Inji Efflatoun’s ‘A Meeting at the Prosecutor’s Office’

Inji Efflatoun’s 1993 memoir, The Memoir of Inji Efflatoun: From Childhood to Prison, co-translated by Ahmed Gobba and Avery Gonzales, is the nucleus of a new book, The Life and Work of Inji Efflatoun, published by SKIRA and edited by Sultan Sooud Al-Qassemi and Suheyla Takesh. The book is available now directly from SKIRA and at select bookshops worldwide.

This book was the subject of a recent episode of the BULAQ podcast; today, with permission, we bring you a section from the memoir soon after Inji Efflatoun meets her beloved husband Hamdi, who she was originally wary of — since he was a public prosecutor — although she is reassured he is actually “a committed Marxist.”

A Meeting at the Prosecutor’s Office

By Inji Efflatoun

Translated by Ahmed Gobba and Avery Gonzales

Hamdi and I spent two beautiful months meeting and going on walks in secret so that news of our engagement wouldn’t spread. But the whole plan was nearly ruined by accident. Where? In the Prosecutor’s Office building itself. We had gone to the cinema, and after the show had ended, Hamdi accompanied me back to the door of my family’s building. I went up to our apartment to find General Intelligence agents with a search warrant. They told me to go to the Kotsika Police Station to meet with the public prosecutor. I went but didn’t find the prosecutor there as it was three o’clock in the morning. I went back to the house after calling him from the station’s telephone, and I promised to meet him the next morning at the Prosecutor’s Office in Bab al-Khalq.

Fortunately, my mother heard nothing of the search that night because she was not home. She was at the wedding of Hussein Sirri Pasha’s daughter. I was also invited but elected not to go. The National Security Agency’s intelligence agents were about to go to the wedding to arrest me if the maid had not convinced them that I wasn’t there but rather had gone out and would return before my mother. So, they waited for me. I can imagine the chaos that would have ensued if the agents had gone to the wedding of Hussein Sirri Pasha’s daughter, and I can picture my mother’s face. But that’s not what happened, so it was truly good fortune! At ten o’clock the next morning, I went to the Press Prosecution building. Mr Mokhtar Qutb was responsible for interrogating me and informing me of the accusation: “Registered membership in an international organisation without government permission”. The penalty for this crime was three months in prison and a 100 Egyptian pound fine.

I confessed to the charge, saying, “Yes, I am a member of the Women’s International Democratic Federation and proud of it. I would be honoured to go to prison for defending women’s rights”. Mr Mokhtar Qutb laughed and realised that he had no choice but to release me and drop the case. At that moment, Hamdi entered the room for some work-related matter and froze when he saw me sitting in front of Mokhtar. He had dropped me off last night and didn’t know what happened afterward. He overcame his shock, and I tried to help him not reveal our secret in front of his colleagues. I turned my back to him because I was about to explode with laughter. He turned to his colleague and asked, “Who is this girl? What’s her story?” Mokhtar answered him with surprise, “Ah, you don’t know her? This is Inji Efflatoun, the famous communist”. He continued, “There is nothing against her, and she will be home shortly. All this is just talk, man”.

Hamdi relaxed and left the office to head back to our house and wait for me. The prosecutors in the Press Prosecution office at that time were Gamal al-Atify, Mokhtar Qutb, and Anwar Habib. How surprised was the investigator Mr Anwar Habib afterward when he learnt about my marriage to Hamdi just two months after this encounter—he was invited to our wedding party. Of course, my mother learnt of this incident. Newspapers published news of my arrest and interrogation for a “communist case”. My mother was livid, and she threatened to prevent me from leaving the house. Butthat was futile. I was very angry at the Akhbar al-Yawm newspaper.

Hear more on the Inji Efflatoun episode of BULAQ.