Sand in her shoes

By Petra Liermann

At the age of 30, Petra emigrated to Egypt because she saw her destiny neither in Germany nor in the public service. Years before she had met her soul mate there, whom she disdained. Later on she met her future husband Sayed, with whom she led a mostly very harmonious marriage for six years. The happiness became perfect with the birth of their daughter, until Petra found out that her husband had made a mistake that had grave consequences for their lives: Sayed had to marry his "misstep" and a time of suffering, violence and disappointed hopes began. This culminated not only in Petra's flight from Egypt to save the life of her daughter.

The true story shows the often painful path of self-discovery and love for oneself and life.

After Petra divorced her husband, his threats continued. Back in Germany, telephone terror and death threats, also against friends and family members, followed - until today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jun 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071550052

Book preview

Petra grew up as an only child. Raised by her parents to value financial security, she opts for a safe job as a civil servant.

But with her father’s death, she begins to question her life and decides, at the age of thirty-two, to emigrate to a country that has always fascinated her on her vacations: Egypt. Soon after she meets Sayed. They fall in love with each other and decide to get married just a year after her moving there. Their life together is not without compromises on her part, but Petra is happy. It is made complete by the birth of her daughter Mariam.

But three years after her birth, Sayed changes and Petra is suddenly confronted with the fact that her husband has cheated on her and must now marry his mistake. Although she hopes that her husband's second marriage will be over soon, month after month passes in an, for her, intolerable situation.

While Sayed treats his second wife with an incomprehensible and previously unfamiliar brutality, Petra starts to realize that she has to leave him. She plans to flee with her daughter, to that end converts to Islam, and endures that her husband takes away her daughter.

When his brutality starts focusing on her, Petra realizes that there is no time for further preparations and escapes, in a cloak-and-dagger operation, with Mariam and just one suitcase to Germany, where she starts a new life.

But even here her nightmare is far from over ...

For Mariam

You have never been alone, you are not alone now and you will never be alone. Everything you think and feel is heard. At every stage of your life, even in the darkest moments, you will be endlessly loved.

(Robert Betz)

I

Even though my life started to be very conservative and orderly and the expected progression did not seem to be very exciting, it turned out to be a story that has something for everyone: Romance, suspense and foreign cultures. But also, in terms of spirituality, there are some interesting transformations, that probably up until my 25th birthday, nobody would have ever expected of me.

As I said, my life began in a good, middle-class family, consisting of father, mother, child. My parents diligently saved for our annual holiday in the snow and summer vacations in a nice four-star hotel in the Canary Islands. In addition, there was the household budget, a savings account and a new car every five years.

As genuine refugee children who had suffered the effects of World War II, my parents were very concerned about financial security. But also an adapted behavior, where one didn’t call attention in the neighborhood, and the desire to belong to the better society, shaped my education.

Accordingly, good grades at school were an issue, and didn’t even need to be discussed. Of course, the child was a good student and knew, at the age of six, how to behave in a five-star hotel in Sauerland. While other children were still digging around with their fingers in their mashed potatoes, I already knew that you used the cutlery from the outside in but thought it rather funny that three glasses and eight pieces of cutlery were necessary for a meal.

I thought my mother was beautiful, secretly tried on her shoes and contemplated her weekly beauty regime with much interest. Unfortunately, I didn’t share her taste in clothes, so shopping with her was a nightmare. I still vividly remember the time when long hair and a pair of vanilla pants or the layered skirts were totally in and I came out of a department store with short hair, tears streaming down my face, because I’d got brown corduroy pants with a matching vest and a brown checkered shirt with a shoelace around the collar. To this day, I hate the color brown, when it comes to my clothes.

My mother dressed me stylish and advantageous, in her opinion, since as long as I can remember I never had a standard size. Sadly, for my parents, my baby fat had not disappeared at the age of twelve but stuck to my hips in the form of three to four kilos overweight. Since this was not the image of a perfect daughter, and of course the ideal of beauty should be attained as far as possible, at a tender age I didn’t only know about the 600 calorie weight loss treatment in the Black Forest, but also the - Brigitte diet - for at home. One reason why I pick up that particular magazine only very hesitantly to this day.

