The blood of stones

1

Khadija tore through the silence with a scream worse than the previous ones:

"Aaaahhh! In the name of Allah," she cried, "I beg you, set me free."

Abou Hamza jumped to his feet, his eyes fixed on the door of the master bedroom. He had never imagined his wife's gentle and calm voice capable of such a cry. Then, silence again. Another lull. Nervous and impatient, he turned once more to the air conditioner and flicked the switch several times, hoping to rouse it from its slumber. Nothing. The device remained stubbornly silent.

Half of Cairo was suffering from a power outage. On sweltering days, Cairo's residents forget about the exorbitant cost of electricity, eagerly cranking their air conditioners to full blast for comfort. But over time, the demand for energy due to the proliferation of small appliances had become too much. Today, the thermometer read 42 degrees Celsius"a scorching heat. To avoid a major blackout across the country like the one they had experienced before, the national

electricity company had deemed it wiser to proceed with sectoral outages. During these times, the apartment where the young couple had settled after their marriage turned into a furnace during the long power cuts.

Large droplets of sweat trickled down Abou Hamza’s forehead. His shirt was soaked around the neck and under the armpits. His anxiety didn’t help the situation. The baby was due the following Tuesday, but suddenly, during breakfast, the membranes had ruptured. He approached the bedroom door; on the other side, Khadija was panting. He heard the midwives encouraging his wife, who had been laboring since 3 PM, to give birth to their first child. For the hundredth time, he checked his watch: 6:30 PM. Another scream made him step back in shock. On the other side of the wall, he heard the midwives urging the exhausted young woman to push, push, until they too let out cries of contentment and satisfaction. Behind the partition, the voices became joyful and admiring. He heard the slap of a newborn's bottom, and immediately after, the cry he had been hoping to hear"the baby's. His stress eased slightly. He wasn’t one to look up to the sky and sigh for a favor, but this time he couldn’t resist: "Grant me a son."

Long minutes of waiting followed. He paced the living room until finally, the door opened.

Beaming, a midwife held a well-swaddled newborn and said to him:

"Congratulations, you have a son."

The lights came back on, the air conditioner resumed its hum, but no one paid any attention.

Smiling, he took the child in his arms, forgetting to thank the heavens. He tenderly kissed the baby’s forehead and looked up at Khadija, drenched in sweat, pale, and exhausted, who was discovering the pride of the new father: he smiled at her.

"Is she okay?" he asked, seeing his wife visibly weakened.

"Yes, replied the midwife, she needs rest, but she’ll be fine."

Khadija looked at Abou Hamza, waiting for him to perform the act that every father in a Muslim country must do at the birth of his child to invoke the blessing of the Supreme Being. They had discussed it before their marriage and during the pregnancy. At university, Abou Hamza had been interested in philosophy, in the existence of Allah, of Al-Khalid (the Creator). Like most children in Egypt, he had grown up with the principles of Islam. But the student, with a Cartesian mind, sharp and curious, saw himself as a thinker, not a passive sponge. He had questioned the God of

Muhammad (Islam), but also the God of Abraham (Judaism) and Jesus Christ (Christianity). He rejected the idea of a paternalistic, benevolent God who listens and guides each of us. He had come to believe that God manifested in the harmonious order of existence. He admired the beauty and logic of the universe. For Abou Hamza, God, Allah, or Yahweh revealed themselves through creation; there was no need to engage in elaborate rituals in places of worship to thank God for His blessings"a moment of reflection was enough to elevate his spirit towards Al-Aziz (the Almighty). However, he considered the national religion an integral part of Egyptian culture. He knew and respected Khadija's attachment to Islamic faith, and he saw no problem with his children, guided by their mother, having a religious identity connected to the community. He turned towards Mecca, gently lifted his son, and recited the Shahada, the Muslim creed:

"I testify for you that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is His messenger."

Khadija smiled, happy and content.

 

After kissing and thanking his wife, Abou Hamza hurried to share the joyous news with his parents, and family members rushed in, their lips overflowing with good wishes and their hands laden with gifts. Superstitious like her elders, believing it would prevent the child from being noticed by evil spirits, Khadija asked that they wait seven days before admiring the baby.

 

At the end of the evening, when the guests had finally left the house, the mother recited the Adhān, the call to prayer, and the Iqāmah, a second profession of faith, for her son. She considered her marriage blessed by the Supreme Being who had granted them a son as their firstborn. She gave thanks and vowed internally to raise her son in His glory. Weary, she struggled to stay awake. She brought the newborn’s fragile little head to her breasts, which were

full of milk, and pressed them again. Drops beaded at the tips of her pink nipples, which she let drip onto her son’s pinched mouth. He immediately began to suckle. After a few minutes, Khadija, despite herself, fell into a deep sleep.

