Staring at their work, Bassem said suddenly, “Let’s go back to Syria. I miss my family. Our place is there.”
“There is no way I am going back,” Doaa replied, even though only months before she’d wanted to do just that. “I’m responsible for my family and I can’t just leave them.” She thought of Bassem’s returning to Syria and being killed in the war and never seeing him again. “If you go, it will be the end of our relationship,” she said, masking her fear for him with anger. “You can take back all the gold that you bought me and go alone,” she said defiantly.
“But we have no future here,” Bassem insisted, dragging his toe over their names in the sand.
“I could be attacked there and raped in front of you and you would be helpless and unable to defend me,” she shouted. “Besides,” she said, softening her voice, “there is no work for you in Syria.”
Bassem stood in silence for a moment, thinking about what Doaa had said. Then he finally admitted, “You’re right.”
Doaa took his hand. “Be patient, my love. If you keep looking, you’ll find better work in Egypt,” she said, trying to make her voice sound as if she believed it herself.
However, the new climate in Egypt was not making things easier for them. One day, as Doaa and Bassem were out for a walk, they got briefly separated as they made their way down the street. A motorbike approached and slowed to a halt beside her. The driver, a nineteen-year-old boy whom she recognized from the neighborhood, suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. Doaa instinctively elbowed him, shaking her arm free, but when the boy grabbed at her again, she realized that he intended to force her onto the bike.
Doaa got away from him and ran toward Bassem, yelling, “Bassem, quick! We have to go home now.”
Somehow, Bassem had missed the entire episode, but sensing Doaa’s fear, he asked, “Did he do something to you?”
Doaa, seeing Bassem’s face turn red with anger, decided that it would be best if they left before the situation escalated. “No,” she lied. “Nothing happened.”
“That’s not true, he did something, didn’t he?”
Before she could respond, Bassem strode up to the young Egyptian biker and punched him in the face. The bike fell to the ground and the man leaped at Bassem. The two men began to fight, throwing punches and trying to wrestle each other to the ground.
“Bassem, stop, please, for God’s sake, stop,” Doaa yelled, worried that Bassem would get hurt and that the fight would only attract attention and get them into trouble.
“Go home, Doaa, I’ll catch up with you,” he yelled as he turned toward her.
The motorcyclist, seeing that Bassem was distracted, jumped back on his bike and sped away.
Doaa and Bassem collected themselves and headed toward home, but on their way back they saw the bike returning. This time the biker had a friend with him on the back of the motorcycle, and two other men followed on a second motorbike. They were carrying wooden sticks and shaking them menacingly in the air. One man drew a knife from his pocket as they closed in on Bassem and Doaa. Bassem pushed Doaa behind him and shouted at them to leave her alone.
“You came to ruin us! You are feeding off us,” the man with the knife shouted at them. Doaa yelled for help and began crying. She took out her phone to call her mother. The family had moved back into the hotel that had given them refuge when they first arrived in Egypt. They were again staying there rent-free since the temperature was dropping and vacationers were beginning to leave the area, and it was just a block from where Bassem and Doaa were now being surrounded as the men got off their motorbikes and closed in on them. Hanaa answered the phone and, as soon as she understood what was happening, alerted the hotel manager, Khalid, who had been so kind to the family. Khalid rushed outside and stood between Doaa and Bassem and the men, telling them to leave. Khalid was well respected in the community, and the men finally turned on their heels, mounted their motorcycles, and sped away.