There are certain childhood memories that can feel far removed from our own identity and reality, and the only way we can try to reconnect with them is through the heart; the nostalgic feelings, the grief over the loss of a family member, and the regret of not doing enough to stay in contact. As I grow older, the seeds of my childhood memories in Upper Egypt grow more dry, with little to no water to keep them alive. Clinging to fragmented moments and memories, I struggle to find any use or benefit to continue holding on to this part of my identity. Before my family moved to Cairo, Beni Suef was our own little village of calm tranquility. I knew the name of every street vendor in our street, every neighbor, and the man that offered me free horse carriage rides every weekend by the Nile. It was not an ordinary morning if I did not hear the old fashioned radio station sound effects coming from the living room, and seeing my grandmother prepare breakfast as she hums and sways to the tunes of Abdel Halim Hafez and El-Sheikh Imam….
