Okay, so this is going to be another of those slightly jumbled blog entries written right after something somewhat disturbing has happened, but once again I feel the need to vent/make sense out of things. Okay, deep breath….
The background to this story is that my roommate, Habiba, has been having problems recently with a man who is extremely intent on marrying her (a random man on the street mind you, not one connected to her in any way) following her to and from her classes, demanding her hand, asking for her phone number or her father’s number, etc. I’m not sure how long this has been going on, but she first told me about it two days ago. My immediate response to her was that she should get the police involved. Obviously this was the “American” response, because she countered that she didn’t want to make a big deal about it by getting the authorities involved, and stuff like that is “normal” here (once again with the word “normal.” I’m starting to hate that word. Who cares if it’s normal?!? That didn’t mean that I deserved to be molested or that she deserved to get stalked!!). In any case, I dropped it for the time being.
When I came home today from class she was sitting on the floor, in between praying, with a slightly dazed look on her face. The first thing that I asked her was about the man, and she replied that it happened again today, she told him to get away, etc. We both agreed that it was awful, she didn’t deserve that treatment, and that tomorrow she would get the police involved (although that’s what she promised when we talked about it yesterday…). She couldn’t concentrate at all, couldn’t find any of her things, so finally she decided to just go to sleep. This was at about 3:30 pm.
I noticed that her sleep was pretty fitful, and by 4:45 she was crying out and whimpering. I figured that she was having a nightmare or something, so I tried to wake her up. But no matter how hard I tried nudging her she WOULD NOT wake up. At first I thought she was joking with me. But after a minute, I realized that something was wrong. When she didn’t wake up after I tried splashing water on her face, I started getting really scared. So I ran to get Eman Khader, one of the Egyptians that I’m most friendly with and who seems to understand our American viewpoints the best. Eman and I tried everything: shaking her, talking to her, water, perfume, but nothing worked. We called the other Egyptians on our floor who are in the College of Medicine to help, and they tried the same things, but she just kept convulsing, and tensing her hands and feet, crying out “La! La!” (No! No!) and gasping for air.
At this point I was really scared. I have absolutely no medical training, but once again the Egyptians were reacting as if it wasn’t anything that deserved medical attention. They were talking calmly to her, rubbing her, telling her everything was all right and to just wake up. So I ran to other Americans for help because I knew that they would at least have the same sort of cultural reaction that I would- which was that this was something serious, and that she needed professional help. The first thing that Gigi said when she saw her was that it could be a seizure, which of course frightened me even more. We tried searching on the internet for signs of seizure, but one of the Egyptians quickly refuted that saying that if it were a seizure, she would have spit coming out of her mouth. At this point, there was a crowd of about 6 Egyptians and 3 Americans in addition to myself and Habiba (who was still lying on her bed) in my room.
Our next step was to call the Mushrifa (supervisor), and she and 3 other supervisors came up to the room. But they merely stood in front of Habiba (who still was writhing around on the bed, gasping, and with her eyes closed), said that there was nothing that they could do, and then promptly left!
I was feeling extremely helpless and unsure of what to do at this point, so one of the Americans suggested I call Lizz (one of our program directors). Another Egyptian asserted that that wasn't necessary. So we debated and waited for a few minutes. And then the other Americans and I really couldn't take it anymore so we called Lizz. She told us to call the Mushrifa. We said we HAD done that, and the Mushrifa didn't do anything. Then she told us to call an ambulance. So we did. But then a few of the Egyptians came over saying that Habiba had woken up (at this point I couldn't take it in the room anymore...I was standing out in the hallway with Sarafina, Gigi, and Karen), was conscious, speaking, and said that she didn't want an ambulance, so they canceled it.
Okay, what?!? I refused to believe this. So I went back in the room, and sure enough Habiba was still on the bed, in the same state, with her eyes closed. Maybe she HAD woken up and said that she didn't want an ambulance, but I really don't think that was her decision to make at this point. She obviously was not in a fully conscious state and was SERIOUSLY disturbed both emotionally and physically. While we were talking in the hall, Sarafina suggested that it actually wasn't a seizure but rather a panic attack. But we all concluded that that still deserved medical attention, particularly because of the way that she was thrashing around. So the fact that they canceled the ambulance was unfathomable to us.
Anyway, Eman Khader came running out of the room a few minutes later saying that Habiba had started the fits again. So this time the Egyptians finally agreed to remove her against her will. This was at about 6pm, over an hour after I had first tried to wake her up. They started putting her clothes on her (another cultural difference...if I were medically compromised and in the U.S. I would not care whether I were fully dressed and my hair covered before I was taken to the hospital) and practically carried her out of the room and downstairs. Then we waited for about another half hour while they waited for an ambulance to come to take her the 3 minute drive to the hospital when she just as well could have taken a taxi. Finally, at about 6:30 pm, over an hour and a half after I started trying to wake her up, they got her in an ambulance.
I can't even begin to make sense of my thoughts about this. Sometimes it's just so hard to be caught between two different cultures. On the one hand, I feel slightly guilty for reacting the way that I did. She didn't want to go to the hospital (this is if we assume that she actually was conscious when she said "No")- obviously there was a reason for that. Maybe she was embarrassed. When I talked to Lizz, she explained to me that mental health is kind of a taboo topic here. So it might be shameful for her to go to the hospital and have them find that this was "just" (I emphasize this word, because I still don't think it's something to be taken lightly) a panic attack, particularly if the source of it was "just" the fact that some man on the street wanted to marry her, and had asked her multiple times to do so. After all, that's "normal" (ooh I hate that word now) here. Obviously I don't want to cause shame on Habiba...she's a sweetheart, and I couldn't have asked for a better roommate! But I, and the other Americans, were seriously concerned about her safety. And for us, that's more important than pride.
The response of Habiba and our Egyptian friends, however, was that we were somewhat overreacting, that wasn't necessary, etc etc. While we Americans were waiting tensely out in the hall, we could hear our Egyptian friends laughing inside my room--just more evidence of different cultures' coping mechanisms. One of us Americans posed the question, "What would happen if we weren't here? I don't even want to know..." Which made me worry that I was taking the sort of Western Imperialist "looking down on other cultures" viewpoint. I mean, am I qualified to say that MY way is right? But at the same time, there's no way that I would have forgiven myself if I had just let her stay in the room, and the problem had escalated.
Another thought that kept popping into my head was, what if this had happened not to Habiba, but to one of the Americans in our program? Clearly, an ambulance would have been called within the first five minutes of any sort of concern. And, as Sarafina so bluntly put it, if one wasn't called, the rest of us would have scooped up our ailing classmate and personally carried them to the hospital.
I also couldn't help but notice that after she was finally gone in the ambulance, none of the Egyptians ate dinner with us like they usually do. Of course some of them were with Habiba in the hospital. But I couldn't help but notice their absence and hope that I won't be blamed in any way for this. In fact, the Egyptians who went with her to the hospital are back now, and I can here them joking around in the hallway again. All I can say is that this was yet another cultural experience.
Wow...okay, so I've written a lot and my thoughts are still whirling in my head. But unfortunately I need to go study for my Fusha test tomorrow and pack for Cairo. Perhaps this will make more sense to me tomorrow....