Unfortunately, dieting was not very advanced at the beginning of the 80s, so we sat in a nice hotel in Bad Steben, where great food was served, the meat was just swimming in creamy sauce and on my plate, although the same food, was only a miniature edition. I was always hungry. Massages were also off limits for the rest of my life. Although I was told that I was particularly sensitive and the bruises would go away after a few days, I really couldn’t believe that.

Even though these measures seemed temporarily crowned by success, my body apparently had its natural feel-good weight elsewhere. Much to the chagrin of my mother, who never gave up reminding me what a pretty girl I could have been.

Since I started school quite early, I had the role of the class chick and naturally reached puberty later than my classmates. Because physical closeness was a mystery to me, I listened to my classmates’ stories about their first experiences with boys very attentively. But for me it was never more than Puppy Love. Although they were durable and intense, they never got me anywhere. To this day, I still remember the registration plate number of this great boy from twelfth grade, because I spent hours waiting in the cold, just to take a glimpse of him.

During our first school trip with overnight stay in South Tyrol, while most of my classmates were laying in the corners snogging, I watched this spectacle with fascination from afar and was chosen as the ideal agony aunt for the female as well as the male parts of a relationship. I also received my sex education this way, for such intimate details would never have been spoken of at home. So, my fear of pregnancy kept me well away from kissing. For who knew the things that could happen.

While I was learning, dieting, playing the organ (my much-anticipated piano could have upset the neighbors) and having amicable meetings with schoolmates, the others had a raging love life. But no one had taken the dance school into account. In the end, this den of iniquity made me stray from the right path, much to my parents regret. Because here you didn’t just learn how to dance. Sure, we danced Party Fox until the soles were giving off smoke, but more important was the staple blues. And to get a nice partner, the first thing we did before we got to the dance cafe, was racing to the ladies' and unpacking our make-up bags. Kajal, mascara, rouge and eyeshadow were commonplace and if my parents had ever seen me like that, I would never have left the house again.

Since I have always had a weakness for macho types with no emotional life, at fifteen I also tried dancing with them and was amazed when I suddenly landed a really sweet softie, who finally asked me the longed-for question whether I wanted to go out with him. Since far and wide, and for some time, no other boy had been interested in me, I thought to myself that I should just try it. Christian was really cute. And shy. This appealed to me very much with my limited experience, based only on narratives. Most of the time we only held hands, but that we did with pleasure. And we often met and looked forward to it more and more.

While Christian was the son of a single mom who worked during the day and gave her child all the freedom, I didn’t really dare to tell my parents about my new boyfriend. But at some point, I just wanted to be proud of my relationship and end the secrecy. The rumpus at home was probably still heard down in Africa. Too young, what should the neighbors think, maybe at eighteen, the bad influence at school is to blame, no more dance school, house arrest until retirement, were some of the things I was bombarded with.

So I quickly learned that concealment and silence were a much better strategy. From then on, we met in the city, at Christian's or in the dance school. At least, not much could happen that way. Actually, this boy was a real dream boyfriend. When I went to a monastery in Meschede during the holidays, longing seized him, and he came to visit me. He’d spend all his pocket money on the train ride, but it was worth it. If it wouldn’t have been for the macho bloke working in the stables. This one I liked even better. Although only temporarily, the mistake was made.

At the tender age of sixteen, I learned that older boys had in general higher demands on relationships, in the form of physical contact and that you just have to bite the bullet, if you want someone like that. As a matter of fact, a system that I knew well, because who brings home good grades, knows how to behave and meets the requirements, is rewarded with pride and love. It seemed that way in relationships as well. I applied this to the macho who, after our adventure, really didn’t want anything more to do with me, since of course, he had a girlfriend. But the idealist and optimist that I was and always have been, decided to just end my relationship with Christian as soon as I got home. I regret that to this day. Not only because it was really Christian I had a crush on, but also because he fell into a real hole afterwards, decorating his body with piercings and tattoos and spending his time in the park with the most feared rabble of our city. That was a real turning point and after that it became quiet in my love life. The boys I got excited about didn’t even look at me, but those who had a crush on me I found boring. In actual fact, I was lucky that I had only one dramatic experience, when I was seventeen, when I fell in love with a 23-year-old, who was actually not my cup of tea at all. Always incredibly open to new things, with a big mouth and a natural talent for flirting, I had excited Holger so much that I found myself in his Opel Manta, on a lonely parking lot late at night. I didn’t really want that, but my big mouth had brought me there and backing down was absolutely out of the question for me.