A week later, during the ‘aqīqah, the feast to celebrate the newborn to which family and friends were invited, Abou Hamza revealed the name of his son: Faysal.

Years passed, and the couple had two more children"a daughter, Kahina, and a second son, Omar. And as a midwife had predicted on the day of Faysal's birth, each delivery proved as painful as the first:

"It will always be difficult for her; she has a narrow pelvis."

 

Egyptian society is a patriarchal community. Behavioral norms are closely tied to a man's honor; the woman has none. Yet, this honor primarily depends on the moral conduct of the women in the family, and they all feel enormous social pressure because of it. The father is the shepherd within the Egyptian family; it is his duty to protect it, provide for its needs, and be a good example. Just as in business, Abou Hamza led, imposed his tastes and habits, and the wife knew how to step back to avoid harming their shared life. As in the ummah (the community of believers), paternal

authority, considered sacred, predominated in the family. Keen to assert it, he maintained a certain distance between himself and his offspring, and his deep, resonant voice heightened the 11The blood of stones fear and reverence they had for him. The rare occasions of family dinners offered the father a chance to discuss with his children what they had recently learned at school. He always emphasized the same point: that developing critical thinking was more important than rote memorization. Like all parents, Abou Hamza and Khadija desired their children's happiness, but,

reflecting their society, communication was limited. Rarely were topics other than the importance of education discussed. Their understanding of their children's happiness was limited to academic success, so that one day, like their father, they could hold a desirable position in society.

 

Khadija's role, as her mother had taught her, was limited to that of wife and mother. She had full responsibility for her home; she was the "lioness" of the household. It was her duty to ensure that a pleasant and peaceful atmosphere prevailed, necessary for a healthy and happy family life. Khadija fully embraced her role and did her best to fill the daily void left by her husband, often occupied by work. Like many mothers before her, her children were her life; every moment of her time was devoted to them, and every action was imbued with tenderness. She intended to raise her children, selfish and individualistic as all children are, to be respectful of others and to have good self-esteem so they could live in harmony with Allah and society. As children, Faysal, Kahina, and Omar lived in the world of women. At the table, they were served with the women, after the men. They learned about shame, a feeling related to politeness, to not speak in their father's presence and, above all, not to challenge him by looking him in the eyes. At home as well as outside, mother and daughter always wore the jilbab. When they left the house, they added the hijab, but never the niqab. Khadija explained to her daughter:

 

"For feminists, the hijab represents a symbol of confinement, whereas the Muslim woman views it as a sign of dignity and modesty. As for those who cover their faces with the niqab, they do so out of respect for an ancestral tradition, not as a sign of oppression or humiliation of an inferior condition, as Westerners claim. They believe that covering the female body is not an oppression, but a woman's right to discretion and the private nature of her body, which should not be displayed in public."

​

Faysal and Omar, on the other hand, wore impeccably white djellabas and an Islamic chachia (a knitted cap) as headwear. For devout believers, daily activities are seamlessly integrated into their liturgical life in a continuous continuum. Clothing must necessarily facilitate the performance of prayer, one of the five pillars of their religion and the true backbone of their daily life. This transition from activities to prayer occurs five times a day; both mental and physical, it involves the mind and a succession of movements from the standing position to a complete prostration with the forehead on the ground. Western, fitted, and rigid clothing hinders the movements and positions required for Quranic prayer. Moreover, it emphasizes the contours of the body. Muslim attire is more modest and covers the body's shape, relegating it to the realm of things that should only be revealed in private.

 

At the end of his brilliant legal studies in Cairo, Abou Hamza, the son of a commercial director at the Cairo International Mercantile Bank and a man with grand dreams, left his hometown to study in England at the prestigious London Business School. There, he had no trouble adapting to the more liberal Western lifestyle. His time in London and his new friendships introduced him to a circle of students from wealthy families. His interactions with French, American, and Canadian students, among others, allowed him to establish connections that would prove beneficial for his career. He also encountered wealthy English and Saudi millionaires’ sons, whom he noted for their particular elegance. Through them, he discovered "The Row," Saville Row, the world-famous street in Mayfair, Westminster City, known for its "bespoke" tailors and high-end suits. Proud, he never missed an opportunity to look his best. After some research, Abou Hamza visited several shops and chose H. Huntsman, established in 1849, to be "his" tailor.

During his "British life," as he would refer to it later, Abou Hamza also developed a taste for parties and social soirées. He enjoyed mingling with the young London society, which was quick to sweep away outdated Victorian principles in favor of a cigarette or an intoxicating drink. 

