On holiday: Searching for identity from East to West

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind

The rock'n'roll blasts out of the cheap(er) Chinese cars which have invaded Egyptian roads that shine metallic day and night; Roads that twist around crumbling buildings built too close because no one wants to lose a dime's profit.

Or sometimes it's the needy voice of a hearthrob who can't spend another day without his darling -- forever named 'habibi' -- that blares out of raspy radios or brand-new CD players that are carried off by the driver to avoid theft . "Everyone is in love or in want of love," remarked one visitor to Egypt, reported a friend. True, I'm told that my grandfather long ago warned that the emergence of one of the 'greatest' Egyptian singers of all time about fifty years ago would mark the beginning of major decline in the country's morals. Can we pin it all on one man who probably sang more songs about love and loss and desire than all the Sinatras of the world combined? Maybe. But that was decades ago; who's the scapegoat now?

With ubiquitous Internet and Satellite programming, it can't be just one man, or a few people who should or could be blamed for the brainwashing of a nation, as we wonder what on earth "they" are selling to young people. Even before the plethora of choices - too often Western - Egyptian TV offered a steady stream of 'junk' - as Sheikh Hamza Yusuf so bluntly stated in one of his typically lucid talks. Hey, it was Knots Landing every night at 8 o'clock for me and my female relatives during summer vacation in Cairo for years. I remember the character's voices echoing from open windows and balconies on eerily quiet streets when the show was on. If that isn't junk, I don't know what is. And now, so many more choices of the same.

But with all the choices - including some decent Islamic programming - there is no excuse for the miserable state of mimicry Muslims have chosen for themselves. Even our hijabs are not what they are supposed to be -- which made me cloak myself within my black Saudi abaya even when I didn't have to as a statement of defiance. What's the point in "concealing my beauty" if my choice of headscarf is dependent on the colour of my chic hotpants and matching top? Excuse me? Modesty, anyone?

"When we returned from Hajj, we all wanted to wear those abayas," confided my cousin, a strikingly beautiful woman whose wardrobe could compare with the most dazzling socialite, albeit with long sleeves and long skirts or pants. "But. . ." she trailed off. Yes. I know. But.

Everyone in Egypt is as fashion conscious now as they were when the Brits were in charge, and today they're independent. Sort of. Now it's Western corporations who are running the world - peddling consumerism that is alien to cultures rapidly losing their individuality - and they don't have to occupy us by force. Instead they use thought control to take what they want- and we give it to them, foolishly buying into the false sense of value and achievement sold to anyone with a few dollars to spare.

So when did Muslims cease yearning for Jannah (paradise), fixing their sights instead on the 'Promised Land' of all that is Western?

If the West is arrogant, it is because we made them so; where is our own identity?

* * *

Billboards on the road from Cairo to Alexandria seduce the country's new rich - a tiny, wily fraction of a population that is otherwise fighting at the windows for subsidized bread. A blonde woman, her muscle man & two picture perfect children smile at the camera, framed by a verdant expanse and a two-story villa.

Just one more 'dream' neighbourhood being built on the outskirts of the dusty, deteriorating capital.

Rickety trucks careen by these signs, likely missing the first couple such ads as they barrel their way forward, making other drivers sweat at the close calls. But after awhile, it must seem odd that among fields begging to be cultivated by calloused hands that are too tired and whose young inheritors are too disillusioned by life far from the one shown on TV, that such an ad would be commonplace.

Who can afford this? Who?

Me and you.

* * *

We pull up to my parent's home in Canada and there is no blonde woman. The kids are not perfectly kept and my husband is not a muscle man. But the image is almost the same as the one I scorn back in Egypt. A perfect lawn. A two-story house. A car or two in the driveway and a myriad of toys inside. I am grateful. I am humbled. I am embarrassed. Do I look down on the Muslim adoption of Western ways because it already comes naturally to me? I have nothing to prove. I am one of them. I am one of you. And I am a Muslim. In fact, it is partly because I lived in the West and enjoyed its freedoms, its respect for difference and individuality and free thought that I came to the conclusion that Islam was right for me. So . . .

A modern-day global village kind of quandary.

Why don't Muslims admire and copy what is so good in the West and which all should appreciate - democracy, freedom, rule of law, ethics, honesty, equality (principals completely Islamic in nature, and in some cases, introduced or re-introduced by the faith) AND offer their own valuable traditions - respect for the family, dignity of women and community, awe of God, the Most Gracious? And in another peculiar twist, many of those who lobby for a return to the true aspirations of Islam are jailed for their trouble, with the complicity of Western actors.

Can it get anymore complex?

Perhaps it was easier when when we could blame a lone singer who loved a little too much.