Can we move from grief to hope?
Welcome to ‘Eyb, the newsletter in which I always write frankly, whether it is on taboo topics affecting girls and women that growing up as an Egyptian girl I would be told are ‘eyb or shameful, or current affairs. I also share my latest articles as well as reading/watching/listening recommendations.
A big thank you to all recent subscribers!
I have been pretty rubbish at churning out regular Substack newsletters. However, as a Substack reader, I do find that I am more likely to read and enjoy the Substack newsletters from writers I receive less often than those that land in my inbox every other day - sorry guys!
My wonderful and brilliantly clever friend and fellow British/Irish/Egyptian author Zahra Barri (you can subscribe to her Substack and read my super fun interview with her here) and I were talking about Substack just a couple of days ago. Have we fallen out of love with it? We wondered with all the very serious things going on in the world if people really want to read more of our first-person essays.
Do people really want to read about me moaning about my misogynistic family members? Or is it important, because it all forms part of a bigger, wider problem of global patriarchy, that intersects with so many world issues? Zahra remarked we could turn our hand to non-fiction essays, but as people who write for a living (i.e. to pay our rent/mortgage and bills), it feels like unpaid work we could pitch elsewhere. And neither of us are particularly confident just yet that people would be paid subscribers.
Anyhoo……
Another reason that I haven’t been churning out Substack newsletters, is, of course as some of you know, I have been writing a second book. No book deal yet unfortunately.
But also, I have been paralysed for the past 15 months in every sense of the word.
Palestine has been part of the fabric of my identity and life for as long as my memory serves me. But never have I been affected by what’s been happening to Palestine to the degree I have been since October 2023. I have been carrying a heaviness and been grieving since then and I am not Palestinian. I truly understand the Prophet Muhammed peace be upon him’s saying, that when one part of the ummah or global Muslim community, hurts, the rest of the ummah hurts too (it’s important to note here that not all Palestinians are Muslim, there is a Christian Palestinian community too which is equally affected by everything the Israeli government and army have subjected them to since 1948).
I am still in regular contact with Gazans who are either still in Gaza or evacuated just before the Rafah border last closed in May 2024. And they told me they feel completely destroyed. They say they don’t see how they can psychologically come back from this. They say they have lived through many Israeli attacks on Gaza and this one just does not compare, in its utter severity. They tell me they have seen things incomprehensible to the human mind.
I recently spoke to a wonderful fellow writer friend who is also a yoga teacher and Palestine activist. I wondered if she could shine any wisdom on why, even though the ceasefire has finally come into place, I still feel physically and mentally unwell with grief and anxiety. She told me something fascinating that she learned during her recent visit to an ashram - that we are so emotionally invested in what is happening in Palestine, it is almost as if our nervous system cannot differentiate. Their suffering has become ours.
She said I am allowed to take breaks - I have been glued to my smartphone, glued to the messages I receive from Gazans feeling the need to respond straight away, glued to the horrific images of suffering and death on Instagram and the details of the atrocities on my timeline on X/Twitter. It reached a point where I wasn’t concentrating on what was happening at home, with my son and my husband.
I believe the genocide in Gaza has made me grow up. It opened my eyes to the real state of the world. It made me appreciate the relative safety we enjoy in the UK - but also realise that no one is ever fully safe. War could arrive to all our doorsteps. We are not immune. It’s made me think twice before throwing away food. It’s made me realise that yes, parenting a toddler is difficult, but Alhamdulillah (all praise and thanks to God) I am incredibly lucky to be a mother right now. I am lucky to have my GP and my prescription medications. I don’t know if I would have survived if I was in Gaza with my chronic illnesses and no access to my medication. It’s made me open my eyes to the small but beautiful joys in life.
So last week, I wrote down some of the little joys and the things I have to look forward to, in an effort to pull myself out of my depression:
The arrival of intermittent periods of sunshine - yay for the sun and serotonin!
Longer days - the sun setting at 5pm? I am here for it!
The sky when it’s blue and adorned by fluffy white clouds
My toddler’s cuddles and when he says, “I love you mama”
My first sip of coffee each morning
The feeling of embarking on reading a new book
The sound of birdsong in the morning
Time spent with family
Time spent with good friends
The upcoming month of Ramadan (just four weeks to go!) which will then be followed by Spring!
A little favour…
I am still managing two crowdfunding campaigns for two Gazan women. Samah Al Nakhala is in central Gaza and a single mother to four children. A few days ago she texted me asking why no one donates to her campaign anymore. She said aid is not reaching everyone and that some aid workers are handing out aid only to friends and people they know (i.e. favouritism). The next day I read this report on The New Arab which backed up everything she told me.
Two of Samah’s four children
Please consider donating and sharing Samah’s fundraiser, which is to buy food and clean water.
Areej performing surgery before the genocide began
Areej Hijazi evacuated to Egypt last April, just before the Rafah border closed, and is in her final year of her medical degree. We just about scraped together her tuition fees last year but now the money has ran out and we have no idea how we will pay for the next instalment. She’s training to become an obstetrician and gynaecologist. So many specialist doctors like Areej were killed by the Israeli Army and Gaza needs more doctors like her.
Thank you all for your kindness and support.
You definitely are allowed to take breaks. Breaks are good for us. How’s the book writing coming along.