So I got through my first time and not only wondered what everyone was raving on about, but also how that could have happened to me, because the next day I found myself in the emergency room at the hospital to get the morning-after-pill. At seventeen, that was not so easy. After explaining my dilemma to a doctor, he brought in another one, who wanted everything described to him in detail, to only ask yet another colleague to also join in. In the end I had to find a pharmacy with emergency service, taking away all my pocket money, just so that in the evening I would meet Holger again, who no longer looked at me.

A very curative experience that would protect me from similar episodes for the next three years. At times I was frustrated because there was no Jack for this Jill, but I found fulfillment in my life as an agony aunt and various infatuations.

At home I felt more and more out of place.  For quite a while already I had asked myself if these were really my parents or if I maybe had been exchanged at birth. I was neither conservative, nor did I feel the need to hoard money. Everything new I found interesting, gladly took a risk and didn’t see my future in marriage, childbirth and caring for a husband. Accordingly, my parents' comprehension was zero. Early on, I had given up trying to make my point of view understandable to them. And the older I got, these problems became more and more pronounced. Secretly I tried everything. Looking back, I have to say that I always had enough respect for really dangerous things. Drugs and alcohol have always been a natural taboo for me. Nevertheless, I tried several prohibited things. Smoking has stayed, while crazy blokes quickly disappeared again. I worked in a low-class pub, visited esoteric groups and spent my time with bad guys. The collaboration in the YMCA was less crazy, but at least as traumatic.

The domestic crisis reached a climax, when my high school graduation was imminent, and I wanted to enroll in a university. Because I’m not exactly blessed with professional ambition and stamina, my parents refused to fund further years of education. A Grant was out of the question because of their level of income.

My parents envisioned a safe, respected profession, especially my father argued that he would not finance a degree and then I would end up married and behind a stove. And as usual, I accepted my fate.

However, dreams of a singing career, law school and similar absurd things bubbled in me. Nevertheless, I began an apprenticeship as a Qualified Administration Consultant. That may sound just great, but is really nothing more than a safe, respected career as a good German Civil Servant.

With the beginning of my apprenticeship I got to know the freedom of my own apartment in Berlin for the first time. I enjoyed my life, my own money and the newfound freedom. And when, at twenty, I met Elmar, my parents' happiness was almost perfect. As a student of electrical engineering, a hospital director for a father and equipped with perfect manners, he embodied exactly the idea my parents had of an ideal son-in-law. Unfortunately, seemingly perfect things are usually pretty chaotic underneath the surface and even with Elmar this was not different. Although he was a really nice man and I was really in love with him, I had the growing suspicion that a fulfilling sex life was just as realistic as a purple pig that can lay eggs.

There was a time, I considered getting treated by a psychologist because I thought I could be frigid. But all in all, I was happy until, apart from Elmar's increasing alcohol consumption, several other women interfered with our relationship. Also, his reasoning that he had to live out his sexual fantasies and didn’t want to do this to me was no help to come to terms with his betrayal. Maybe my willingness to suffer would have endured one other woman, but three were definitely too much. Even though one was for sex in public places, another for sado-maso games and a third for the quickie in between.

Elmar was crying after me, while I was consoling myself with a Dutch croupier named Fritz on a holiday in Zandvoort, with whom it was love at first sight for me, but who unfortunately was also married. For the sake of all the pleading people around me, I agreed to give Elmar a second chance, but in the end, I couldn’t humiliate myself any further, playing his games. For my parents, their whole world collapsed around them and my mother's words amaze me to this day, because to my explanation for the reasons why we were splitting up, she only replied  that sometimes you just have to put up with something like that in a relationship and that otherwise Elmar was close to perfect. I deliberately ignored her desire to think about it yet again.

