Busy

On hiatus as I work my ass off.

This will likely be my last week in Alexandria, and my excitement is tempered with unshakable exhaustion as I write, teach, plan lessons, and prepare to move.

My next story will probably come from Libya, unless life chooses to surprise me instead.

Evaluating Risk

When I first decided to move to Egypt, I was met with a lot of skepticism from the people in my life who loved me. The people with whom I choose to surround myself are generally open minded and tolerant, well educated in terms of life experiences, and at the core just very caring, thoughtful people. The reactions I got were mostly somewhere in a range between "have a good time, but be very careful," and "my god, woman, are you trying to get yourself kidnapped by ISIS?" None of the people I'd consider myself close to are the kind of people who conflate Islam with terrorism automatically, but the idea of actually going to a Muslim-majority country in the MENA region (the Middle East and North Africa) was something that struck fear into the hearts of even my most accepting friends. I think when a woman decides to go teach English abroad, her friends tend to picture her going somewhere like Costa Rica or maybe South Korea, if she's adventurous.

I used logic, current events, and sheer stubbornness to convince my friends I'd be just fine. "Guys," I'd say, "I'm more likely to be killed by a gun in the United States than I am to be killed by a terrorist, or really anyone else, in Egypt." Sadly(?), this is true. I try not to live my life in fear of the occurrence of random events, but the rising toll of gun violence in the United States was becoming increasingly distressing to me and by the week I left the country, I was reading at least one new story every day about new shooting tragedies unrelated to domestic violence. Domestic violence has always been the bigger threat, and will forever be tragic, but the unpredictable nature of mass shootings is still in some ways scarier-- no matter how simplistic it sounds, we always hope we can control our lives and our relationships to the point where we feel someone we love won't pull a gun on us, but no amount of careful prevention can protect us from the one guy who goes crazy that day and decides to express his rage in the supermarket, the mall, the movie theater. Two days before I left the United States, three people were shot and killed at a house party less than 20 minutes north of my own home where my going away party was being held. Leaving the States meant that I felt as if I had literally dodged a bullet.

I told my friends I'd be fine. Risk is an aspect of life, experiences, travel. There's risk in getting out of bed in the morning. But I've typically been good at simultaneously managing risk and seeking adventure in my own life, and this was no exception. Despite what some Americans may think, the entire MENA region is not a hotbed for terrorism or some kind of ISIS incubation unit. As long as I stayed out of Syria, I'd probably be just fine. I mean, how hard is it to just not go to a war zone? As it turns out, the answer to this question is more complicated than I'd initially expected. I made promises about staying out of Syria. I never mentioned Libya, never thought I'd need to. For as worldly and educated as I'd like to think I am, there still has been little reason to focus on Libya in the American media over the last few years other than the story of the tragedy in Benghazi with the American ambassador a few years back, and a few conservatives incoherently screeching out "BENGHAaAZIIIIIII" in all caps in the comments sections of internet news stories when discussion of Clinton's presidential run started getting serious. My somewhat nebulous understanding of Libya and its current political climate (hey, still better than the average American-- at least I can find it on a map) did not prepare me for coming to Egypt and falling in love with a man from Benghazi. I was not immediately sure what I was getting myself into, but every day I spent with him was another day that both my heart and my head would agree with greater certainty that I was getting myself into trouble.

Introduction

Hello.

You may call me Wafiya. I once had another name, but that's not important now.

I want to tell my story... No, our story. When I decided to move to Egypt, I knew I'd be online writing about my adventures. It's not often a single American woman gets fed up with her life and decides to move to North Africa for the hell of it. The thing is, I expected to be single for a long time. As one might imagine from the title of this diary, that didn't happen.

I had decided to become single in search of independence and freedom of self expression. Having recently ended a very long term relationship that was comfortable, loving, but fundamentally unsustainable (he wanted children; I didn't), I wanted to spend some time alone exploring the world and making it on my own. I wanted to feel like I accomplished something for myself without the involvement of a man. Choosing a country in a conservative, male dominated region of the world for this particular exercise in independence seemed somewhat counter-intuitive, but I've had an interest in learning Arabic since my teenage years and decided I'd waited too long to do something I've always wanted to do. Rarely one to choose the simplest route to a destination, I shrugged off the challenge, packed my bags, and got on a plane. Goodbye house. Goodbye family. Goodbye friends, goodbye dogs, goodbye ex. Goodbye me. I knew that whatever the results, if I ever chose to return home, it'd be as a different person. Travel changes people. And I've always been liquid, conforming to the shape of whatever environment or relationship held me captive. There are some things that are fundamentally me and will never change, but the way I send ripples through my world changes based on my surroundings.

Being a naturally pliant person, my first desire was to make my own way in the world without sacrificing myself for once. I didn't want to be a complaisant woman this time. The events which have unfolded since my arrival in Egypt have led me to question if choosing a path for oneself truly requires independence. Perhaps the choice to stop resisting my path is my own way of becoming my true self. I still struggle to reconcile these ideas intellectually, to accept that giving in doesn't always mean giving up. My life has changed considerably in ways that will become apparent in future entries. My future is not the one I envisioned, but I am pleasantly surprised. I resisted the idea of this relationship on principle, knowing I was deliriously happy but not knowing why I was trying to stop the inevitable avalanche of emotion but for the sole reason that this wasn't supposed to happen yet. Falling in love is often an inconvenient business, and this time was no exception. I searched for any reason I could to stop it from happening but he was magnetic to me, drawing me closer with no real option for me but to acquiesce.

Watching me struggle with the act of falling helplessly in love but refusing to actively choose him and commit, my lover suggested something I'd never considered before. Maybe my resistance was the product of my Western upbringing and cultural values. Having lived only in America, where people are free to date, explore, experiment and live with whomever they please, my reaction to this plethora of choice has been to analyze every action, every aspect of every relationship and choose each move wisely. But my lover chooses to love with his heart. I had not realized before this point that at every turn I chose to love with my head, and it was forcing me to push away the person I'd always imagined, but had never met... until now. After truly agonizing deliberation, I have decided to follow my heart. No more looking back.

This is our story.