Essay
As published in The Writer's Drawer.
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From the Diaries of a Driving Mother
by Abeer El-Gamal (Egypt)
"Watch out, Mummy! Watch out! He's breaking your mirror," Nora screamed. A smashing sound deafened my ears as I woke up terrified but grateful that the accident was only a dream. I felt like a small, helpless animal being hunted by a large brutal one. Our black Lancer had turned into a rabbit being chased by a vicious dark wolf, intent on biting off the creature's left ear before devouring her.
I did not know how much I hated driving until I had that dream. Driving through Cairo traffic is a nightmare, a circus in which you perform without training. I spend half my days driving my twin teenagers Nora and Ali to private lessons, tennis coaching, doctors' appointments and outings with friends. Driving not only strains my back and neck, due to the hours spent sitting in the car in streets like clogged arteries, but it sucks all my energy, shatters my nerves and raids my dreams.
A woman driving in a male-oriented society triggers all kinds of reactions that men would normally repress in other situations. Whether they admit it or not, most men believe women should stay home to make kofta or mahshy and leave the outside world to them. Since they cannot afford to do this, men express their innermost feelings in malicious forms toward women in the streets, and women drivers get the lion's share. That surely doubles the risk of my daily journeys with the twins.
In my dream I was driving the twins as usual, but we were heading to two different places at the same time. I kept driving back and forth on the same road, Tareek al-Nasr, never reaching either destination. One moment I went toward al-Mokatam, where they were supposed to have a private lesson, and the next I was heading in the opposite direction leading to al-Ahly club, Nasr City. I drove in my cautious, or rather "slow," manner, as my kids describe it. As it did in reality, my driving triggered two contradictory reactions in the twins, according to the destination I was heading. When I drove toward the club, they shouted, "Faster mummy, go faster, we'll be late for training." But when I went in the other direction, to the private lessons center, they were kind enough to support my lame driving, saying, "Take your time, mummy; the teacher is never on time."
Usually, Nora is never silent on our drives; she bugs me about one thing or another and interrupts my desperate attempts to focus on the road. She is continuously planning some event or other: a surprise birthday party for a friend, an outing to the mall, a color festival, a paintball battle or a sand-boarding day. She is practical and clever enough to figure out that the best time to discuss the details of any of her projects with me is when we are stuck in the car. At home I am always busy, but in the mandatory prison which is our battered, shark-faced Lancer, there is no way I can escape her. Sometimes I listen and sometimes I scold her, telling her I need to focus on the circus going on around me or we won't make it to our destination.
The other day Nora declared, "Mummy, we have to be there before five. It's the deadline for onsite registration."
"There, where?" I said stupidly, as I maneuvered to avoid a sure attack from a minibus aimed at my mirror.
"Mummy, don't you ever listen to me?"
"I do, sweetie, I do all the time. Where do you want to go? Is it tomorrow?" I tried to soothe her.
"Nooo, it's on Friday. We're going to the tennis colony for the championship."
"And where is this 'colony'?" I endeavored to sound patient and looked quickly at Ali through the front mirror, hoping that he might object to Nora's plan, but he was immersed in his BlackBerry chat as usual.
"It's on Ismailia Road, 35 km away," she said.
I flinched at the thought of driving amidst the wildest trucks and buses on the Cairo-Ismailia road. I gathered up my courage and said, "We don’t have to participate in every tournament; let's restrict ourselves to the ones in the city. You know I hate to drive on highways. What do you think, Ali?" I tried to enlist his help by glancing at him again in the mirror.
"Heh? What did you say, mum?" he inquired in his absent-minded way.
"You are being a zombie again. Why don’t you leave that thing and join the conversation? I asked if that colony tournament is really important." I was starting to get really nervous.
"I don't want to go. If she goes I'll participate only to be with her." He said in that casual manner that plays on my nerves.
I was happy to get his support but angry that he was letting his sister down as he always does when she needs him. I promised Nora I would think about it and tell her my decision when we got home.
