Mona Gamal of Coptic Egypt

"Mona, come to bed, I just put our son Jacob to sleep, come on," says my husband Alain Dewar, speaking from the bedroom of our townhouse located in the East End of Toronto. I'm sitting on the couch, wearing an old hooded sweatshirt that Alain loaned me. He's had it since his days as a University of Toronto student. It's way too big for me. Underneath it, I'm only wearing panties and socks. Casual wife and momma, that's me.

"Just a minute," I reply, and I lower the volume on the television set, where CBC News is doing a report on the plight of Coptic Christians, many of whom have settled in Canada after fleeing persecution in Egypt. This bit of news strikes a chord within me, for I am an Egyptian woman and a Coptic Christian. According to the Canadian Coptic Association, there are thirty thousand of us in Canada, and our numbers are growing. This does bring a smile to my face...

When people hear of religious discrimination, they usually think of Islamophobia, as in the fear and hatred that a lot of people in the West have for Muslims. They never think of people like me, the Coptic Christians of Egypt, who have been marginalized by the Muslim majority in our own homeland for centuries. Things have gotten even worse since the Arab Spring, and we're the frequent targets of radicals, simply because of our identity as Middle-Eastern Christians.

Today, my husband Alain Dewar and I live in the City of Toronto, Ontario. Our home happens to be the largest metropolitan area in all of Canada. The city is home to a truly diverse population, many of whom look like me. Lebanese, Syrians, Persians, Egyptians, and many other Middle-Easterners call Toronto home. Alain and I attend a local church with a diverse membership, a place where we can feel at home.

We tried our best at a previous church, the Antioch Church of Toronto, whose membership is primarily Arab-Canadian, but Alain and I were subtly and at times not so subtly made to feel unwelcome. It has to do with the fact that we are an interracial couple. I'm an Egyptian-Canadian woman, and my husband Alain is an immigrant from the island of Antigua. In Arab society, whether Christian or Muslim, interracial relationships are a big no-no for us ladies.

I still miss the Antioch Church of Toronto, where the priest, Antoine Suleiman, is a genuine Coptic Christian hailing from the City of Faiyum, Egypt. This was the man who baptized our son Jacob. Alain and I were conflicted about leaving, but the way the other church members treated us left us no choice. I love my husband Alain and won't subject him to such prejudice. We met at a campus ministry at the University of Toronto, shortly after I came to Canada. It was indeed love at first sight.

"Hola, que pasa? Do you know where the athletics building is?" those were Alain's first words to me. I was new to Canada in those days, as I said before, and after being granted asylum by the Canadian immigration authorities, I got myself a job as a cafeteria worker at the University of Toronto, a school I'd heard a lot about even back when I lived in Cairo.

"Sorry, brother, I don't speak Spanish, but I can show the athletics building, I'm going there," I replied, and I looked at the big and tall, dark-skinned young man who stood before me, and flashed him a smile. It's what I do when I am nervous. Alain has quite a presence, to say the least. He nodded and thanked me profusely, and we ended up walking together. As it turns out, we were going to the same place, the Campus Ministry Group at the University of Toronto.

"Sorry I addressed you in Spanish back there, I really thought you were from Latin America," Alain told me, as we walked into the meeting room of the Campus Ministry Group, located within the athletics complex. Alain and I had been talking while walking, and I learned that he was from the Caribbean, and even more of a newcomer to the campus than I was.

"Oh it's okay, Alain, I get that a lot, I'm not from Latin America, I just look like I'm from there, I am actually Egyptian," I replied, laughing at his honest mistake. Alain is the only person who can make me laugh, haunted as I am by my tragic past. When you've lost as much as I have, it's hard to appreciate the lighter moments in life. I had a good feeling about Alain, even at this first meeting. I guess fate truly had plans for us.

Alain and I joined the twenty or so other members of the campus ministry group, a hodgepodge of Latinos, Caribbean folk, Asians, and of course, white people. United by our Christian faith, and free to practice it in this wonderful nation called Canada. As I sat down, one of the group leaders, a young Jamaican woman named Stacy, talked about the meaning of Christianity in today's ever-changing world. If we are not careful Christianity could become extinct, I thought bitterly.

I remember those harrowing days when I was forced to flee my homeland of Egypt due to religious persecution and general unrest. Sometimes at night, I still have nightmares about the bloodshed I witnessed on the streets of Cairo, the city of my birth. This place claimed so many people I loved, including my parents, Mansour and Nora Gamal. How I wish they were still with us today.

"Mona, I fear that we are no longer safe in Cairo, we must leave Egypt," said my father, Mansour Gamal. I looked at my Baba, a tall, gaunt man with dark bronze skin and short dark hair that was graying at the temples, and sighed. Once upon a time, he was a captain in the Armed Forces of Egypt. Now, he was an outcast, having lost his post as a soldier, his rank and privileges, and the right to vote, simply because he converted to Christianity.

