Such a scene is familiar to Egyptians. And so was the bad news. This was the third instance of aviation disaster for Egypt in the past year, after the October 2015 explosion that brought down the Russian Metrojet leaving the Sinai and the hijacking of an EgyptAir flight in March.

In the café, we turned to the now familiar task of cataloguing this event: Terrorism? Conspiracy? Accident? Egyptians are known for being quite sociable, and the café soon turned into a forum of different people trying to analyze the situation. A 26-year-old waiter bellowed that the “Muslim Brotherhood” was probably behind this, a sentiment that would be loudly expressed by many anti-MB Egyptians in the days after. Another voice replied that the government probably planned this, and soon the two men were arguing.

Quickly, the headlines turned.

“Egyptian Flight MS804 Crashes and Burns.” This was no downturn to Cyprus, as was the fate of the hijacked flight. We started browsing Facebook pages, trying to figure out if anyone we know had been affected. I spent the rest of the day looking down at my news feed.

On the alumni Facebook group for my school, the American University of Cairo, I learned that two alums were on board the flight: Ahmed Helal and Ghassan Abu Laban. My heart wrenched at two particular stories, one of them Laban’s. He was on board the doomed flight with both his parents and his wife Reem; the couple left behind two daughters. Since France is a popular cancer treatment destination for many Egyptians, there was a 30-year-old mother along with her husband on the doomed flight. They had sold most of their belongings, as mentioned by popular local Egyptian publication Youm7, to carry out an operation for the wife. In the end, they left behind three children.

These were only a few of the human stories that were bellowing on Egyptian social media, and many more have since been unveiled.

Consequently, apart from attending the public memorial services for the victims, there were many efforts by the locals to try and help their families, which included starting a fund for the children whose parents were deceased on the doomed flight.

However later on, EgyptAir posted its own message asking people to leave the families in peace: “The families of the victims of flight MS804 appreciate the efforts of the people trying to help them, but they would like to keep the matter private and they are not looking for financial assistance and would like to mourn their loved ones in peace.”

The next day, I was on the phone with one of my close friends from university, whose voice sounded hoarse. She told me the story of her childhood friend who was one of the flight attendants on board. A little while later, I received an unrelated group message exclaiming, “Don’t call her! Or do anything yet.” Scrolling up, I saw that a family member of an old friend was the co-pilot aboard the flight.

At the university, the conversation was both about causes and reactions. Western news agencies kept invoking “terrorism” even though no one yet knew what had brought the plane down. This soon became a topic. So did fears about other flights.

But after the first few days, the concerns about safety turned to worries about the effect the crash would have on Egypt’s already struggling economy and tourism industry. Hashtags such as #supportEgyptAir, ‪#IsupportEgyptAir,‬‬‬‬ and #PrayforMS804 were soon spreading online to counteract the castigation of our national airline. The international criticism felt unfair—I have traveled many times on EgyptAir and received excellent service.‬

More recently, I was back in the café and people were still worried about reasons for the tragedy. But around Cairo, you see more signs of people mourning those who perished on the flight. Given that mourning in Egypt is a public affair, Muslims and Christians alike were carrying out memorial services for the victims all over Egypt.

People are saying the “Salat Gha’eb” or “prayer of the absentee.” According to my Islamic faith, these people died as martyrs, since they were considered to have been killed protecting themselves and their families. They get the highest reward in the afterlife and all their sins are erased. Today, efforts to remember those who died aboard the flight continue. Several families have started charities to commemorate their lost loved ones.

What has brought comfort for some is an Egyptian expression that says, “The way you die reflects a lot about the way you lived.” The martyrs of Flight MS804 died on a Thursday. The very next day was Friday, when they were prayed for in the mosques—the close timing suggests just how very dearly God loved them and how they will never be forgotten.

The post In Egypt, the “Prayer for the Absentees” of Flight MS804 Still Resonates appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Just 20 minutes before departure, the gate for a direct TunisAir flight from Cairo to Tunis opened, setting off a scramble of people trying to finish the security process so they could board the plane and claim all of the empty window seats, including mine. The assigned seat rule is something most Egyptians merely take as a suggestion.

People were piling their bags on top of one another on the security belt and squeezing through the metal detectors two at a time. I recall being forced to throw my bag down on top of someone else’s and feeling a sense of relief when the man watching the computer screen turned his head away to answer an inquiry from another passenger as my bag passed through the machine. I had snuck an essential antibiotic cream into my bag and was hoping that I would get away with “smuggling liquids.”

Thinking back now on this experience, I should have been scared. This was not a proper security check. After two years living in Egypt and working at the American University in Cairo, I have grown accustomed to the pervasive mindset of “inshallah,” Arabic for “God willing.” It’s a phrase used to evade fear of a future event and instead outsource worries to an almighty being. Inshallah, the security check was comprehensive enough to notice if anyone was smuggling something actually threatening and inshallah, today is not my day to die.

The phrase inshallah expresses the willingness of Egyptians to fly EgyptAir again, regardless of the tragic and as-yet-unexplained crash of an EgyptAir flight on its way from Paris to Cairo.

