As many Egyptian-Americans do, I travel to Cairo every year during the Holiday Season to visit my family and spend some time with my mother.
My mother is an active and energetic woman in her late seventies. She is a charming but strong-minded lady who continues - against everyone's advice - to drive her 1984 Honda Civic in the chaotic and rather dangerous Cairo traffic! She claims that driving in the streets of Cairo soothes her and takes her mind away from everyday's  problems! She also firmly believes that her car - which she's been driving for the past 25 years - is programmed to take her safely to her four main destinations: the Heliopolis Sporting Club and my brother's house in Heliopolis, the Guezirah Sporting Club in Zamalek and her sister-in-law's house in Mohandesseen.
 
Because I am generally in awe of her audacious and positive attitude, I insist whenever I am in Cairo to relieve her from the burden of driving us around. This year was no exception and, armed with my fifteen dollars international driver's license, I arrived in Cairo feeling like the knight in shining armor, coming to my mother's rescue, and cheerfully taking on the role of her subservient chauffeur for the duration of my month long annual visit.
 
A week after my arrival, my mother and I decided to run some errands in the "posh" - not sure by whose standards - neighborhood of Mohandesseen. I was driving down Gameat El Dowal El Arabya Street at 30km/hour when suddenly I heard a loud crash. Mom and I were propelled against the windshield and I felt my head abruptly move forward then back as if it was an entity independent from the rest of my body. In the split second it took for our car to stall and stop, over 30 people were surrounding the vehicle, traffic was piling up behind us, and a young man was lying on the sidewalk holding his ankle in pain. My first attention was of course for my mother and after I made sure she was fine, I got out of the car to assess the damage and attempt to make sense of what had just happened.

"You caused this whole accident!" a young man yelled at me. The incredulous smirk on my face must have scared him away as I stood there helpless amidst the crowd and dozens of honking cars, buses, and motorcycles passing us by and speeding away, thankful for not being part of this whole mess I apparently was responsible for. 
 
I looked back trying to locate the car that rear-ended me but it was long gone. Gone also was the young man on the sidewalk whose hopes to extort some monetary compensation from any of the parties involved in the accident must have quickly faded. People started to move away once they realized this was just another boring accident which lacked the drama they yearned for. I took one look at the trunk of my mother's Honda, smashed with pieces of metal deeply embedded into its tires, and tears began rolling down my face. 

All of a sudden, I felt insignificant, lonely and powerless and for the first time in my life, I remembered my insurance carrier with affection. I even longed for Triple A Road Services and the California Highway Patrol and honestly wished I could call them to my rescue. As the thoughts of the damage I have caused went through my mind, my silent tears gradually became louder and it wasn't long before they turned into uncontrollable sobs. A traffic cop - who was witnessing the whole scene like any other passerby - approached me and calmly whispered:

 

"Why are you crying? This wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was God's will (قضاء و قدر) and you should go home and be thankful that you and the hajja came out safe."

 

and so I did.