Welcome to ‘Eyb, my newsletter in which I write frankly on topics that growing up as a young British Egyptian woman people around me would say were ‘eyb or shameful, as well as topics relevant to women and marginalised communities, and sharing my latest work and reading/listening/viewing recommendations.
If you are a recent subscriber a massive welcome - or ahlan wa sahlan - to you!
So it’s official, I am a full-time freelance journalist. After a lot of discussion and deliberation I resigned from my day job as a copywriter at the end of January and stopped working at the end of February, as my two-year-old just did not take to nursery.
When I resigned I was adamant to my husband, family and in-laws that I was NOT a stay-at-home mum or housewife. I still have two jobs - my freelance journalism + writing my second novel AND taking care of, teaching and entertaining my toddler. I told my husband not to expect three course dinners or to see me vacuuming, dusting and deep cleaning the house on a daily basis (aside from the fact my health conditions don’t allow me to anyway).
Then I asked myself, why is it that I find it offensive whenever my husband or a family member refer to me as a stay-at-home mum or housewife?
A lot of it stems from what I now see and hear from my mother and mother-in-law. My mother, who is an ESOL teacher, took several career breaks each time she had a baby. My mother-in-law did some stints helping out at my father-in-law’s clothing store, but for the majority of the past 36 years, she has been a stay-at-home mum and housewife.
And all I see and hear from both of them now that they are nearing 60, is resentfulness and bitterness.
All I hear from them are comments about how their lives are over now that we are all adults, how there is nothing left, and how they are waiting to die. How they gave up their lives to ‘serve’ (this is the word they use) their husbands and children.
And that terrifies me. I hope I never say such a thing to my son. It was my choice to have him, my choice to sacrifice my day job to focus on his development and he does not owe me anything.
But when it comes to our parents - the generation that are now in their late 50s, 60s and 70s - they constantly tell us that we owe them. And when we are unable to fulfil their expectations we are paid with reminders about how much they did for us and how we are now disappointments.
So I think that’s what terrifies me about being a stay-at-home mum. I don’t ever want to feel resentful or bitter towards my son. I constantly emphasize to people that I am a WRITER; it’s as if it’s an inseparable part of my identity. It’s as if being a mother is not enough, not valued, that I must be something more.
I also feel terribly sad for my mother and mother-in-law. I constantly tell them that they should have something for themselves - whether it is reading, or yoga, taking up a new craft, volunteering, or joining a local group. Maybe I am thinking of such things from a Western point-of-view - those are all the things I picture myself doing when I am in my 60s.
When I make these suggestions, they tell me that they are tired.
I want so much more for my mother and mother-in-law. Life is not over.
And I think that’s why I am obstinately aspirational for myself. I wish women did not stop having aspirations for themselves when they bring children into this world.
What I’ve been writing…
Image credit to The New Arab
For The New Arab I wrote about Qatar’s first women-led mosque, a very exciting development and step forward in a country that used to have a very patriarchal interpretation of the Islamic faith. At Al-Mujadilah, women are at the forefront of the faith, and the centre also has a research hub for female Islamic scholars. Read Al-Mujadilah: Qatar’s first female-led mosque, research and wellbeing centre is a blueprint for Muslim women.
I interviewed wonderful British Libyan journalist Nadeine Asbali about her debut book Veiled Threat for The New Arab. Read Veiled Threat: Visibly British Muslim women are not the threat but the threatened and order her book here.
For TRT World I interviewed UK-based Sudanese rapper Blak-Ram about his music, which he uses as a means of storytelling and educating people on the recent revolution and war in Sudan, as well as the murder of his father by former President Omar Al-Bashir after a failed coup attempt in 1990. Read Rapper Blak-Ram narrates his life story and Sudan’s pain through music.
Also for TRT World, I wrote a fun piece about the current rose harvest season in the mountainous city of Ta’if in western Saudi Arabia. Did you know the world’s most sought after and expensive roses come from there? Read Ta’if, Saudi Arabia’s city of roses, blooms anew.
What I’ve been reading…
I am really enjoying Namesake by British Palestinian writer N. S. Nuseibeh, who is the descendant of Nusaybah Bint Ka’ab Al Khazrajiah. Nusaybah was a female warrior who went to battle and personally defended the Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) in the seventh century, making her a female icon for Muslim women throughout history. In Namesake Nuseibeh talks about what it means to be an Arab woman today, what it was like growing up in occupied Jerusalem, and the pressure of trying to be as strong as her female ancestor in a world plagued by worry and anxiety. I highly recommend this, especially if you enjoyed books such as Alya Mooro’s The Greater Freedom, Sabrina Mahfouz’s These Bodies of Water or Zeba Talkhani’s My Past is a Foreign Country. Order Namesake here.
Support me by reading my book!
Hijab and Red Lipstick is my semi-autobiographical novel about growing up with spiritual abuse under the guardianship system of a GCC country. Published by Hashtag Press in 2020, it was longlisted for The Diverse Book Awards in 2021 and featured several times on BBC Radio 4 and 5, Vogue Arabia, Elle UK and Harper’s Bazaar UK. By ordering and reading my book, you keep it in print and it’s a rare insider’s glimpse into what life was like as an Arab woman growing up in what was an extremely patriarchal society. My book can be ordered worldwide here.