The President of Egypt, Hosni Mubarak, once promised to treat Egyptians of all creeds fairly, but like all the others, he was a liar. His reign, for it cannot be called a presidency, was characterized by brutal repression, until the people of Egypt had enough and the uprising began in earnest. Inspired by the revolution in Tunisia, our people revolted.

In these uncertain times, where identity politics rank amok, all minorities in Egypt feared for their continued existence. I'd seen Afro-Egyptians, the sons and daughters of Egyptians who married Africans from nearby Sudan, for example, face harsh reprisal at the hands of those who considered themselves 'pure Egyptians.' I also knew that the hatred wasn't likely to stop at those who were simply of a different skin color or origin. The radicals and the hatemongers were coming for Egypt's largest minority, Coptic Christians like ourselves.

"Baba, where will we go?" I asked, sounding frantic even to my ears. All around us, Egypt was aflame. The Arab Spring had come to our nation, and there were constant clashes between pro-government forces and rebels, and the old grievances that existed between Sunni Muslims and Shia Muslims, Muslims and Christians, were born anew. People were rioting, and even now, I heard the constant din of gunfire. What had our world come to?

"Here, take this," Baba said, and he pressed something into my hand, it was a passport, with the stamp of the Canadian government. They'd granted us our visas! Weeks ago, before the Canadian Embassy and various others recalled their diplomatic personnel back to their homelands due to unrest in Egypt, we went to make a demand for visas. I had given up hope that they would hear our claim, and now, thank Heaven, they finally granted us our visas.

"Oh Baba, I'm so happy," I replied, and I hugged my father fiercely. Baba looked at me and smiled, gently pinching my cheek. He was all I had in the world, ever since my mother, Umm Nora, died. Baba and I hurried home, and began making preparations for our trip. When there's trouble in the Middle East, airports are among the most vulnerable spots, as they are both entry and exit points into our world. I could only hope the airports would remain open long enough for Baba and I to sneak our way out of Egypt.

"Goodbye, Baba, I'll see you soon," I said, tears in my eyes as I hugged my father inside the busy terminal at the Cairo International Airport. I didn't know it then, but this was the last time we would see each other in the flesh. The best laid plans often fall apart, and our was definitely no exception. Fate is indeed a cruel mistress, and after depriving me of my mother due to cancer, she also took my beloved father.

Baba decided to send me first, and he withdrew all of our money from the Union National Bank of Egypt and had it exchanged into U.S. dollars, the globally accepted currency. With the equivalent of three thousand U.S. dollars, along with luggage full of clothes, family albums and heirlooms, I boarded the Air Canada flight going from Cairo, Egypt, to Europe before making its long trek to Canada.

As I fled Egypt, the situation worsened for Coptic Christians and others. I called my Baba as soon as I landed at the Pearson International Airport in Toronto, Canada. Baba sounded happy, and he promised to join me in a few days. I was to contact the Canadian immigration authorities and make a plea for asylum, and Baba assured me that given what was happening in Egypt, the Canadian government would be sympathetic to us. If only it were that easy...

Days went by without any calls from my Baba, and then weeks. I went to Legal Aide Ontario, and got a lawyer, a bright young African woman named Josephine Adewale. She helped me make my case before the Canadian Immigration and Refugee Board, and I was granted refugee status. I began the proceedings for my application to become a permanent resident almost immediately. I didn't want to live in limbo. Life taught me that terrible things can happen at any given moment...

I learned from Adelaide Faisal, a young woman whom I went to school with back in Cairo, that Baba had died. During the madness of the Arab Spring, bandits roamed the land, and they would kill and rob anyone they caught unawares, and apparently he was one of their victims. Just another senseless killing in Egypt, a land whose history is writ in blood...

I tell myself that my Baba went down fighting, like the tough soldier that he was. In my dreams, or rather, my nightmares, I see my beloved father fall to these madmen. To this day, I hate bandits, rebels and radicals. I hate the Islamists and the paramilitary goons who have taken over Egypt at different times. I absolutely and wholeheartedly hate them all. I want my Baba back...

Alone and heartbroken, I began making a new life for myself in this beautiful, strange new land called Canada. A land that is as different from Egypt as night is from day. I want to succeed here, for it's what my father wanted for me. As it turns out, life wasn't easy in Toronto, even though foreigners like myself typically think of the West as a magical place. I encountered quite a few hostile faces during my first weeks venturing on my own in the streets of Toronto.

"Do it for Baba, show these Canadians that Egyptian women are strong," I told myself, as I braved these new trials. I began working as a cafeteria worker at the University of Toronto, right after I became legally able to work in Canada. I got myself an account with the Royal Bank of Canada. I rented a one-bedroom spot from a Hispanic widow named Rosalind in York. I attended various churches, then turned to the campus ministry group at work. I built a life for myself, or so I thought. Alone is still alone. And then I met Alain Dewar, the one who changed my life.