1. “Are you related to the general?!”
It was in December 2010 that I’ve summoned up my courage and took a plane to a country only slightly more to the right from my beautiful (pre-revolutionised) homeland, but nevertheless so controversial. A couple of months before that, I was joking around with my mother about studying in Israel, and somehow it actually turned into a serious idea: “An Egyptian girl coming to Israel, they would totally hate that.” From that moment on my obsessive self took over, which basically meant that there was no way back any more: I had to do it, or die trying.
Since I wouldn’t dare to go to Israel for 6 months while not having a single idea of what would be out there for me, I decided to make a small visit first, at least to see what I was up against. The result was a turbulent first visit, of which I wanted to share with you the 3 most defining moments.
Chapter 1. “Are you related to the general?”
All was said and done, and with a freshly purchased Lonely Planet, time for departure soon came around. Before I knew it, I found myself ready for boarding. My mental condition: 99% scared to the bone, luckily leaving 1% left with complete, obsessive determination; enough to be ready to face whatever may come. Upon arrival I knew that my first and foremost challenge was getting through passport control, so I decided to stand in line with the kindest looking guy out there, hoping it would matter. By the time it was my turn, I took a breath and gave him my passport along with my brightest smile. A long silence followed, and then this:
“Iman?”
— Yes, hi!
“Iman Tantawy.. you’re Egyptian?”
— *nods, smiles*
“Iman, you are related to the general Tantawi, yes?”
And there it was: the very first time someone struck me with that question, less than 30 minutes after I’ve set foot onto the Holy ground. Did I consider the scenario of Israeli’s asking me this question? Yes. Did I consider the scenario that the typical random 21-year-old Israeli border police knew who general Tantawi was? No! Wasn’t this guy like, an egg in his mothers ovary during the Arab-Israeli wars? I was taken a bit off guard, but managed to casually blur out something like:
- No, yes, well you know..far I guess! It’s not that I know him on a personal level or something
“I see.. So Iman, what is the purpose of your visit to Israel?”
— Well, basically I’m planning to study here so I came to check out the university
*long silence, aggressive keyboard ticking*
“Iman, what is the name of your father, mother, grandpa, great great great grandpa, your cat?”
Ok, so he obviously didn’t ask me the last question, but this went on for a while, starting every question with my name, until he told me to wait next to his cube for someone to come pick me up. Until now, I still don’t understand why he did that, since the place where I had to be brought to was only 5 meters ahead. I could have easily walked up there myself, but since no one cared to tell me that, I was stuck next to the guy’s cube for an hour (no Egyptian exaggeration here), until someone came up to me and led me to the actual waiting room. Believe me when I say that throughout my whole life, I’ve never been put in a more humiliating position then next to that guy’s cube. People from all lines were staring at me, and with every person passing me by, I was faced with the harsh fact that unlike me, they were all granted immediate access to the Holy Land. It was beyond horrible, so you can imagine my relief when I finally got to the waiting room and found my fellow partners in crime, all waiting for their quality time with the national security guys.
From this moment on, the actual waiting and investigating began. I learned that “good cop bad cop” was not just an expression. It is an actual psychological tactic used for interrogation (hey, it’s not that I had a criminal record to have been able to find this out before). I didn’t have anything to hide, but being treated rather hostile was new for me and therefore pretty nerve wrecking. For the first time in my life, I was treated according to my ethnicity, and not even my European passport had a say in it. It was at that moment that I realised I left behind the safe haven of that little country in Europe I call home, and traded it for a country that has some serious issues with my people and religion.
I like to think that I held out pretty well through the 4 hours of waiting and being questioned, but by the time I finally got my passport back I knew I was close to breaking point. Nevertheless, I thought I made it. This was it, finally! I rushed off to the luggage belt and started looking for my distinctive pink suitcase… but not a single pink suitcase was found.
To be continued.
Like this:
Like Loading…
Originally published at mylevant.wordpress.com on December 7, 2014.
