Where are you God, when my day is over?

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

I had for long time had the feeling of that something had been going on around me, I could not really put my finger on. Since I could not “put my finger on” what it was, I took it as stress and frustration from working as a teacher. Often did it happen, that I couldn’t find what I were looking for and things got placed around in a way I could not remember I had put them, and so on . . .

I always wondered about how people and colleges around me talked about me and my life at home…… talking about what I were doing, when I suppose being alone in my home. How they made comment about the food I made and things I wrote in letters and so on.

When I asked how they got this information’s, they only laughed.

One day my neighbor asked me who all these people was who came to my home?

Came to my home?? I didn’t have anyone coming to my home. I was most of the time alone, preparing for the next day at school.

She insisted that it came too many people to my home, and since I was a single woman, I should be careful receiving so many men.

Men??? I didn’t receive any men. To be honest, I think I’ve got enough of men . . . for a long time into the future.

But when I came to school the next day, I was called in to the owner of the school. He faced me with the rumors that I received men in my flat. That is something absolute unacceptable in a country like Egypt. That single women receive men in their flat without notice the neighbors of the reason and who they are.

I looked at him with big eyes.

“What is going on” I asked. “ I have often wondered about how people talk about my private life, inside my home, when I suppose to be alone. And now you tell me that I am receiving men.”

“Well” he said “It’s not only men, we come and go all of us . . .”

“What ! “ I shouted “ Can someone please, tell me what is going on here? Because it seems that I am the only one who doesn’t know that I have visitors in my home.”

I continued: “Are you invisible ?”

I said it more as a joke, but having study psychology and antroposophy earlier in life, I knew that it is possible to in a way trick the brain of a person to deny the visual presence of another person.

But please, this is not a common act around . . . . is it????

The owner of the school didn’t answer. He only looked down at his desk.

I “pushed” him verbally, I already knew the outcome of this conversation, so I felt I didn’t have anything to loose after all.

“Hey there,” I said “I want some answers here. I think I have the right to know what’s going on, so I can do the necessary action in the future to stop whatever is wrong.”

He then told me my biggest fear. They came and went in my home, took things they needed and played around me, invisible for my eyes.

I thought: “ This is not happening to me. This must be a nightmare . . . God, please wake me up.”

But I was already awake.

I asked him: “ How can I protect myself from someone or something I can not see, feel, smell or not even know is there?”

I continued: “ Can you give me an answer on that? More so, who are you to criticize, who have been playing around me by yourself?”

“Well sir,“ I continued “ Muslim as you are . . . have you read the Holy Quran? Well, it is these kinds of people The Quran is referring to, when it talks about “jinners”. . Those who go into other peoples home without notice their arrival to the host, whispering in their heart and bring trouble into their life. Allah says:” These people have only one future and that is the burning hell.” ”

“I don’t care about what the Quran says” he said “ But I can not have you at the school any more.”

When I came home, it was another surprise waiting for me.

My land-lord came to my door and told me I had to leave the building the same evening, for the same reason I had lost my work.

He even came in and started to pack down my things. He obviously could not get me fast enough out of the house.

I was shocked. What now? My land-lord took all my boxes and put them under the stairs in the staircase. He said they could be there until I had found a new place to live . . . if I found something.

A colleague of mine came after work to have a talk with me.

She said: “ Nour, you have to go home to your country. Your situation is dangerous for you.”

I said: “ No Wafaa, I have not done anything wrong, and Allah knows.”

She said: “ Then you at least must leave the area, Nour. Go to another part of Egypt, where no one knows you. You will get neither work nor housing here any more.”

She continued: “ Nour, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes” I said: “ You can give me a bed for the night. Tomorrow I will look for another work.”

She said: “ No. I’m sorry Nour. I can not bring you to my home. You are an outcast now.”

I looked at her and said: “ Wafaa, you goes for being a good Muslim. You have told me that you have prayed to Allah asking Him to use you as a tool in his hand. Maybe He is trying you now, Wafaa. “

I continued: “ As a tool in Allah’s hand, you can not choose the work He wants you to do. He put you in situations He feels you can manage, if you trust Him. Because in whatever situation He put you into, you will not be alone . . He will be there with you to ensure you succeed. So I am asking you Wafaa; Do you trust your God ~ Allah?”

She looked down in the street and said with low voice: “ Nour, ,you have to understand something. This is not a case for Allah. He can not help you in this problem.”

“Really” I said “What kind of problems can He help one in?”

She didn’t answer.

I continued: “ Wafaa, listen to me. I have gone through several traumas, worse than this and been in several critically situations in my life. I don’t go for being a good Muslim, neither do I go for being a good Christian, I don’t even pray regular, but I know my God and I trust Him. I trust Him, Wafaa. Trust . . . . do you know the meaning of the word, Wafaa?”

She was still facing the street, nodding her head.

I continued: “ Waffa, I want you to listen to me now and watch carefully what happens after this.”

It was 8pm. I looked at the sky, stretched my hands to the sky, the palms together and said in a silent voice : “ Allah, Allah, look at me. . . My day has taken an end. My life is crumbling. My bed tonight seems to be made of tears and stones. I am asking for you mercy, Allah. I don’t ask for velvet nor silk, but a simple roof over my head so I can sleep in peace. Help me out of the ashes of cruelty which burned me out today. With the grace of Allah, it so will be.”

The tears was running down Wafaa’s cheeks when she said: “ Nour, Allah can not help you in this matter. You have to leave the area.”

“ No” I said “ I have not done anything wrong. If I leave the area, means I confess that I have done something disgraceful.”

I continued: “ Wafaa, I trust Allah in, that before midnight I will have a place to sleep. Watch me . . . and see what Allah can do for me. Because I trust him”

She was still crying as she left me.

I felt traumatized by the situation and didn’t really know what to do. I had not eaten the whole day and felt hungry. I sat down at the pavement to clear my mind.

It was about 10pm. A friend of another person in the building was on her way for a short visit. When she saw me, she stopped and asked why I was sitting there so late at night.

I told her what had happened. She looked at me for a while before she went up to visit her friend.

11pm. She came out again. She lived only a street away. She stopped and said: “ Nour, you can not stay here all night. I have called my husband Mostafa, and told him your situation. You come with me home and stay with us until you have found a new place and work. Leave your things, Mostafa will come and get it.”

Before midnight, I had roof over my head . . . .

After 3 months, I found a new place to live and got work in another school with a salary 5 times higher than the salary I had before. (Before my salary was US $ 60,- pr. Month, this time I got US $ 300,- pr. Month.)