Ever since they were in kindergarten, Ali and Nora did everything together. He was the lazy one. He wanted things just as much as she did but did not exert any effort to get them, letting her do the work and fight the battle for both of them. He played the king and she was the minister who had to carry out his plans. To me it was neither fun nor fair: it enabled him to sit back and relax and let her do the dirty jobs, just like most women do in real life. It was neither a game nor child's play as everyone around me insisted; it was a life-defining experience that would last forever. On most days she would carry both her own and his school bag from class to the school gate where I waited for them. He often ran to give me a hug while she trudged behind with the bags and it made me crazy that she did it voluntarily and he took it as his lawful right as king. Every time I intervened to prevent his early male dominance and her submission, I regretted it because both of them have accepted their roles without hard feelings and everyone accused me of endangering their bond as twins. My husband believed I worried too much about a matter that meant nothing to anyone but my own "disturbed" mind which detected gender differentiation in every small action.
I did my best to accept their relations the way they were since they were both happy. Meanwhile, a question kept buzzing in my head: "Why can't their bond work the other way round?" I dared ask my husband once and he simply asserted that it was the most natural thing in the world for the girl to "serve" her twin brother and that in time they would switch roles when he became a man. "Honey, you are the only one who tries to go against the tide; just leave them alone to manage their own business," he wrapped the whole matter up in his usual nice cool manner that left me speechless.
And I tried to leave them alone, not all the time, though. Once, when they were in grade five, they went too far and I had to intervene. They were doing their finals when Ali gave Nora his exam sheet to answer for him before she did her own. The teacher, who had been my student in college, was furious and called me, and I rushed to the school. It was not the act of cheating that drove me and the teacher Siham crazy; we were more concerned about Nora's self-denial at such an early stage of her life.
"That's it. I can't leave the twins alone anymore and you have to help me fix their relationship," I told my husband angrily that day. But of course, I had to sail against the tide alone. I kept nagging them about the importance of cooperation, and the need for mutual give-and-take, but nothing worked. I tried to be discreet and never accused Ali of negligence or dominance, but it seemed that neither of them cared.
That night, after the dream, I decided I would not drive to the "colony" on Friday. I would take the day off – off housework, off the twins, off driving. "Dad will drive you there safely and spend the whole day with you," I broke the news to them. I had delegated the chore to my dear husband. Let him sail against the tide for once.
I did not know how much I hated driving until I had that dream. Driving through Cairo traffic is a nightmare, a circus in which you perform without training. I spend half my days driving my twin teenagers Nora and Ali to private lessons, tennis coaching, doctors' appointments and outings with friends. Driving not only strains my back and neck, due to the hours spent sitting in the car in streets like clogged arteries, but it sucks all my energy, shatters my nerves and raids my dreams.
A woman driving in a male-oriented society triggers all kinds of reactions that men would normally repress in other situations. Whether they admit it or not, most men believe women should stay home to make kofta or mahshy and leave the outside world to them. Since they cannot afford to do this, men express their innermost feelings in malicious forms toward women in the streets, and women drivers get the lion's share. That surely doubles the risk of my daily journeys with the twins.
In my dream I was driving the twins as usual, but we were heading to two different places at the same time. I kept driving back and forth on the same road, Tareek al-Nasr, never reaching either destination. One moment I went toward al-Mokatam, where they were supposed to have a private lesson, and the next I was heading in the opposite direction leading to al-Ahly club, Nasr City. I drove in my cautious, or rather "slow," manner, as my kids describe it. As it did in reality, my driving triggered two contradictory reactions in the twins, according to the destination I was heading. When I drove toward the club, they shouted, "Faster mummy, go faster, we'll be late for training." But when I went in the other direction, to the private lessons center, they were kind enough to support my lame driving, saying, "Take your time, mummy; the teacher is never on time."
Usually, Nora is never silent on our drives; she bugs me about one thing or another and interrupts my desperate attempts to focus on the road. She is continuously planning some event or other: a surprise birthday party for a friend, an outing to the mall, a color festival, a paintball battle or a sand-boarding day. She is practical and clever enough to figure out that the best time to discuss the details of any of her projects with me is when we are stuck in the car. At home I am always busy, but in the mandatory prison which is our battered, shark-faced Lancer, there is no way I can escape her. Sometimes I listen and sometimes I scold her, telling her I need to focus on the circus going on around me or we won't make it to our destination.
