A Case of the Evil Eye

It all started one hot Thursday morning. I got up bright and early with a clear, precise plan. I was going to run to Zamalek in order to pick up my passport from the Mauritius Island Embassy for our honeymoon, then hurry down to Maadi where I work. I would maybe even squeeze in one more wedding-related errand before I make it to the office. On the way to Zamalek, I was already feeling faint and nauseous — symptoms I often experience when stressed out. But I decided to continue my long journey anyway, all the while looking for spots to park on the 6 October bridge in case my body gives out. I was probably the first person at the Mauritius Embassy, which isn’t much of a crowded place anyway, and they handed me my passport with a stamp that meant my honeymoon is still a go. But there was no time for celebrations, and off to Maadi I went. As soon as I got there, I stopped at the nearest kiosk to grab myself something to drink to freshen up. On my way back to the car, jotting down more errands on my phone’s to-do list, I suddenly found myself face to face with the pavement. As luck would have it, I had apparently tripped on a bicycle — which was quite ironic considering that I can’t even ride a bicycle, yet still manage to be injured on one. Embarrassed and a total mess, I quickly picked myself up and gotten straight into my car, all the while ignoring people’s pleads of, “your leg!”  I looked down and thought, "great, that stupid bicycle got grease all over my favorite pair of jeans." It took me a few seconds to realize that the giant stain was actually blood, and I slowly lifted my jeans to find a horrifying scene. The gear of the bicycle had punctured straight through my knee, leaving a deep, wide gash in its place. For some reason, I continued driving and stopped by an ATM. If I was going to go to a hospital, I would need money, apparently the sight of blood makes me super independent and responsible. I hobbled my way to the machine, and hobbled back into the car to call my fiancé Rami to say, “I’m hurt. I’m going to find a doctor, and you can come if you want.” Of course, he decided to come and also called our friend Amira — who lives in Maadi and is known for rescuing me from medical emergencies I had before — to come pick me up and take me to the hospital. I got five stitches, and was ordered to not move around for a week — which is something you do not want to hear if you’re a bride-to-be running around to put together a wedding and a house. As soon as I got home, my mom swore to me that she knew something would happen to me because of the ‘evil eye’ that strikes every bride right before her wedding. You would think that someone would’ve warned me before from this alleged evil eye, but it seems that everyone was aware of its occurrence. Of course, I’m not one to deny that the evil eye does exist and maybe even that a wedding may provoke it, but I was more concerned with the fact that I had so much to do and very little ability to do it. The first day I was bed ridden marked exactly one month and four days before my wedding date, and I spent it freaking out about all that needed to be done. But as the days went on, and I was being pampered at home due to my leg, I started to enjoy having some down time after running around for the past few months. Even if my freak accident had been caused by some hidden force, or perhaps just my notorious clumsiness, it had made me realize that I do need to take a breath every once in a while. And while I do have a lot of things piled up on my to-do-list, I need to trust that they will get done in time and even if they don’t, then it’s not the end of the world. So while I probably will get back to running all over Cairo as soon as my stitches are removed in a week, I’m hoping that I don’t wear myself thin anymore and adopt a more relaxed attitude. Who knows, maybe I’ll even try learning how to ride a bicycle.