About Baheyya

The idea for this newsletter came to me as we were on the second leg of our flight from Chicago to Egypt. Before I get to that though, let me introduce myself. I’m an Egyptian who currently lives in Viroqua, WI. I met my husband Cole Agar in Egypt 15 years ago. He grew up right outside of Westby but did his undergrad at the American University in Cairo. And that’s where we met. We got married some 5 years later. Lived in Egypt a little. Lived in China a little. And are now living in smalltown Wisconsin. We have 3 beautiful children: Amina, Sina, and Rawy. The picture that is the logo of this newsletter is me pregnant with our first, Amina. For the fun of it, Cole painted a world map on my belly with a little red star on WI and a matching one on Egypt. We had a series of goofy pictures in that photoshoot but I picked this one to match the somber mood I’m bringing with me as I experiment with this writing project.

Why somber? I generally seem to feel things intensely. Since October 7^th, 2023 and its soul-shattering aftermath on Gaza, my emotions have dipped more solidly into melancholy. I already struggled living away from home and went through regular but containable bouts of feeling lonely. But after the 7^th, I felt so small and sad and lost. And furious. At first, I didn’t really know how to talk about it or who to talk about it with. Even Cole I was a little bit scared of talking to him at first because he brings a tongue-in-cheek evenhandedness in discussing most things political. It’s a quality that I otherwise admire and appreciate in him but, on this topic, in this moment, a dispassionate two-sided discussion was not at all where I was at. I had a fire in me that felt big enough to burn the whole world. Or at the very least, my own household. In that moment, a discussion where the starting point was not heart wrenching grief and rage was just going to add fuel to my already blazing fire. And it did just that a handful of times over the course of the next few months when Cole and I would stumble into desultory conversations about Palestine.  I got disengaged from everything, including my kids. All I did was consume news about what was happening. And I had no outlet. No way to turn what I was witnessing and how I was feeling into something that felt productive or helpful. Stuck. Drowning. Helpless. That’s how I felt.

My brothers - Ahmed and Salah – are definitely a haven for me. They’re my life and revolution companions. My best friends. I remember shortly after I got my US citizenship in early November, I spiraled and had an unexpected negative reaction to people congratulating me. I tried facetiming my brothers the next day. Ahmed and his wife Mariam picked up. I balled and muttered what must have been a string of nonsense. They listened and talked and joked and it diffused my eruption and gave me space to attempt to understand why I was reacting the way I was. They were my lifeline for that day.

A different day as I was strolling down to the farmer’s market with Amina and Rawy, I could hear something that sounded like muted chanting - like demonstrations. Sure enough, right across from the farmer’s market were a group of people with a Palestinian flag and signs. I didn’t recognize most of the participants, but some would become more familiar faces over the next few months. Later this group will begin organizing as the Driftless Palestinian Solidarity (DPS). I was excited to find others who were passionate about what’s happening and were trying to channel their energies productively. I organized with them up until the day I headed to Egypt and was planning on continuing after. But part of my mini epiphany on that plane was realizing that I probably won’t. At least not as an organizer. I needed to recalibrate. Writing was something I used to do more often. It kept me observant and reflective. And sane. It was my friend and I unwittingly abandoned it. But I’m trying to reclaim it through this project.

I floated the idea by Cole and he suggested exploring Substack. So here I am.

Why Baheyya بهية? Baheyya means radiant in Arabic and is used to connote unembellished magnificence and beauty. It is also often used as a term of endearment to mean Egypt. It originated from a folk story about Yaseen and Baheyya, two Egyptian peasants who were torn apart by the feudal master who violated Baheyya. In avenging his love, Yasseen triggered a rebellion against the master. The folk story was popularized by Naguib Sorour’s (نجيب سرور)  play in 1964 while the use of Baheyya to connote Egypt was popularized by the Sheikh Imam الشيخ امام)) song Masr Yamma Ya Baheyya (مصر يامة يا بهية) . I love the song and I love the name Baheyya and seem to default to it for my projects. My podcast on kids’ stories in Egyptian Arabic is also called Baheyya.

This newsletter is an attempt to chronicle this period of history for my kids – Amina, Sina, and Rawy. It occurred to me that they won’t have access to what it felt like to live through this. They can access the raw information and the dry historical record, sure. But not the messy human thoughts and feelings – not my messy thoughts and feelings about it.  I’m hoping to use this platform to capture moments in my family’s life as it intersects with bigger happenings in the world. I’m hoping this newsletter will help me collect and preserve those memories. Like an album. Or a memory box. A journal that is meant for my future adult kids.

In the meantime, it can be a way of communicating thoughts that don’t readily lend themselves to casual conversations to friends and family on both sides of the pond who might care to read it.