In laws Part I

Every married woman has an issue with their MIL. Some of the lucky ones do not and live happily but separately from their MIL. Others, lived together, and survived. Some others, lived separately, yet, still do face problems occasionally when they meet.

I do not like to think of myself as having problems with MIL. After all, she blessed my marriage to her son, supported him and accepted me with open wide arms and kisses on my cheeks right and then left several times arab-style. In fact, i will add on. She is a great cook, a loving mother who made many sacrifices for her children, including being their protector when her husband had to leave the country to be able to feed them. She protects them fiercely, and now in turn, they protects and love her back the same way. Being accepted almost immediately by their family is something that I am thankful for, but not used to. What happens then is that it gives them the liberty or the right to critisize your shortcomings. Friends do that to each other, families do that to each other, with good intentions. But when in-laws do it, it's suddenly different. Immediately, I put on my bullet-proof vest to prevent myself from getting hurt from the well-meaning but sometimes naive comments.

Though they know other people other than Arabs exists, they still could not understand why I am different and how come I became muslim when I cannot speak arabic at all. At this point, I'm so thankful that I managed to get myself a crash course before marriage to learn to read the arabic letters as my defense. The funny thing is, I feel that I have to defend not only for myself, but rather for my people, or for people from all over the world for that matter, who are muslims but cannot speak the language. It was merely curiousity on their side but it was just too much too soon.

MIL tried all ways to communicate with me, including speaking in arabic S-L-O-W-L-Y. Little does she know that it was not helping. Though my SIL and BIL are university graduates and studied English as a language, they still could not speak it well.

Still, I could just sneak my way out of the conversations and keep to myself contented with the servings of koftah and salata and a very loving husband (alhamdulillah).

If it was already difficult in Germany to associate things with, Egypt is maybe 100 times harder than that. It's funny that Allah gives me these shocks in doses! I remember a day before our wedding in Egypt. I have given up on wearing make-up and did not bring along any of mine on my first trip to Egypt. I have a valid reason for that. I happened to be a professional performing artiste before and make-up is essential for my livelihood! Many known make-up artistes have worked on my face for shows and performances. Leaving my fate (or face) to the hands of unprofessional by-the-street-salon cosmeticians is traumatic. So I asked my husband to bring me to the shopping mall so that I can get Body Shop make-up as back up. He of course have no idea what that is and I, on the other hand, have no idea that Body Shop did not exist there. Forget Estee Lauder, Elizabeth Arden, etc etc. There is None. He asked his sister to bring me to look for some, and she keep bringing me in and out of many different shops which only left me feeling exhausted and frustrated. I could have warned her that by the look of the exterior, that shop I'm about to enter, does not have what I want, but the language barrier did not help much. This may sound like ramblings of a spoilt city girl to you, but actually I'm trying to draw a picture of how life has take a different turn for me in a third world country. It did not stop there. To my annoyance, the cosmetician is a male, thus became the first male I exposed my hair to since I put on the hejab. Husband was not there as he had to make his own preparation. I was so helpless and could not communicate my sentiments. I cried silently and painfully as they began to 'cleanse' my face with a white thread by running it tightly over my soft asian skin. Needless to say, my skin bled and pimples errupted from the harsh facial treatment. When I finally got a break, I begged my sister in law to let me speak to my husband and she brought me to an old provision shop, paid some money, and then dialled my husband's number. By then, I told him I needed panadol as I already started feeling some menstrual cramps and asked him to inform his sister of my need. Of course, she has a tendency to not listen to instructions carefully (thus the male cosmetician) and bought me something else. When I give instructions, I expect it to be as exact as my request with of course the knowledge that I'm allergic to a couple of medicinal drugs!!!

Can I ever get things done here? Or can I ever be comfortable here? I really begin to wonder.