like being bedazzled by your light. We didn't talk in the dream- just like we never did before. I must go to seedna Al-Hussein and light a candle for that dream to come true. Make me his ya Rab. Amen, you mighty God of all worlds.

The other day when Adalat, the coffee reader, was visiting us; I took her to my room and tipped her with an extra penny to read my coffee ground. She smiled and promised me good news. May Allah forgive me having to deal with her, but it's all out of my longing for you and willing to do anything to see you in my future. The same day your sister's wedding party was held, and I sneaked in the bathroom and found your Old Spice. A sniff from it felt like I was breathing life through my veins. It was as a good sign as can be.

I go take my place on the Arabesque couch. Slowly sipping on my coffee while leaning and stretching my neck out towards the mashrabiya every minute. Habibi will come soon.

Waiting can kill.. And waiting can revive as well. I wonder how many girls are waiting behind their mashrabiyas right now..

It's Sunset prayer's time. This is the moment. Now come on, what are you waiting for?

Silence.. All the sounds stopped. All the things vanished. All the colors faded. Here comes my beloved. A cloud of desire falls over me.

I want nothing from you.. Yet I want all of you. I want you around me, beside me, ahead of me and behind me. I want you all over me. I want you on top of me, I want you under me. I want you inside me. But how do I still want what I already have? God only knows how I got you under my skin. Yet what I want the most.. Is for you to be forever happy. My love to you is unconditional, nontraditional, and non-transitional!

My heart skipped a beat... Did he just raise his head up to look my way? Did he really notice me behind the mashrabiya?

Now he looked the other way.. And walked away.

And tomorrow is another day.


*Mashrabiya is the Arabic term given to a type of projecting oriel window enclosed with carved wood latticework located on the second storey of a building or higher, often lined with stained glass. The mashrabiya (sometimes shanshool or rushan) is an element of traditional Arabic architecture used since the middle ages up to the mid twentieth century.

P.s. I have joined a writers' group and this is my first attempt with them.


Raouf said...

Oh, this is a gem.
I really, really like it.
The narrative has a lot of integrity towards the characters.
Congratulation, great start. I hope there will be many more to come.

This is really funny. For a while now I felt that a lot of creativity and talent was brewing in you but was not coming out (except in little hints here and there).
I almost wrote to ask you if you were blocked. It turns out no, you just follow your own rhythm.

Ghawayesh said...

I can always count on you for positive energy my friend. Yes I was blocked, but I still want to do something about grandpa's house book. Have you read the Arabic post I wrote about it some moons ago?

Raouf said...

I have read the grandpa's house story and remember that you called it a failed attempt.

I did not feel that way at all about it, it has a lot of potential and is very rich in emotions, imagery and culture. I wanted to comment but it did not come out right so I didn't post. I will go back again to that story and try again.

a_shara said...


Ghawayesh said...

Thank you a_shara. What did you like about it?

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