As an independent writer, she worked as an editor in a number of Alexandria websites, and her novel Rathways of Gods won the Prize
My Name Is a Gift 2
After Safiya's death, she decides to send us to Assiut, where her mother was born, with a long memory gone. Safiya's death was frightening for me. Do I cry for her or fear of dying?
I heard that Jesus had many houses up there, but when I looked there I couldn't look at something that looked blue as usual. Did he hide houses inside? Is Safiya watching me now? Did I tell him about her things that I hid so that she wouldn't find them and become more beautiful than me?
After they put Safiya in a far away place they did not allow me to see his reputation called a cemetery I tried to imagine what it looked like. I heard that the mother cried a lot and almost brought her home after she insisted on staying with Safiya so that she would not be alone, and Safiya was afraid of the dark.
I do not fear the darkness, I love it. I could play my game of hiding through it while she trembled in the dark. She screams out every time the lights go out, thinking she has lost her eyesight and will never see again. And when I pissed her off, she smashed her head in my shoulder and held on to me with both hands, shielding me when that angry beast would eat the little ones at night, unseen. You believed me. She gave me a hug, and she's gone, and she's not coming back.
My father was ahead of us as we were walking for the first time into that vast house in the middle of a lot bigger farmland than we had in our own house. It was a morning with almost a mother on it, barely a mother on the ground, as we walked with our heads down, following my father.
The sun was hitting the house plate with four giant Windows that attracted me, and if I faked anger, A rushing maid supported Sabah in carrying the mother and taking her to her room while I stood looking at everything from behind me.
That evening I offered balm and with her another lady, whom I did not see much, and they went up to see the mother, and they stayed a lot trying to comfort her, but she could hardly speak
. My father sits alone, silent and afraid.
Before he was a man who was not afraid of anything. When he entered the house, silence replaced the voice Everyone calmed down, fearing that he would get angry, and now he sits alone talking to an unknown person?! I was afraid of her. I loved her and
I knew a strange fear without a prior experience. An unknown has opened up inside me ever since.
One night, I woke up after a nap to strange voices I had never heard before, and came out stunned like everyone else.
The peasants stood around and watched in amazement as the girl cried out amid the sound of an angry man who frightened them, while no one intervened to do anything. She got scared and was relieved when she drew a smile on her face again. Sabah asked about these strangers from outside the village.
She told me it was his diagnostics making people laugh in funny tales and walking around from place to place. She raised her shoulders, lowered them, and went back to work as if nothing had happened, but I had stopped my heart and returned.
How does it mean being another, imitating her voice, walking her story? How do they do that? Who are they? Don to listen to their story from the beginning?
The traveling band came back to tell her story again, and this time he was in the heart of town, and I had to say anything until she accompanied me in the morning, after being promised to see them again. I was just as surprised as I was by people who weren't allowed to see people doing this in Cairo.
I said if she didn't take me, I wouldn't talk to her until I went to class. She stumbled before me and said, If my master knew, I told her, no one would know. Sabah was allowed to leave the house a few times, and she knew that there were relatives of her living in a small village near us.
I saw a man and three women dressed in men's clothes, too, I knew they were women, but they were talking like men. I wondered how people would believe them when they were liars, they would laugh when the old man beat up a woman in a man's dress and scolded her like a mother does to me.
I don't feel time, I don't know anyone around me who has a third eye behind her head, sees and hears everything, everything the adults refuse to tell their children.
Siza, where's Siza? I heard my father angry. I was not used to his anger before. He held papers in his hands silently. How did he find them? It was her mother's scattered papers that she had stolen from her room at night.
What do you have in store for? Morning, head-down, trembling as our people watched us pale. I tried to speak his eyes of the deed. I didn't understand why it got so angry, but it was a paper I couldn't read, and it translated some of Josephine's possessions, and I forgot about them, even neglecting to hide them.