Sami Sabet - Judge Me if You Can

Table of contents

Imprint 2 Imprint All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved. © 2022 novum publishing ISBN print edition: 978-3-99131-023-5 ISBN e-book: 978-3-99131-024-2 Editor: BA Hugo Chandler Cover images: Engy Elboreini Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Dedication 3 Dedication I dedicate this book to my wife, who always believed in me and encouraged me to write. Also, a huge thanks to my daughter, Engy Elboreini, for the fantastic effort she put into designing the cover of this book.

“Who Am I?” 4

The Early Years 15

The West - A New Language And Way Of Life 25

Work, Challenges and Prejudices 40

The Ideal Job – If Only 52

Reprieve Or Reward 66

The Rat Race 81

Cashflow Crises 90

A Mean And Vindictive Blow 98

The Bully Must Have Her Pound of Flesh 108

A Deep Dark Empty Hole 115

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2022 novum publishing

ISBN print edition: 978-3-99131-023-5

ISBN e-book: 978-3-99131-024-2

Editor: BA Hugo Chandler

Cover images: Engy Elboreini

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my wife, who always believed in me and encouraged me to write. Also, a huge thanks to my daughter, Engy Elboreini, for the fantastic effort she put into designing the cover of this book.

“Who Am I?”

A day I can never forget, the one that signified the start of events that turned my life upside down: Monday the 17th of March 2008. I was sitting in my home office in shock, not knowing how this would end. Two men from Post Office Limited’s (POL) investigations team were searching my desk, drawers, cupboards, and shelves for large amounts of cash or excessively high-value assets. They sifted through paperwork, looking for anything showing financial transactions, and placed objects into boxes as they deemed appropriate. Every so often, they came across a document to do with banks, or communications related to monetary transactions, and looked at each other before placing it in one of the boxes. Their expressions implied corroboration of wrongdoing and probable chastisement.

Looking around the room, I could not help noticing the lovely furniture, ornaments and paintings that adorned it. My gaze travelled out into the hallway, and I started to form a picture of our large, four-bedroom house, with three reception rooms and a big kitchen and breakfast room. Outside, at the back of the house, was a large, multileveled, decked garden with a very spacious art studio for my wife. My thoughts reminded me that, over the years, I had achieved a great deal, and become the envy of many. So, what led me to this predicament? Feeling frightened and very anxious, I found myself questioning who I really was, my past, work and social experiences, actions, and achievements. What had I done to get here? Would I be disgraced, humiliated, or worse? Did I deserve this?

Born in Egypt 53 years ago, I was the second child of what became a family of two parents and four children. My father, who was a dark-complexioned, always elegantly dressed man was born in Egypt. He graduated from Cairo University with a Medical degree and was intelligent and extremely sociable. During his post-graduation days, he worked as a gynaecologist, until he found his calling in Psychiatry. Actually, it was he who delivered my older brother, sister, and me. My mother was a young, beautiful, fair-skinned housewife who, like most women in Egypt in those days, had completed her high school diploma, but was persuaded not to continue her education. I believe, and indeed throughout the years she had proved, that she was more than capable in the field of finance and management, by the way she succeeded in the upbringing of four children and running our house. She instilled in us a kind, honest and caring attitude. Not only do I think she was the ‘best mother,’ but, also, an angel, putting everyone else’s feelings and needs before hers.

At that time, we lived in a small flat, just around the corner from my paternal grandparents, in what was then an upper-middle-class suburb of Cairo. Their apartment was spread over two floors of a building and was huge, which is not surprising, as it housed a family of nine. There were two beautifully covered balconies overlooking the main road, approximately one mile away from the newly deposed king’s palace.

My parents always thought that my sister brought luck with her. Very soon after Snats was born, my father secured a position as the first psychiatrist in Taif, Saudi Arabia. He had to travel there on his own to settle into his new job and arrange accommodation for us all to join him. Three months later, we were on our first-ever flight, heading from Cairo to a tiny airport in the coastal city of Jeddah. Along with one runway and apron, it had what looked like a large shed, built from corrugated steel sheets, as its terminal.

When we arrived, Dad was there to meet us. Our luggage was loaded into the back of a pickup truck, while we all sat in the front. He had brought this vehicle due to its luggage carrying capacity and its ability to endure the rough, very bumpy dirt road ahead. It was dark, but there was a full moon enabling me to see huge mountains around which we meandered. After a very long journey, we started to climb a mountain until we reached the plateau on which the city of Taif was built. Due to its high altitude, it enjoyed generally cooler temperatures than the rest of Saudi Arabia, a cleaner environment, and lots of greenery. The pleasant, inviting surrounds made it an ideal location for the king and royal family to spend the incredibly hot summers. Not only would they move to their residence there, the Government and administrative staff would also relocate their offices for the duration of the season.

We stopped in front of a large, detached bungalow, built on a substantial plot of land, enclosed by a brick wall; this would be our new home. As we got out of the truck, my father told Semita, my older brother, and I that he had a surprise waiting for us inside. Excited, we ran into the house to find an enormous room with a large rug in the middle of the floor. On two opposite corners were several toys for both of us. I was so thrilled I quickly forgot about the upheaval, the long and arduous trip and all that we had left behind. We were to spend the next few months in this house, which was divided into a private residential area for us, and a fully equipped medical clinic for my father.

Living there, I was very happy, playing with my toys inside and exploring new and adventurous activities in the garden. Once a week, my mother would go to the market and arrive back with about five men carrying huge wooden boxes of fruit and vegetables, and bags of general food supplies. One of the boxes, I remember, had prickly pears – shaped like a grenade, with thorns all over their thick skin. On the following afternoon, my mother, wearing gloves, had washed, peeled, and placed them on a tray and into the fridge. Later on, I opened it. There they were, piled in a huge bowl; reddish-brown, they appeared to be crying out for me to take. Delicious! One mouthful followed another and another until I had eaten half the contents of the bowl. I loved them and just could not stop, until Mum caught me. No more fruit for me on that day!

I saw many people arriving at my father’s clinic. Some had companions and were driven there by drivers in big cars.