American Muslim/Egyptian American Identity
Hebah Ahmed
It is very difficult growing up as the child of immigrants, but it is undoubtedly even more difficult being an immigrant- leaving your home, your family and loved ones behind, for the sole purpose of finding a better opportunity elsewhere. I once read a quote saying, “I will never forgive this country [Egypt] for forcing me to say so many goodbye’s due to its unpromising future.” This quote resonates with my father and so many others, who had to leave their beloved countries behind just because they could not imagine a future living there. My dad immigrated to the United States in 1985, he came with the hopes of finding any job he could take. He had his bachelor's degree in engineering from attending university in Alexandria, Egypt. When he came to the States, he took any job that came his way. He worked as a chef by day (even though the only decent thing he knows how to cook is eggs), and he worked as a taxi driver by night. He slept at the local mosque but they told him he could only stay there for 3 days and then he would have to sleep elsewhere. He often crashed at Egyptian friend’s houses until he finally applied to work for an engineering firm. For his interview, he was told to come in and bring with him his resume. My father did not know what a resume was so he bought all of his textbooks from Egypt. Upon seeing this, the interviewers laughed at him and continued to ask him questions about engineering (if we have this problem with the company- how would you fix it? etc.). My dad ended up getting the job and working his first “real” job. This engineering firm then told my dad they would pay for his masters degree at a CUNY if he maintained a B-average, all he had to do was pay for his books. My dad followed through and got his masters and then left the engineering firm after being offered an even better job with a much higher salary at Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. My dad still works at Port Authority to this day, and is currently the Senior Project Manager of their Chief Operating Offices. All of his hardships got him to where he is today and eventually got me to where I am today.
Growing up in my neighborhood, I felt like an outsider. I went to elementary and middle school with a majority white population. Although I was always told to fill out “white” on applications for my ethnicity, I never felt white, I never felt like I had white privilege. It caused me to try to assimilate and conform to my society. I never thought about wearing the hijab at a young age, and I did not really care to learn a lot about my religion. I just knew the basics: we didn’t celebrate Christmas or Hannukah, we prayed 5 times a day, we fasted Ramadan, etc. Then, my parents started enrolling my siblings and I in an Islamic Sunday School and signed us up for Quran and Arabic tutoring with a woman from our masjid. Through that tutoring, I had memorized a lot of Quran and learned reading and writing in Arabic that I otherwise had barely known before. The woman who taught me had three daughters who ended up becoming my best friends. They taught me so much about my religion and culture and helped me appreciate my Egyptian-American, Muslim-American identity. It was through their influence that I started wearing the hijab and coming to terms with being unapologetically myself. It was through my parents struggles and hardships that I started appreciating everything they had gone through to bring me and my siblings to where we are today. And it is through that that I will continue to be unapologetically myself and encourage others to do the same. In the podcast, my father talks about his experience post-9/11. He talks about how he felt victimized twice over. The first time because the tower he worked in was targeted and brought down. The second time because even though his workplace was targeted, he was still questioned by the FBI following 9/11 simply because he was Muslim. Advice my father always gives my siblings and I is: “be proud of your identity as a Muslim and as an American. No one can ever take your rights away from you as a citizen of this country.” His advice reminds me of when leaving Egypt this past summer.
As we were saying our final goodbyes, my uncle left me with, “Hebah. You can not be an Egyptian and fight for basic human rights. You have to pick one or the other. They contradict each other,” [in Arabic]. He was referring to my political activism and Egypt’s turmoil. My uncle was basically telling me, Egypt right now can’t even afford its citizens their rights under its current rule, therefore I could not associate myself as being an Egyptian. How was I going to fight for the rights of others if my own country of origin could not give its own citizens their basic rights? I remember having conversations with my cousin, Bassem, over the summer about his urgent desire to leave Egypt. He’s 24 and he told me he refuses to think about marriage, and anything else for that matter, until he attains his phD and “gets the hell out of this country.” He, like many others in his shoes, do not see a future for themselves in Egypt and are trying their hardest to get out. Which brings me back to this quote, “I will never forgive this country [Egypt] for forcing me to say so many goodbye’s due to its unpromising future.”
I am sure many of my friends and family feel the same way as this girl does. They love Egypt, its people, its land, their memories, their families, their home- but they will never forgive her for their forced farewells.
 |
| Library of Alexandria in Egypt with my dad and brother Picture taken by my mom |
 |
| Selfie with some of my cousins in Egypt this summer Alexandria, Egypt |
 |
| Last family selfie with some of my cousins before leaving Egypt this summer. Taken in my apartment in Gleem, Alexandria |
Post a Comment