Years of rapid career advancement followed and a relationship that was nice, but more like a friendship in a shared flat. I finally discovered that I was neither frigid nor had I been lied to by others about sex, and after changing our relationship to friendship-only-status, I took the liberty to have the occasional one-night stand. My figure, which had deteriorated, much to the chagrin of my mother, was indeed a hindrance, as it significantly reduced my self-esteem, but didn’t prevent me from having these important experiences.

II

At twenty-six, after a few promotions, I was able to get into a good job with a nice salary, had sufficient wealth of experience with men and a barely existing private life. Satisfactory, by my parents’ standards, by mine it was pretty boring. I decided to relax on a holiday in Egypt and think about my life.

Already on the plane I met a couple who was from my neighborhood and seemed very nice. Annette and Gerd were definitely a perfect match, even though they had arguments that could peel paint off the wall. However, this could have been attributed to Annette's fourth month of pregnancy, which ensured she had to vomit all the time. The scent of a hookah, the smell of fish or just a wrong word could lead to a home run to the nearest toilet. Nevertheless, we had plenty of fun.

We went to the beach in the morning, relaxed until we had a snack at noon, swam a bit, made fun of other tourists and waited from 18:45 like half-starved vultures for the restaurant to open at 19:00 o’clock. In the evening we hang out at the bar, went to a disco or drove to Hurghada to shop. And men were not missing either. With my long, almost black hair and the full-bodied figure, I was, for all locals, a dream come true. Later I realized that a German passport alone would have been enough to make me attractive to the male sex. Even so: The attention went down like oil and my self-doubt about my figure decreased significantly.

Every night Annette urged me to talk to the man at the reception desk, who had always been looking at me since our arrival, like a parched man at a glass of water. Naturally, I wallowed in so much attention and filled my self-confidence supplies for hard times in Germany. Admittedly, I found it less nice that this particular specimen didn’t want to speak to me. And unfortunately, the day after next my holiday would be over.

Actually, one should pack one’s things and move here. Annette dared to say, what I thought too. That'd be it. Work a bit and spend the rest of your time doing nothing on the beach, she continued dreaming.

First you have to give birth to your child, I laughed, looking at her slightly rounded belly. I’ve always had a longing for foreign countries but had always buried it along with all my other dreams. Adapted and secured just corresponded more to my education.

When do we meet for dinner? Annette asked. Gerd looked at her a little despairingly. Since Annette was pregnant, she consumed tons of food, and that had not changed during her holiday in Egypt.

Just go, I'll come later. Somehow, just before the end of the holiday, I didn’t feel like getting frustrated by the dumb Egyptian. Every day my hopes kept fading, that at some point he would take heart and use his voice to speak to me.

Not on your life. Do you think I want to miss the look of the bloke at the reception desk? I've never seen anyone devouring a woman with his eyes, like he does with you.

I couldn’t do more than look at her doubtfully. Yes, but if he only keeps staring, it will stay that way. Anyhow, we leave the day after tomorrow. Nothing will happen. And for two days, it's not worthwhile hoping for anything.

Because you refuse to go to the reception and speak to him, Annette replied.

What shall I tell him? That I noticed he was staring at me? Besides, we are in the land of Arab machos. If they cannot woo and address a woman, who can?

Gaze at you adoringly is probably the better expression. He definitely wants something from you," Annette corrected me.

Well, maybe a little. But the Swiss girl, who works at customer service, also said that he generally doesn’t get involved with tourists and doesn’t even go out with them. Why should I make a fool of myself now?

Of course, I felt flattered but on the other hand also cheated, because staring was the only thing he did. The man was good looking, had a great demeanor, only he did not talk and let’s face it, there was no chance of a happy ending. Just under 5,000 kilometers were a very good reason for leaving it at staring.

So, you did inquire about him? Annette teased.