 

Charming, elegant, with a natural tan and endowed with an oriental allure, the student attracted young women, and the future banker reaped the benefits of Western sexual liberalization that had begun decades earlier. The new "dandy" was not looking for a relationship that might emotionally bind him, and his social "successes" did not distract him from the career goals he had set for himself. These conquests were merely a pastime that, away from the scrutiny and rigid principles of Islamic society, allowed Abou Hamza to indulge a long-suppressed primal libido.

 

These three years in England allowed Abou Hamza to gain a deep understanding of international markets. By the end of his studies, thanks to his father's influence, his application was accepted by the Cairo International Mercantile Bank. In May 1982, more than ever driven by the cult of power conferred by wealth, the new banker returned to Cairo with his bags full of new suits and ambitions, ready to embark on a promising career that would one day take an unexpected turn.

 

As soon as he was appointed, Abou Hamza set out to showcase his negotiation skills and aimed to convince his superiors to position the bank as a key institution for foreign companies wishing to establish themselves in Egypt, particularly targeting oil companies. To achieve this, two issues had to be resolved that had previously stumped others. Impetuous by nature, he refused to accept past failures and, after lengthy discussions with Mahmoud Ibn Massoud, the bank’s president, he obtained the mandate to tackle the issue. Abou Hamza knew that his enthusiasm for volunteering for this mission came with an obligation to succeed. To achieve his goal, it was crucial to be seen

in the company of the wealthy and powerful men of the country. Thus, he made it a point to seek out all invitations to social events. Always elegant and a fine conversationalist, he used his talents to charm the crowd. Moving from exhibitions to openings, he mingled with the Egyptian aristocracy, discussing crude oil prices with one person and economic policy with another. His strategy had two main objectives. First, he needed to secure the collaboration of the presidential family, which was involved in all of the country’s economic matters, by increasing their stake in the bank’s ownership. After months of negotiation, in exchange for guarantees on all new economic agreements and motivated by the substantial benefits of such an association, the shareholders agreed to cede part of their shares, making the "presidential clan" the majority shareholder with 37% of the Cairo International Mercantile Bank’s shares.

 

As for the second objective, it is a well-known fact in Egypt that to make ends meet, state employees, who are poorly paid, handle their official duties in the morning and leave the office at lunchtime to drive a taxi until late in the evening. To achieve his goal, Abou Hamza needed to "grease" this bureaucratic and deeply corrupt public sector that had been shaped by cooperation with the Soviets a quarter-century earlier. To expedite the processing of his files, he spent weeks setting up a system of bribes to ensure the cooperation of the officials. When the "system" began to show signs of success, Abou Hamza gained recognition from his superiors as well as from foreign companies that had often declined investment opportunities due to the corrupt and rigid government apparatus. Hence, whenever he appeared in public, people flocked around him, seeking his opinions and advice, while some wives discreetly eyed the popular banker, with some even daring to offer subtle, suggestive smiles.

 

It was during one of these social events that Abou Hamza met Zahra Kamel, a flamboyant 26 year-old television presenter whose popularity had skyrocketed faster than a thermometer exposed to the heart of the Sahara. The alluring host, with her plump lips and curvaceous figure, sported a highly Westernized and audacious look that was too bold for the traditionalist Egyptian aristocracy, whose Europeanization veneer was limited to "good manners." Spidery and ethereal, intoxicated by her sudden fame, Zahra knew that her mere presence invariably raised the

testosterone levels of the male crowd, who, for a fleeting moment of fantasy, gazed at her with lecherous eyes. Zahra found amusement in this and remained unruffled by the envious comments from other women who accused her of having more lovers than there are stones in the Great Pyramid of Giza. In a society where 91% of married women have undergone genital mutilation, one of her harshest accusers made a cutting remark: "Surely, this deviless has never been circumcised. Shouldn't someone take care of that? "

 

Captivated by her beauty, Abou Hamza was solely focused on adding the "star" to his list of conquests. She stirred in him a long-suppressed seductive instinct since his return from London. The sensuality exuding from the young woman provoked in him an insatiable desire that he struggled to conceal when near her. He knew that others before him, married men seeking an affair, had unsuccessfully tried to seduce her. He was determined to succeed where they had

failed. He wanted to be the victor in an unspoken competition, with Zahra as the ultimate trophy. Zahra was on the verge of becoming an obsession; he felt a raw, animalistic passion in her that he wanted to liberate. Thus, he sought out opportunities to be in her company, deploying charm and jewelry, and within weeks, Zahra became his mistress, making them the most talked-about couple. They were too visible for some, especially for a banker. Concerns grew about where this liaison might lead. Would the banker marry a "starlet" who made feminist statements on television? For Abou Hamza, it was all just a game. Blinded by his desire, deaf to the warnings around him, and swept up by the thrill of the chase, he misjudged the evolving mentality of Egyptian high society. While Zahra appeared as a "modern" and "liberated" woman to thousands of her "tele-fans," to the puritanical elements of Islam, she was nothing less than the devil incarnate. Consequently, with Zahra by his side, Abou Hamza became the subject of harsh criticism.

