My mother was born in 1933 during the heydays of the reign of King Fouad I. Egypt was, in many ways, a different place. Cairo was a melting pot, a cosmopolitan city that was repeatedly voted as one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Like many Egyptian families whose livelihood was associated with agriculture, she lived her childhood moving with her family between Cairo and the countryside. Her father was one of the largest landowners in the country, a member of parliament, and an entrepreneur. Together with my grandmother––born in Cairo from a Turkish family––they had five children; my mother was the eldest. At a young age, my mother moved to Cairo to join a boarding school—The American College. A few years later, she transferred to College de La Mère de Dieu.
My mother came from a generation whose earliest memories were the great depression of the 1930s and World War II during the 1940s. Then came the 1950s, with a complete overhaul of the regime in Egypt––that had been in place since 1805––which changed the social, economic, and political fabrics and dynamics of the society and, in many different ways, greatly affected many people lives and livelihoods including her family.
I have always believed that my mother was always grateful, content, and resilient. For me, she represented the seamless connection between the past and the present and managed to adapt to the various changes that happened in society and her life with her calmness, belief, and faith. For that, she came from a generation that hardly exists anymore and was a perfect example of the best product of her time.
She never actually worked, but she took good care of the land her father gave her with the help of family members and others. She always cherished this land, having been gifted to her by her beloved father, who left this world very prematurely––they were really close. My mother married young, and she devoted her entire life to her family. She raised three sons and watched them grow and excel in their careers, two as entrepreneurs and an academic. She also enjoyed seeing her seven grandchildren grow and graduate from university, some also finishing their post-graduate degrees. She never missed any of their commencement ceremonies, whether it was in Cairo, Boston, or Montréal. She was an unbelievable friend to her grandchildren. She would go out with them, play with them, listen to their stories, and follow what interests them. In her way, she tried to make everyone feel special. She genuinely enjoyed their company; they did, too. She was also fortunate to see four great-grandchildren—a feeling she enjoyed for nine years. It is not easy to imagine a better mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother. In good or hard times, she was always there for every member of her family. She had the most uncompromising commitment to us—family always came first and foremost.
Throughout her life journey, she traveled to many countries and lived for long spells in different places, including the United States and Yemen, but she was always rooted in the land—an Egyptian through and through. Her last trip was with her family to El-Gouna by the Red Sea in December 2021. She chose to travel by car for six long hours with her eldest grandson, his wife, and their two daughters, arriving past 2am. For her, this was primetime entertainment that she would not miss. On this note, she was obsessed with ensuring that each member of her family arrived safely if they were traveling. She would chase them even if it were in the middle of the night—nothing would stop her, no matter what. This was my vintage mother.
At home, until literary the last day, she would do almost everything by herself—hard to believe but true. She was an excellent cook; it was not easy to beat her in that department. Being invited for lunch or dinner at her place was a real treat. It was a get-together that we all looked for, and we were fortunate to enjoy it for many decades. The invitation that topped them all was when the entire family gathered for Iftar at her place every year on the first day of Ramadan. It was a family tradition that we all grew up cherishing every second of it. When my brothers and I got married, my mother invited our in-laws as well––for her, the Iftar of the first day of Ramadan was never negotiable––it had to be at her place. For the record, the same applied to my nephews and niece when they got married. No one would even dare suggest another venue or come up with an excuse for not coming.
My mother defied age. It never meant anything to her. She was always active and energetic, and she genuinely believed that age would never stop her from doing whatever she had in mind. She never liked to stay at home unless she really had to. In fact, for the last 15 years, since she stopped driving, her biggest problem was that she could not go out on Fridays because it was her driver’s day off––believe it or not, it was an issue week in and week out, and we had to deal with it.
For decades, my mother had a daily routine––that she would never change. She was organized and disciplined in whatever she did. In the morning, she was the first to call her sons and daughters-in-law to check on them and her grandchildren, making sure that everyone was all right. She would then head either to the Gezira Sporting Club or the Egyptian Shooting Club for a walk with her friends. The afternoons were reserved for reading for at least 2 hours. She spoke fluent French, English, and obviously Arabic, and she enjoyed reading in all three languages, whether books, magazines, or newspapers. She read politics, literature, history, novels—mainly thrillers––and biographies. In the early evenings––especially after my father passed in 2011––she would go a few times per week to the Gezira Sporting Club to meet her friends. My mother had many friends she knew from various walks of life. Some were lifetime friends and were really important to her. She would call her closest friends every day to check on them, and she was the outright convener of their daily gatherings and outings.