It somehow happened, I tried to talk myself out of it. Sure, I wanted to know more about the man and already, the information that he wasn’t a wild Egyptian screwing everything that moved or who only wanted a visa or money, did wonders for my self-esteem. But I didn’t have to let Annette in on that.

We started to talk when I asked her about an excursion, and that's when the conversation turned to men and this one also. I really didn’t want to admit that I was curious about him. But if Annette was happy to watch me, then please.

OK. We'll meet in front of the restaurant in an hour, so you'll have your fun.

Annette just laughed.

That evening, I took a lot of trouble with my appearance, because somehow it had to be possible to bring the man to speak to me. I really didn’t lack success with men. Love and relationships were not on the menu, but when it came to flirting and bodily contact, I had always been lucky.  Now, I had showered, applied my make-up with great care and then slipped into my tight black dress.  With its transparent blouse it didn’t look too dressed up, but elegant... And it hid my not so ideal body measurements in the right places and emphasized the well-tanned skin. I left my hair open, which in my opinion was my biggest asset.

On the way to the main restaurant, I was a little nervous. Maybe he didn’t work tonight? Or he had found a new victim to stare at? Maybe I had misunderstood him completely, and was now making a complete fool of myself with this show? And on top of it, the man somehow managed to unsettle me with his sideway glance. Which was, by the way, the reason why I didn’t understand anything anymore. Because he didn’t seem shy and insecure at all. Although I had heard from some employees that he was very religious and had never even once had a private conversation with a tourist, but I couldn’t trust the whole thing.

There you are, Annette called out. He's here, she whispered in my ear.

I turned around to the reception desk and looked directly into his dark brown eyes, which smiled at me. I was getting hot and the blood shot into my face. Caught in the act. I quickly looked away.

Let's go and eat, I said to Annette and Gerd. Better escape with an effective walk towards the restaurant, then to sit here and feel him looking at me. I got up quickly and pulled Annette with me. I squinted inconspicuously in the direction of the receptionist again. It really was an unambiguous look, but I was just not sure if it might be a misunderstanding after all. Therefore, I turned around and went to the restaurant. We went directly to the buffet, which was once again stocked with all sorts of oriental specialties.

Hmmmm ... I think I'll take everything, Annette laughed.

She took the grilled lamb chops and the tasty rice and placed her plate on a free table, to have the hands free for yet another. Shaking our heads, Gerd and I went to sit down and waited for Annette's return from the buffet.

After our extensive dinner we arrived at dessert and Annette tried her hand at matchmaking again. I'll just ask what’s the best way to drive to Hurghada tonight, Annette said, relishing her cake.

Get out and take a taxi, Gerd said, marvelling at the cravings of his pregnant wife.

Annette poked him in the ribs. Shut up, she grinned conspiratorially.

Okay, understood. If it’s important, we ask, Gerd replied with a grin.

I just looked from one to the other and ignored the tingling in my stomach. Staring at someone from a distance was one thing, but more...? I couldn’t possibly go to the reception if the man was there. Afterwards, it all could turn out to be a big misunderstanding and nothing else than professional courtesy. Then rather go home with the idea of being the dream of an Egyptian receptionist.

Just do what you like, I said. I wanted to avoid Annette's match-making manoeuvres.

And you come along, Annette now decided for me, how I would have to spend my evening. After some to-ing and fro-ing, I finally gave way.

Alright, alright I’ll do you this favour, I replied, hoping that Annette might not be able to pass the cake tray and forget about her intentions.

But she had not changed her plan and after dinner she dragged her husband and me directly to the reception. My quiet prayer that the man had by now finished his shift, was not answered. We were already observed from afar. I consciously placed myself behind Annette and Gerd in the second row to the reception. But even when Annette asked her question, the receptionist, whose name tag read Ashraf, didn’t take his eyes of me for a minute. When there wasn’t anything left to ask, Annette and Gerd turned to leave. Annette was visibly disappointed, but then a smile spread over her face as she heard the first words addressed to me.

Could I ask you a question? I heard him say in English.

I froze and looked at Ashraf. Bad luck, I thought. Suddenly I was afraid of having to give him a snub, but at least as much, I was afraid of the possibility that I could find this Ashraf wonderful or that he would tell me that my nose was crooked and he was just staring at me.