 

One evening, during a charity reception for the grand Cairo Museum, Mahmoud Ibn Massoud, the bank's president, took Abou Hamza aside:

"Your arrival at the bank has been fortuitous; your expertise and determination have allowed us to advance. It is with regret that we might have to part ways."

Surprised, Abou Hamza replied:

"Part ways, sir?"

"Since the election of our new President, the Rais as he likes to be called, Egypt has been opening its doors wide to Westernization. We may have abandoned hieroglyphics centuries ago, but we remain a conservative society, faithful to our values and traditions."

Mahmoud glanced over at Zahra, radiant and surrounded by men:

"It would be very wise to consider the rumors circulating about you."

"Sir?"

"The reputation of a banker relies on expertise, of course, but also on discretion. A rumor that oscillates between trust and frivolity among our wealthy investors""

He turned back to Abou Hamza:

"ultraconservatives, could be detrimental to a man early in his career. Believe me, I understand very well that a man has… needs. I can suggest a more discreet way to satisfy them. Perhaps you’ve already considered taking a wife. In the meantime, to fill your moments of… ‘solitude,’ I can introduce you to people known for their discretion if you wish…"

Mahmoud cast a quick glance at Zahra:

"but by Allah, do not let the prey slip away while you chase the shadow."

 

In the following days, Abou Hamza used work and travel as excuses to distance himself from Zahra, choosing instead to fill his moments of… solitude with women available on call. Weeks passed, and Zahra became a frequent target of conservative newspapers that ridiculed her statements, mocked her attire, and criticized her lifestyle to the point of casting pernicious doubts on her morality. After several weeks of what seemed to be a well-orchestrated campaign, in a country known for its men’s sexual frustrations, rumors spread like wildfire: Had Zahra Kamel really been sexually assaulted? In a Muslim land, virginity and honor are closely linked. "If a woman is raped, it’s because she asked for it," said her detractors. Despite Zahra's denial, nothing changed; she knew she was doomed. Her popularity cooled as quickly as it had ignited. Once the darling of tabloids and magazines, the woman whose photo on the cover attracted countless teenage girls craving freedom, and who had been praised for her modernity, was now, according to Islamic publications, a vulgar woman with loose morals. With her tarnished image, it became impossible to secure credible guests for her television show, and Zahra Kamel vanished from the small screen and quickly sank into obscurity. The old Islamist guard that condemned the presenter’s feminist discourse had succeeded in discrediting her.

 

The meeting Abou Hamza had with his president left no room for ambiguity: to solidify his social status, he needed to take a wife. As tradition dictated, his father, Naïm, took charge of the arrangements. Naïm wisely realized that Karim, another director at the bank, was searching for the perfect match for his daughter Khadija. After all, there was a reason she accompanied her widowed father to social events. For Karim, these gatherings were the ideal opportunity to showcase his daughter and attract a father looking to arrange a marriage. When Naïm suggested that his son and Karim’s daughter would make the ideal couple, Karim felt honored by the proposal. However, Karim was hesitant. He had no doubt about Abou Hamza’s qualities as praised by his father, but the young banker had been the subject of rumors and gossip in recent 17The blood of stones weeks. Karim suggested that Naïm let the waters of the Nile flow for a while and see how thingsdeveloped. Three months passed before the young banker officially became a suitor for the young woman. Khadija had no objections. She knew that Abou Hamza would offer her social status and the security any woman dreams of; moreover, she found him attractive and affable.

 

Besides being very pretty, she was, for Abou Hamza, the impeccable young woman from a refined and educated family whom a man like him could proudly marry. The fathers agreed on the dowry, and the future spouses honored Egyptian tradition by setting a wedding date that coincided with the season of the Nile’s first floods. In ancient times, Hâpy, the god with pendulous breasts and a bulging belly, was revered as the genius of fertility and abundance. Born

from the union of the Blue Nile and the White Nile, the great river that once deposited the black silt from Ethiopia's volcanic plateaus in the midst of the desert, still retains its eternal aura of fertility, to which superstitious souls always associate a couple’s destiny.