Into The Arms Of Love

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fauzika opened the flap of the tent carefully, pausing to take one last look at the face of her dear brother.
She didn't know how long it would be before she set eyes on him again. Perhaps she never would. She prayed
he wouldn't be punished for what she was about to do, but she must make her escape before it was too late.

Fauzika's father, Ibrahim, had died recently, and she had returned to her homeland, from university in Canada,
to attend his funeral. He had been a kind, gentle soul who had protected his only daughter from the cruel rituals
of his religion, by sending her away. He hoped that after her medical training she would remain in the states
as a doctor and be safe from harm.

In Egypt, a girl of her age was required to be ritualistically circumcised and married off to a suitable candidate.
They saw this cruel practise as a rite of passage to womanhood, or a necessary ritual,
to unite a clan or ethnic group, but the real truth was that it's purpose was to subjugate women
and to control their sexuality. Ibrahim saw it as pure mutilation, and refused to comply with the rules
of the church, protecting his daughter until she could safely flee from their homeland.

She lived with relatives while going to school and met many wonderful friends. She even fell in love
for a time, but they were young, and it didn't work out in the end. She looked forward to the day when
she would fall in love and marry. In Canada she would be free to marry for all the right reasons,
the most important being love. Thanks to her father's love and kindness she would be able to
enjoy the full pleasures of being a complete woman.

All that was about to change if Fauzika didn't hurry. The wind had picked up since the family retired
for the night. Her younger brother had been sent to her tent to sleep at her feet, and guard against her flight.
Her Uncle Syra had been put in charge of raising them now, her mother having succumbed to a
terrible fever only a year before, and passing quietly in her sleep one night.

Fauzika's uncle had taken charge of her fate the moment she stepped off the plane, several days ago.
He informed her that she would remain in the homeland, to take her place as an obedient, submissive, Egyptian woman.
A suitable husband had been selected, and she would be married to him the week after her father's funeral,
as soon as she was readied for her groom. Being readied was tantamount to being murdered as far
as she was concerned, for she would rather die than lose all pleasure in being a woman.

As Fauzika stood there her heart was torn. If she fled she would lose her only living family member,
but if she stayed she would lose herself. She stood for a moment, then blew a kiss from the palm of her hand,
and disappeared behind the flap. The wind whipped sand in her face and eyes as she tightened
the hood of her long flowing robe around her, and turned her head away from the wind. The sand was everywhere.
It seemed to fly at her flesh from every direction, making her skin raw, but she must not stop.
Stopping meant death to her. A kind of living death that one could never escape.

She made her way quickly towards the small herd of camels, carrying a small carpetbag full of necessary items,
and a few small, but precious belongings to remember her father by. She had wrapped several pictures
in plastic, and her father's prized gold pocket watch in a delicate handkerchief her mother had given her.
She didn't want it for it's worth in money, only it's worth in sentiment. The watch had belonged
to her grandfather who was a wealthy oil magnate.

Fauzika's father had sat her on his knee as a little girl, and taught her what the numbers meant.
He taught her how to tell time, and drilled her with math problems, using the numbers
on the face of the watch to add and subtract. She was somehow comforted by the gentle tick-tick-tick
of the watch as she fell asleep, with her head resting against her father's chest, after a bad dream.
She must take it with her.

She also carried a tiny, linen sack, smaller than the palm of her hand, that had been kept in her
father's pocket, next to the gold timepiece. It contained a lock of her beloved mother's hair.
He had clipped it from her beautiful chestnut tresses at her death, and kept it next to his heart.
It should have been buried with him, but now it was in Fauzika's care. She clutched the carpetbag
to her body as she unfastened the tie holding one of her father's camels, and silently slipped
off into the desert night. She must move quickly, but it was difficult to know where one was going
with all this sand whipping around. She headed off along the edge of the oasis and hoped she could find her way.

Fauzika walked for nearly an hour before the wind finally began to calm a little. She was tired
and thirsty, but she knew she mustn't stop. The wind danced and whirled the sand up in a gentler current now,
and she soon began to get an occassional glimpse of the stars. She stopped briefly to fill the goat-skin
water bag she carried with cool fresh water from the oasis, scooping handfuls up to her mouth and drinking deeply.
Her camel drank his fill, and shook his head from side to side rapidly, making funny noises and slobbering profusely.
What a filthy animal he was, but he was perfect for desert travel.