Yes, this crash follows the March hijacking of the domestic EgyptAir flight 181 from Alexandria to Cairo with a forced diversion to Cyprus. (The hijacker was deemed a “love sick idiot” by the Egyptian foreign ministry, as his demands were to deliver a letter to his ex-wife located in Cyprus and to claim political asylum there). And yes, it comes after the explosion of the Metrojet flight from the Sinai Peninsula to Russia that killed 224 people (ISIS claimed to have brought the plane down with a bomb in a soda can).

These aviation events—in combination with the global perception of violent conflict in the country (I actually feel safer here than I do in New York City) and last fall’s mistaken killing of Mexican tourists by Egyptian security forces—have badly damaged tourism to Egypt.

But, in spite of all this, the country does not seem scared. Sad, yes. The grief is apparent here. Friends who were close to people on the EgyptAir 804 flight are in states of mourning and funerals are being held countrywide. I was in the airport three days after the incident. In the terminal and on the EgyptAir flight itself, the sorrow weighed heavily. I could see in people’s eyes a forlorn absence; some were choked up in tears. I felt a suffocating misery, especially right before landing, as it was clear we were all thinking the same fact: the crash occurred twenty minutes before arrival to Cairo Airport.

Despite this sadness, I haven’t heard anyone say he or she is scared of flying EgyptAir.

To the contrary, the crash has inspired nationalism. A group of Egyptian school kids who were asked at the airport whether or not they want to change their flight carrier responded with, “No! We will stick with and support EgyptAir!” #PrayForEgyptAir and #SupportEgyptAir are trending now on many of my Egyptian friends’ Facebook pages, as people simultaneously mourn the losses of lives and the future blow to Egypt’s already ailing economy, which has historically thrived off of its tourism industry.

Most Egyptians are proud of their airline and aware of the demanding process one must endure to become an EgyptAir pilot. Many, me included, root for EgyptAir as we would for a home team. Last week, as I was sitting in a park outside with some friends, we counted the number of EgyptAir flights that flew over our heads and landed successfully, clapping each time the roar faded away toward the airport. We counted 10 flights over the course of a few hours.

Every EgyptAir flight is a perfect microcosm of Egyptian culture, making flying an endearing and entertaining experience for all. Even when the seat belt sign is on, people get out of their seats to talk to people around them. They sit wherever they feel most comfortable, completely disregarding the assigned seat rule. Everyone always wants to chat—Egyptian’s quintessential warmth and sociability—and no one wants to follow the rules.

Whenever I return from New York to Egypt, I love taking EgyptAir as it prepares me for the culture shock of Cairo, and the return to this land of flouted rules.

EgyptAir is also so esteemed because it is the flagship airline in a country where few Egyptians have had the opportunity to take to the skies. Visa requirements are so restrictive that Egyptian citizens often don’t bother with foreign trips.

Egyptian citizens have the option of buying a visa-on-arrival, or entering visa free to only 49 countries, meaning 75 percent of the world’s countries require Egyptians to apply for a visa months in advance (France is one of them). This arduous process of visiting the specific, in-country embassy and the numerous Egyptian government buildings to fill out the necessary paperwork is a deterrent in itself.

And even if you do go through this entire process of application, you may not get the visa in time to travel. The bureaucracy is that slow. My Egyptian friend Malak was accepted to participate in a summer enrichment program in the U.S. She had her flights booked, her forms completed on time, her address where she would be staying, an updated passport—everything one would need to leave the country. Except her visa. When inquiring, she was told over and over again that her visa was “pending.” Malak received her visa four months after her dream study abroad program ended.

As a citizen of the United States of America with a multi-entry work visa on my passport from the American University in Cairo, I am lucky to have the privilege to fly in and out of Egypt with ease. This past Sunday, three days after the incident, I took a work-related EgyptAir flight to Hurgada (south of Cairo, along the Red Sea). I returned safely Wednesday night. In two and a half weeks, I will be taking my final EgyptAir flight from Cairo to New York, where I will rejoin my family after two years living in this fascinating and crazy country.

I am sad to be leaving; I will miss the cities, the smell of freshly baked bread on the streets in the mornings, the way the call to prayer drifts over the ancient minarets, and the friendliness and generosity of people.

But I’m not afraid to be flying home on EgyptAir. [In fact, I’ve become a bit Egyptian on that subject.] After that wretched TunisAir experience, my friends asked me—and I asked myself—why didn’t I fly EgyptAir?

EgyptAir’s arrivals and departures are housed in Terminal 3, a sophisticated and high-tech part of the airport, while TunisAir is in antiquated Terminal 1. The EgyptAir terminal has more thorough security screenings—I was not able to take my soccer ball on one EgyptAir flight from Sharm el Sheikh to Cairo, as it apparently posed a bomb threat. Security personnel pre-screen bags as you first enter the airport, and again when you walk through the security line.

EgyptAir runs over 200 flights a day to 540 destinations. The odds of anything going wrong are long. I have always felt safe boarding an EgyptAir flight. Inshallah, the time will come when people around the world feel the same way.

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