Surely, she was not remotely close to being a digital native, but my mother was an intelligent user of today’s tech gadgets. Her iPhone was not just a communication device. She used many of its functions, including different messaging and VoIP applications such as WhatsApp, Facetime, Messenger, and Viber. Over the last ten years, her iPad has become an essential source of entertainment, keeping her company, especially in the evenings, playing games, watching soap operas, movies, and documentaries on YouTube, Watch IT and Shahid. She had an email account and occasionally posted on social media, mainly Facebook––yes, she did. Naturally, this included some unexpected postings––some definitely by mistake––including photos, words, or half sentences, and then one or more of her grandchildren would rush for a quick delete—thankfully, they had access to her account details. It was expected for someone who was well into her 80s, but kudos to my mother for always being curious and wanting to learn something new and never shying away from asking questions or making mistakes.
Wars and conflicts always cause a lot of suffering; their implications affect the entire society. One memory that sticks out where I saw my mother showing a lot of emotion was just over 50 years ago––during the 1973 October War. She volunteered at the Red Cross. She spent many hours every day at the hospital, offering comfort and support to the wounded soldiers. She used to share her experience, and I remember asking her on a daily basis precisely about one of the young officers she was taking care of. This was not the only time my mother had volunteered to support different causes, and it was those moments that she showed her character, strength, and love.
She enjoyed listening to music, eating nice food, having good company, and going to the opera, concerts, and plays. Wherever she went, she was––as the French say–– “toujours tiré à quatre épingles.” She adored her plants; she had a lot of them in her flat. For her, it was a sign of life; she was keen on them, and whenever she was out of town, she would make sure that either my brother––mainly––or I watered them. She loved life in all its facets; she was passionate about it and enjoyed every moment of it.
She was a kind, caring, and loving person, full of wisdom and forgiveness, always with a calm smile and speaking in a low voice that anyone could hardly hear. However, do not get me wrong, she was as tough, sometimes stubborn as they come, and as a straight shooter as one can be. She was wise to choose her battles and mastered the art of absorbing tension. She often made her opinions on different matters well-heard. But, sometimes, she opted to remain silent, and that showed power and composure. If she did not like something, she always had that trademark look on her face, and we all instantly knew that this was a no-go.
The happiest moment I have seen her was when her family surrounded her. She felt true comfort and joy in their presence. The last couple of days, when we were all with her, two of her grandchildren were away traveling for work. They both managed to come back to see her before she passed. The last one made it just 10 minutes before. Deep inside, I am convinced she was waiting to see him so she does not miss saying goodbye to every member of her beloved family.
She touched the lives of many people––old and young alike. Just this past week, I attended a history symposium at The American University in Cairo, and one of the speakers mentioned her by name as she had helped her get access to the library of my family while she was working on her dissertation for her doctorate in literature from Germany. My mother was a great, loving mother, grandmother, and friend, not just to her family but to many others who considered her their idol, including her extended family, in-laws, and friends. She was an inspiring soul, always there for all who came to her for guidance and support.
I thought for a long time of dedicating this edition of the NileView to her. When I decided to go ahead, I have to admit it was not easy for me to write it. My mother was larger than life; the above views reflect a modest attempt to think of her and remember what she did for her family, her endless love, infinite care, and for being who she is and what she represents, which will continue to inspire us all.
My mother’s biggest gift to us was her long and blessed presence in our lives. She passed a year ago today; she was 89––الله يرحمك يا أمي.
About the author: Sherif Kamel is a Professor of Management and Dean of the School of Business at The American University in Cairo.
19 November 2023
Issue #35
Loved the article and your mom. I used to always see her at the club and admired how well she takes care of herself and image . And to read more about her as a person truly brought out what a fine woman , wife and mother she was . God rest her soul in peace
Touched by your precise feelings on paper