Nashaat Was So Different

Nashaat was a kind soul; he didn’t fit into the harsh, masculine environment of Upper Egypt, where boys would beat each other up for fun and as a way of connecting and bonding.

He was peaceful. Nariman, his sister, and my mother had to stand up for him at school and defend him against other boys’ harassment and attacks.

In his teenage years, he didn’t rebel, he didn’t flirt with girls. He had one best friend, Aziz, with whom he spent a lot of time drinking tea, chitchatting, and playing cards.

He ended his education at school with a technical diploma. It was a time when Egypt was at war with Israel. The family was worried about him joining the army at such a risky time, especially since they knew he was not even capable of killing a fly or fighting for himself, let alone fighting for a whole country.

They tried all possible ways and tricks to exempt him from joining the army; they presented the excuse that he had flat feet. But in wartime, that wasn’t a good enough reason. The war needed firewood, and he was in the wrong time and place. He was taken and sent to the war zone.

Just before that, his friend Aziz was bitten by a dog, and the treatment at that time was 21 injections in the belly, which was a brutal torture, so he refused to take them. Rabies is a serious disease, and its symptoms began to appear in him. They say he was making horrific sounds, similar to a dog’s barking, in his last days.

Aziz died shortly after. Nashaat lost his best friend and was thrown into the war to fight, without any time to process or grieve his friend’s death.

The war was a terrifying experience for him, but he was helpless. They ate old beans infested with weevils, which were served to them daily, and they had no other option but to eat them. They showered under the bombs with freezing water.

Nashaat struggled to understand the orders or to follow them. He was more of a free spirit, and his mental capacities did not help him, so he was almost killed several times by being in places where he should not have been.

One day, his army battalion was hit by a missile. Luckily, he was a bit far from it, but the impact left him unconscious. He was taken to the hospital and then released from the army. The government assigned him a job in a bank.

He came out of the war alive, but he was not the same person he used to be. No one knew what had happened to him — a 24-year-old young man, broken from within. Was it the trauma? Or was the missile carrying a poisonous substance, as they suspected?

His sister Nariman was having her first delivery, and it wasn’t going well. He wasn’t feeling well either, but he pushed himself to travel in the middle of the freezing night to get a doctor from the nearby city to save her life and the baby’s — “me.”

Just a few days later, his health deteriorated. He became bedridden, looking pale and weak.

Naguiba’s chicken soup didn’t help. She had already lost a few of her children, but this was the oldest and dearest.

William was ashamed of his son — he had hoped Nashaat would be his cane in old age, his predecessor, and his right hand in the shop.

A man in Upper Egypt could not show weakness. William humiliated Nashaat with hurtful words, calling him weak like a woman, hoping this would provoke him to leave the bed. Even when he saw him coughing up blood, it didn’t stop him from beating him with a big stick, screaming: “Do you want to bring me shame? What would people think of me when they see my oldest son weak and sick? Get up!”

Nashaat tried to get up to escape his father’s painful, furious strikes, but he fell at his feet and crawled away to avoid the merciless stick.

Naguiba and all her children begged William in tears to stop, but he didn’t relent until he broke the stick on Nashaat. Then he cried himself, torn between shame and guilt — feeling disappointed and helpless that the stick hadn’t brought back his young, vital son.

The next day, Nashaat had a dream, and he shared it with Naguiba, who immediately understood what awaited them.

Nashaat dreamt he was walking by a beautiful garden when he saw his friend, Aziz, inside. Aziz invited him to come in, cross the fence, and eat a piece of bread with him. Nashaat crossed the fence and sat down to eat with Aziz.

Naguiba knew this meant that Nashaat would soon follow Aziz to the afterlife. And a few days later, he did.

Grief settled in the house and never left. Naguiba was broken, dressed in black from that day for the rest of her life. Yes, she had lost a few babies through miscarriages, some newborns, and even Essam, who was two years old — but Nashaat had been a promising, loving young man who helped everyone without expecting anything in return. He left life before fully experiencing it.

Nariman, who had just delivered a new soul, was devastated and seemed to breastfeed me with sadness. All the brothers and sisters were deeply grieved. But William had to confront his grief and overwhelming guilt, questioning how he had treated his son. He had the best of intentions in his heart, yet he had hurt Nashaat and doubled his suffering. He buried himself in alcohol, and a new, alcoholic version of him emerged and stayed until his last day.

“Escaping the monster” From Egypt to Europe Piecing Together the Stories My Mother Left Unfinished

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