Sure. I took a step toward him, tense, anxious, unsure as to what would follow.

I know, we never spoke, and I don’t do that normally. But I know that you’re here only until tomorrow and you simply must know before you leave that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you must also know that I've never felt so drawn to a woman as I have to you. I guess you've probably heard that hundreds of times, but I have never said that before. And I wanted to ask you if you would give me five minutes and go for a walk with me later, so I can tell you who I am.

At that moment I could only stand there in total silence and stare. Never before in my life had anyone said anything so beautiful to me, not even close. Or looked at me in that way. For lack of experience, I didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t that sort of dangerous? Some kind of trick? Or did he really mean that? I was downright confused. Did he have any ulterior motives? Or a problem with his eyes? The lack of self-confidence broke through. Nevertheless, I nodded and gave in to my deep wish that there really was someone who could see me like this. Ashraf looked at me very pleased. Not happy, no, pleased.

Good, he said. I'll wait for you here until you're back.

Wow, did you hear that? Annette asked as we got into the taxi to Hurghada, to buy some last-minute presents for friends.

Gerd just told me that I'm nice, and paid for my beer, she laughed.

You haven’t even given me the chance to speak to you first, he complained.

C’mon, you could at least look a little bit happy. Not everyone gets such a declaration of love.

But I was still thinking about Ashraf's words, floating on cloud nine on one hand and doubting it all on the other.

Christ, Annette, he's an Egyptian. I mean, I don’t know him, I'm going home in thirty hours, and I'm not going to move to Egypt. And it's probably just Egyptian blablabla he tells every second tourist.

I hardly believe that. Remember what our waiter told me when I asked him who that was? That this Ashraf has never been out with a tourist and doesn’t even want one at all? The way he looks at you, he means it.

Annette's words went down like oil, but I didn’t want to be too optimistic. I don’t know. And above all, what would even be worse: What should I do if all of this were true and I liked him too?

Don’t chicken out now, give it a go.

Actually, Annette was right. Since when did I play it safe and plan everything? I liked the way he looked at me and to be honest, Ashraf was attractive and had hit my weak spot. While Annette assaulted the shops and thought about how much money she could spend today, I was unusually quiet and impatient. Hurghada, the shops and the hustle and bustle on the street no longer interested me because my thoughts were only on my rendezvous.

When we came back to the hotel, loaded with bags, Ashraf was still there where I left him. Where else should he have been, he worked at the reception. But he had exchanged his uniform for linen pants and a white shirt. My heartbeat quickened immediately. He looked really good. And he had something manly, confident that attracted me. But at the same time, I was tormented by fear. What would happen during our walk? What did he expect from me? And wouldn’t it be better pretending to have a headache and just go to my room? I was torn. I didn’t want any disappointments, I didn’t want to be harassed and having to reject him, I didn’t want my romantic imagination to come to an abrupt end. And common sense told me that love at first sight and the Cinderella story couldn’t really exist. But I had agreed, so I just had to go through with it.

Hi, Ashraf smiled at me.

Hi. What else was I supposed to say? From a distance I had enough self-esteem, but now? Gone, all gone.

Shall we go? Ashraf asked, putting my shopping bags behind the reception desk.

I looked at Annette and Gerd for help and hoped that they would somehow dissuade me from leaving the hotel with the Egyptian. Since there was not the slightest reaction, only a satisfied smile on Annette's face, I just nodded and jumped into the cold water, all the while my mind was coming up with possible outcomes to all kinds of different situations. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t at all shy. Flirting was a lot of fun and I was more the type of woman who approached everyone openly and warmly. Then of course, no one had ever told me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world. How did one deal with that? Normally I had always been the one who approached men, and now couldn’t react because it was the other way around.

We left the hotel side by side. The streets weren’t really inviting. A freeway, sparsely illuminated, in the middle of the desert and only one house nearby. The cinema in my head started again to play various scenarios. I barely noticed the few people on the street, the starry sky and the palm trees in front of the hotel.

