Like father like daughter

As a mother, motherhood is one of the greatest things God created, but a father’s role is not less important in a kid’s life, including a daughter’s.

Especially a daughter’s.

I grew up with a passion for writing and a supporting family. My mother always told me that I can do it, and I felt it. But when my father told me that I can do it, I believed it. As much as I love my mother and appreciate everything she did to me, but my father is my number one fan.

My father Ahmed Mohamed Mustafa worked for more than 40 years in the hospitality industry. He started as a waiter and then became a manager of Rotisserie Belvedere restaurant at the Nile Hilton Hotel, Cairo, Egypt. Even after retiring, he trained different restaurants’ staff.

He was never tired of working.

His work started at around 12 p.m. until 4 p.m. Then he would come home for lunch, return to work and arrive home after midnight. On special holidays like Christmas and New Year Eve when we are all off from school, he would spend the whole night at work and come home the next day in the morning.

But he always seized the moments we spent together.

I recall the days where we would stay up at night and watch a movie together while we are eating chips and drinking Coke. Whenever he saw me down, he would take me for a walk outside and tell me stories about himself. His stories were mostly about his determination in being successful in his career despite the little resources he had when he was young.

He always held my hand when we walked together. Even after I became responsible for my own child. He still looked at me as his little girl.

He was the first to wish me a happy birthday. At exactly 12 a.m. he would call and play “happy birthday to you” in the background. When he came back from work, he would have my favorite chocolates, flowers or a new CD album to add to our collection.

Our CD player sat in the middle of a black wooden table with three rows of CDs on each side. Michael Jackson’s Dangerous; The Best of Bee Gees; Kenny G’s Greatest hits; Andrea Bocelli’s Viaggio Italianoand many other CD’s collections in different languages. He had a unique taste in music and I never knew how he could like a song without understanding all the words. “A good song is what takes you,” he said. This is how I grew up loving music.

I’ve always admired how my father loved his work. He received many certificates over the years. The last one was in 2011, where he was awarded “Egyptian Ambassador of Tourism” for his dedication and achievements in the Nile Hilton Hotel.

I remember visiting him at his work when he was the manager. I was in college working on a photography project and needed to take some photos of the Nile river from the restaurant terrace. He took my hand and introduced me to his staff and some of the guests, “This is my daughter Shams,” he said. “A future writer.”

When my first story was published in 2007, he was the first to buy the magazine. He would ask me every month, “Is it out yet?” then he shared my online stories on his Facebook page writing, “My dear daughter.”

He was proud of me even with my little accomplishments.

My father was stubborn when it comes to visiting doctors. He believed Advil can cure anything, so he took a pill whenever he wasn’t feeling good. Last April right before his 64th birthday my mother and my sister noticed that he looked tired. His face was pale, and he wasn’t eating well so they forced him to see a doctor. The doctor said that he had some kidney stones and he should have surgery to remove it.

After the surgery, he still couldn’t eat. He knew he was getting weaker and he wasn’t telling anyone. Whenever I called him, he would reply, “Don’t worry I am fine, just getting older.” A few days later he didn’t answer my calls. I knew from my sister that he didn’t want anyone to see him in this state and wouldn’t allow his friends to visit him. I kept texting him pictures of me and my son and he would reply, “Happy to see you, my dear.”

On April 13, I tried calling my sister to check on my father. I was hoping that my news would cheer him up. I was granted a scholarship from my university and wanted to share the news with him. Once she finally picked up, she didn’t say a word, she started crying. At that moment I knew that he was gone.

I knew this day would come but I hate that I couldn’t even say goodbye. Going back home was one of the hardest trips in my life. I was in denial. I couldn’t imagine not seeing him at the airport waiting for me like he used to.

I spent a few days at home looking through his old stuff. His last Facebook profile picture was a picture that he took of my sisters and me together. As my mother entered the room she started crying and hugged me from the back.

“You look a lot like your father,” my mother said.

I am grateful that I have his name and more.