Now that the wind had died down, and the dust and sand settled, the sky suddenly began to reveal a million stars.
"I had forgotten how beautiful the desert sky is at night," she whispered to noone,
looking up at the heavenly expanse. She was awed by the sudden clarity of the whole universe.
She was also aware that her time was running out. She must make it to the airport in time
for her flight back to the states. Her return ticket had been purchased before her arrival
and she told noone of her plans to return. The flight was early this morning, and she had to make it,
or be doomed to a life she didn't want.

She reached the fringes of the city, just as the dawn was awakening the sky with shimmering colours
of orange and red. A beautiful day seemed ahead and she felt confident that her goal was in sight.
The camel ambled on lazily, with her light frame bouncing between it's hairy humps. She opened the
gold pocket watch carefully and checked the time. One hour and a half until her flight.
She was close now. Moments from the airport. The camel slowed, distracted by the open marketplace
along the street, leading to the airport terminal.

Fauzika grew impatient with him, and dug her heels into his sides. He protested and grunted angrily at her.
She decided not to press her luck and slid down off his back, landing heavily on the cobblestone sidewalk.
"Ooomph, you nasty beast," she snarled at him. He turned his head to growl at her, but she was gone.

Her feet fairly floated across the cobblestones, as she ran to catch her plane. She would have
plenty of time to register, freshen up and collect her thoughts before her flight departed.
She couldn't leave this place fast enough.

She had just rounded the final corner and headed down the street when Fauzika stopped in her tracks.
She stepped back alongside a giant, quartzose sandstone bas-relief depicting the rule of Tutankhamun.
There standing among the people hurrying into and out of the airport doors, was her Uncle Syra
and several of his servants. He seemed to be shouting orders, directing them to search the building.

Fauzika felt a terrible pain grip her chest. She clutched her breast over her heart, and began to sway
in the heat, almost losing her balance. A young man in long robes stepped up behind her and asked in a low tone,
"Are you alright Miss?" Fauzika turned to answer and everything went black. She felt herself falling, but felt no more.

When she awoke, the stranger was daubing her forehead with a cool, wet handkerchief.
His canteen lay on the bench next to him and Fauzika sat slumped against his chest. He wore the robes
of a monestary monk, so she didn't feel threatened, but she was still anxious to move away from him.
He pushed the hood back off his head and smiled at her. His youthful face was handsome and tanned.
He didn't look like your average holy man.

"Hi, I'm Ben," he said in a friendly tone.

Fauzika blushed slightly and barely whispered her name. She forced a smile and thanked him for his kindness,
giving a worried look towards the monument at the corner. Ben studied her face for a moment,
then addressed her again. "May I ask what scared you so badly?" he said in a gentle tone.
Fauzika hestitated for a moment, then blurted out something about her Uncle trying to kidnap her,
and keep her here against her will. She said he was planning to force her into marriage and
a life of misery and that she must get away. Her plane would be leaving within the hour,
but he was guarding the entrance, so it was impossible for her to get to her plane and
she would rather die than return.

Ben sat there stunned for a second. He was shocked by what he heard. Did modern Egyptians
really still practice these barbaric rituals? Suddenly he remembered what he had heard on the news recently.

"How old are you," he asked softly.

"Seventeen," she said, lowering her frightened eyes.

Ben understood now why she was so filled with fear.
"We're going to get you on that plane," he said with determination in his voice.

"B-b-but how?" she said, not believing it was possible.

Ben stood and removed his robe. Fauzika gasped to see a Nike tee-shirt, jeans, and jogging shoes underneath.
"Now take off yours, he said firmly. She stood and slowly slipped the robe from her shoulders.
Ben smiled and admired her form. She was definitely beautiful, and the curve of her body nearly took his breath away.
She looked up into his eyes and saw a gentleness there that suddenly made her relax. She didn't know how,
but somehow she knew this stranger could help her.

He motioned for her to turn around, and he slipped his robe up her arms and onto her shoulders,
squeezing them a little. Then he raised the hood and placed his hand gently on the top of her head,
causing her to lower it. "Yeah, that should work," he said in a confident tone, picking up her robe
and quickly putting it on.

"What should work," said Fauzika?

"Can you shuffle for me?" he asked.

"Shuffle?"

"You know, shuffle your feet... like an old man," he asked with a bit of a chuckle in his voice.

"Ummm, I guess so," she said and shuffled her feet for a few steps.