I didn’t want to talk to you at the hotel. But I had to seize the opportunity when you stood in front of me. Sorry. Ashraf was really confident. He was not nervous at all.

It's okay, I'm just surprised. I looked at him scrutinizingly. Now was that a good start or a bad one? Was there something fishy?

About what? That a man falls in love with you at first sight?

Now I looked at him even a trifle more astonished. In love? Was that possible? A few days, a few minutes in the evening staring at someone and you were in love?

Yeah, I don’t know why and how it happened. But I meant what I said to you earlier. I have never felt for a woman, what only one laugh of you sparks in me. And I want you to know who I am.

The lack of interest other men I found attractive had always shown me did hurt and only strengthened my notion of the unimpressive, with too much figure equipped Petra. In my dreams I had imagined that someday a stunning man would fall head over heels in love with me. Pure romanticism, nothing but love and happiness. But the fulfilment of that dream just scared me, and I couldn’t really believe him. He led me down the street and I wondered if he had a purpose or really just wanted to walk with me for a while. My head simply didn’t want to stop sorting out all possibilities.

I'm twenty-six years old, I'm a Muslim and proud of it, I come from a good family in Monoufia. My brothers and sisters are all younger than me and my dad is ill, so I have to support the family. But I'm ambitious and usually get what I set my mind on. And I want a career, a good wife, children and a nice life. I'm honest, proud of myself and intelligent, even though my education wasn’t the best. And since I've seen you, I feel myself strongly attracted to you and I want to marry you.

Now I stopped short and stared at Ashraf. I mean, listing one's qualities was one thing, falling in love and wanting to meet someone, too, but marry? Either the man had smoked too much hookahs or he was still at home in the Middle Ages.

But you don’t know me, you don’t know who I am, we both might have little in common. How can you say all that? Now the doubts started to break through, and I was rather peeved. The feeling that he was just pulling my leg grew by the minute.

I don’t need time to get to know you, I know you already. And I know exactly who you are. You are my dream. That's enough.

Somehow that was all a bit too much for me. Love at first sight or not: Linguistic, religious, cultural and local differences aside, life just didn’t work that way.

Ashraf, you're a nice man, but I'm going back to Germany the day after tomorrow and I will not be back here any time soon. I couldn’t believe he really meant what he said. I didn’t know exactly why he said all that, but it was simply impossible for someone to have that kind of feeling after a few days of eye contact.

I didn’t really expect that we get married tomorrow either. I just wanted you to know what I think and feel and who I am. That's all. Not the slightest bit of uncertainty, no visible doubt: There was just no end to this man’s self-confidence.

"I'm sorry I cannot tell you anymore, but I just don’t know you. And... I wanted to start giving him the boot. My mind just told me it was too unrealistic a scenario.

Ashraf interrupted me: I know, and I didn’t expect anything else. I would like you to have my phone number in case you ever want to contact me.

I took the note with his number and stared at the piece of paper. My thoughts went on a roller coaster ride in my head. I was just about to give him back the note and tell him that he should try this trick with another stupid tourist, but then something stopped me. Maybe it was the small spark of hope that it might be true. I urgently had to go back to my room and think.

The way back we walked in silence. He really didn’t have another purpose and just wanted to say what he had to say. Ashraf looked at me from time to time.

Tomorrow I will not see you. I'm on vacation and will be driving home tonight. Whenever you want to call me, please do.

Now that was rich! He was going away? A small sting in the area of my heart shot through me, before my head started processing this new information. I had selfishly hoped to bath in his admiration for another day. Nevertheless, I only nodded and looked at him. Up to the entrance hall, I expected him to say something like: By the way, I need a new computer. Or that he would try to kiss me and persuade me to spend the night together. But none of this happened. And I was even a little bit disappointed. So good night, and a handshake was all there was to it.

The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a timber truck. The night had gone by, not only a little sleepless. Again and again, I went through every detail of the evening and recalled the things Ashraf had said. The whole thing was so surreal that I checked from time to time if I was really awake. After that, I weighed the probabilities. Was it possible that this could happen in real life? What were the chances of success