The other day Nora declared, "Mummy, we have to be there before five. It's the deadline for onsite registration."
"There, where?" I said stupidly, as I maneuvered to avoid a sure attack from a minibus aimed at my mirror.
"Mummy, don't you ever listen to me?"
"I do, sweetie, I do all the time. Where do you want to go? Is it tomorrow?" I tried to soothe her.
"Nooo, it's on Friday. We're going to the tennis colony for the championship."
"And where is this 'colony'?" I endeavored to sound patient and looked quickly at Ali through the front mirror, hoping that he might object to Nora's plan, but he was immersed in his BlackBerry chat as usual.
"It's on Ismailia Road, 35 km away," she said.
I flinched at the thought of driving amidst the wildest trucks and buses on the Cairo-Ismailia road. I gathered up my courage and said, "We don’t have to participate in every tournament; let's restrict ourselves to the ones in the city. You know I hate to drive on highways. What do you think, Ali?" I tried to enlist his help by glancing at him again in the mirror.
"Heh? What did you say, mum?" he inquired in his absent-minded way.
"You are being a zombie again. Why don’t you leave that thing and join the conversation? I asked if that colony tournament is really important." I was starting to get really nervous.
"I don't want to go. If she goes I'll participate only to be with her." He said in that casual manner that plays on my nerves.
I was happy to get his support but angry that he was letting his sister down as he always does when she needs him. I promised Nora I would think about it and tell her my decision when we got home.
Ever since they were in kindergarten, Ali and Nora did everything together. He was the lazy one. He wanted things just as much as she did but did not exert any effort to get them, letting her do the work and fight the battle for both of them. He played the king and she was the minister who had to carry out his plans. To me it was neither fun nor fair: it enabled him to sit back and relax and let her do the dirty jobs, just like most women do in real life. It was neither a game nor child's play as everyone around me insisted; it was a life-defining experience that would last forever. On most days she would carry both her own and his school bag from class to the school gate where I waited for them. He often ran to give me a hug while she trudged behind with the bags and it made me crazy that she did it voluntarily and he took it as his lawful right as king. Every time I intervened to prevent his early male dominance and her submission, I regretted it because both of them have accepted their roles without hard feelings and everyone accused me of endangering their bond as twins. My husband believed I worried too much about a matter that meant nothing to anyone but my own "disturbed" mind which detected gender differentiation in every small action.
I did my best to accept their relations the way they were since they were both happy. Meanwhile, a question kept buzzing in my head: "Why can't their bond work the other way round?" I dared ask my husband once and he simply asserted that it was the most natural thing in the world for the girl to "serve" her twin brother and that in time they would switch roles when he became a man. "Honey, you are the only one who tries to go against the tide; just leave them alone to manage their own business," he wrapped the whole matter up in his usual nice cool manner that left me speechless.
And I tried to leave them alone, not all the time, though. Once, when they were in grade five, they went too far and I had to intervene. They were doing their finals when Ali gave Nora his exam sheet to answer for him before she did her own. The teacher, who had been my student in college, was furious and called me, and I rushed to the school. It was not the act of cheating that drove me and the teacher Siham crazy; we were more concerned about Nora's self-denial at such an early stage of her life.
"That's it. I can't leave the twins alone anymore and you have to help me fix their relationship," I told my husband angrily that day. But of course, I had to sail against the tide alone. I kept nagging them about the importance of cooperation, and the need for mutual give-and-take, but nothing worked. I tried to be discreet and never accused Ali of negligence or dominance, but it seemed that neither of them cared.
That night, after the dream, I decided I would not drive to the "colony" on Friday. I would take the day off – off housework, off the twins, off driving. "Dad will drive you there safely and spend the whole day with you," I broke the news to them. I had delegated the chore to my dear husband. Let him sail against the tide for once.
