A safer place

By Fayza Hassan
Last summer, during our visit to Florida, the girls decided to go see a girly movie in Sarasota. My daughter parked her son at his friends' house and the four of us drove off. As we cued for tickets in front of the cinema I spotted a bookstore across the street. From afar, the window seemed filled with interesting books that I was sure I needed badly. The line must have moved forward as I stood there gazing wistfully at this Ali Baba's cave. "Mother," said my younger daughter, "before we buy the tickets, why don't you just tell us that you would much rather spend a couple of hours in there than watch a film you already know you will hate?" I must confess that I was tempted. On the other hand, I was scared to go my own way. What if something happened in the cinema -- a fire, a bomb, any one of the many things I feel we have to constantly guard against? They insisted, however, and, feeling quite guilty, I crossed the street and let them go into the theatre on their own.
This was one of the best bookstores I had visited in America, because besides the usual best-sellers and popular do-it- yourself series, it had a whole floor of out-of-print works I had been unable to find for years. I spent a beautiful half hour, marred only by a feeling of unease at the thought that I had selfishly abandoned my daughters without even reminding them that they should choose seats on an aisle and near an exit. I kept reminding myself that I was claustrophobic and prone to irrational anxiety attacks, but I was nevertheless immensely relieved when I saw my little family coming out of the theatre. The movie had been too girly even for them, they said.
"What was that about not letting us go in alone?" asked my older daughter as we climbed into the car. "Mum is like that," said her sister, who lives with me and is on the receiving end of my constant fretfulness. "She sees terrorists and arsonists at every street corner, raving maniacs in every car, deadly viruses hiding in a common cold. She just worries all the time."
She was quite right. Where people find peace and quiet, I always expect the sky to collapse suddenly. "Well," I said defensively, "I haven't always had an easy life. Remember, in Australia little children were being kidnapped right, left and centre, and I had to watch over you like a hawk. In England there were all the bomb scares. In Egypt, when we first arrived, we had the bread riots, and later when the security forces revolted, they shot at each other behind our house. The world is fraught with danger, you are just young and don't realise what it is really like." I had to stop before telling them that I, too, in my young days... I was really sounding too much like someone's mother.
My older daughter shook her head in disbelief. "Mum, this is America. It's the safest country in the world. Nothing ever happens here. We have a strong government and the best police, excellent doctors... We're perfectly safe. If you are so scared, why don't you pack up your cats and come live here? We can find you a nice little house with a yard for your menagerie and a good car and you will never have to be afraid again."
In all honesty, I had been contemplating the move for some time. It was tempting. If only we could find a practical way of moving all the cats, it could be wonderful to be together, to see my daughter and grandchildren whenever I felt like it. Soon I would be too old for these yearly trips and besides, my fear of flying was not improving. "Why not?" I said. "Give me some time, I promise I will consider it after your sister has finished her PhD."
"What do you think?" I asked my younger daughter when we were alone. "Would you like to live in Florida?" She was noncommittal. "I told a friend of mine in Cairo that you were considering moving to Florida in the future. He begged me not to let you. He said you would die of boredom. You love Cairo and the fact that we are always in the middle of things; besides," she added wisely, "there is no such a thing as a safe place in the world. You can be electrocuted by your kettle."
Back in Cairo, I did some serious thinking. I felt there was something unreal in the American way of life, some terrible tension in search of an outlet. It is obvious in their relentless fascination with their leaders' sexual indiscretions -- as if chastity could guarantee good governance; in the way they trumpet family values while divorce rates skyrocket; in the prevalence of obesity in a country where good nutrition is available from the cradle on; in the intolerance for tobacco, while alcohol and guns are celebrated as part of the American way of life; above all, in the biased, racist belief that America is always right and the rest of the world is wrong. Too many things I didn't like, I decided.
After the World Trade Center attack and the anthrax debacle, I took to calling my daughter more frequently. Last time I spoke to her she said: "I am not sure I can take it much longer. Is Australia a safer place?" I really didn't know -- but she was welcome here any time, I said.
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