The Maadi Girls

Before I left for Cairo I was captivated by the new song and video "Chandelier" by Sia. The contemporary dance performed by a young girl in a blonde wig to Sia's lyrics about addiction, rocked my world.

However, watching the girl twirl madly, divinely, chaotically, I wrestled with how such an innocent presence could so brilliantly embody mental illness and addiction through flawless movements. She is only eleven years old. Granted she is an artist, but the depth of her emotion and understanding perfectly captures Sia's heartbreaking lyrics about shame, guilt, false living and a world spinning out of control. How could she possibly understand this painful adult experience?

I met the Maadi girls a week ago. It was a brief visit and most of the girls didn't pay much attention to me as I was sequestered with the director of the rehabilitation center for two hours. In addition to meeting the directors, I met my dear Maram. Maram is older than the other girls and was struggling deeply with the injustice of having to stay at the center for six months after being hospitalized due to an alcohol-fueled episode. She was doing her best to convince everyone, including me, that there were no problems, not one, at hand. We talked for some time and a friendship developed.

When I returned to the rehabilitation center this week, I was not only greeted by Maram, but nearly two dozen other girls ages 13 and up. In some instances, I was mortified by how young the girls were. They were mere children--soft and pudgy in the face, shy, wearing pink girly clothes--and I could hardly envision a heroin addict lurking within. Still, though I don't know all their stories yet, this kind of life is known by these little women. A life of prostitution, drugs and physical abuse. They are innocent old souls, caught in a web of lies, desperate for love and attention.

I was happy to give it. I spent a good part of the day with the girls, grew to know some of their names, talked with them and shared in their recovery by sharing my own. They were eager to ask questions, but more eager to share their own stories, to tell of their tragedies, and yet to convey hope as I stated multiple times to them, "you are very courageous". One young woman who I had met the week before, pulled me aside to ask how she could build her self-esteem, for she felt she had none. We talked about the small steps, recognizing our worth including the things we do well and things we need to work on. As she lamented her weight and looks, I told her "God loves you exactly the way you are". She beamed brightly and we agreed to talk again next week.

What was a surprise, however, was Maram. Something had shifted and though she is still struggling with acceptance, she is beginning to acquiesce that problems abound. The door had opened. While we talked, she explained that women in Egypt are only meant to bear children, cook and serve the man. There is little more for any of them without a steep mountainous battle. The stigma of addiction renders life all the more difficult considering the treatment landscape is 1400 male beds to a mere 100 female beds. There are many women addicts, but the families will choose to treat a son before a daughter and it is virtually impossible for a daughter to leave the home for six months to receive treatment. How could they when they are only meant to cook and serve?

 In response, I am going to pray that my time with these girls provides hope for something more. They are bright, beautiful and courageous, but they know of pain and chaos deep within. Their souls dance like the young girl in the video and embody Sia's words of shame and guilt. There is more for them, each one of them. And with every moment I spend with the Maadi girls, I will be sure to let them know.