The history of cities, like the lives of humans, however, suffers vicissitudes of happiness and pain. Chicago's black day came on Sunday, October 8, 1871. In the west of the city lived Mrs. Catherine O'Leary with her husband, children, one horse, and five cows. That evening Mrs. O'Leary's animals were grazing quietly in the backyard of the house. At around nine o'clock, one of the cows was suddenly bored, so it decided to leave the backyard and go to the back barn, where its curiosity was aroused by a kerosene lamp. It circled around the lamp for a while and stretched its neck to sniff at it, then suddenly it responded to a mysterious desire to give it a strong kick, whereupon the lamp overturned and the kerosene spilled and the floor caught on fire. There was a pile of hay nearby that was ignited, and soon the house burned down, then the neighboring houses also burned down. The wind was strong (as is usual in Chicago), so the fire spread everywhere. Within an hour the whole city was engulfed in flames.
The catastrophe was made even worse by the fact that the firemen were exhausted from staying up the whole previous night putting out another fire that had damaged much of their equipment, which was primitive to begin with. The flames soared in the sky and began to devour the houses of Chicago, which were mostly made of wood. People's loud, anguished cries mixed with the sound of the raging fire as it gutted the city, producing a frightful din, as if it were snarling a curse. The scene was frightening and mythical, like the description of hell in holy scriptures. The fire raged mercilessly for almost two full days until it was finally extinguished at dawn on Tuesday. The damages were tallied: more than three hundred people killed, a hundred thousand (about one-third of the total population) left homeless. As for monetary damages, they exceeded two hundred million dollars in nineteenth-century monetary values. The catastrophe did not stop there: fire and destruction brought forth total anarchy. Roving gangs of miscreants and criminals, thieves, murderers, addicts, and rapists spread like maggots coming from all over to wreak havoc in the unfortunate city. They began to loot contents of burnt-out houses, stores, banks, and liquor stores. They guzzled liquor on the street and killed whoever crossed their paths. They abducted women to gang-rape them publicly. In the midst of the catastrophe the churches in Chicago organized special masses and prayers to lift the pain and suffering, and all the clergy spoke in a sincere penitent tone about the catastrophe as just punishment from the Lord for the spread of heresy and adultery among the citizens of Chicago. The destruction was so rampant that whoever saw Chicago at that time was certain it was irrevocably lost.
But what happened was contrary to expectations. The enormity of the catastrophe was such that it motivated Chicagoans and gave them courage. A merchant by the name of John Wright, who throughout his life understood only the language of numbers and deals, and who was never known for literary inclinations to eloquence, found himself standing in the midst of dozens of shocked and bereaved citizens milling about after having lost all they had to the fire. Suddenly a mysterious, poetic energy burst forth from him and he improvised a speech that was to become memorable in the history of the city. John Wright held out his arms in front of him and his features hardened in what looked like pain (he was a little drunk), then shouted in a loud, cracked voice, “Courage, men! Chicago did not burn; it entered the fire to get rid of its bad elements and will come out stronger and more beautiful than it has been.”
Thus the latent instinct for survival was sparked and the natural solidarity that unites people at dangerous moments erupted. The survivors started working tirelessly—armed volunteers ready to die for their city joined forces and began to chase and fight the gangs, killing them or forcing them to flee. Dozens of nongovernmental shelters were opened and donations poured in to provide food, clothing, and medical care for thousands of homeless families. Tens of thousands of dollars were pumped into Chicago from all over America for reconstruction and investment in its commercial projects. Reconstruction, however, caused new problems; the city council passed an ordinance prohibiting the building of wooden buildings because they had caused the fire to spread. This ordinance resulted in higher rents, which meant that most inhabitants of the city remained on the street because they couldn't afford the rent in new buildings, especially since labor had become so cheap as thousands of non-Chicagoans poured into the labor market. The economic crisis worsened to the point that hordes of poor and hungry people staged violent demonstrations, raising signs with the clear-cut three-word slogan: BREAD OR DEATH. But the American capitalist system was able, as usual, to present a temporary solution to the crisis—one never mentioned in the history books. Investments created several new millionaires while the majority of the population remained in abject poverty. Despite that, John Wright's prophecy came true. In a few years Chicago was more beautiful and stronger than it had been and was crowned, for many years to come, as the most important city in the West, as well as being the third largest American city and a major center of commerce, industry, and culture in America and the world. A popular song at the time claimed that “Chicago is queen of the West once more.” And just as parents pamper their children more after the latter survive deadly diseases, many endearing nicknames were used to refer to Chicago. It was called “Queen of the West” because of its importance and beauty; the “Windy City” because of its strong winds throughout the year; “City of the Century” because of its amazing expansion in a short time; the “City of the Big Shoulders” in reference to its extremely tall high-rises and the abundance of workers among its citizens. It was also called the city of “I will,” in reference to the ambition that impels Americans to converge on it in search of a better future; and the “City of Neighborhoods,” in reference to seventy-seven neighborhoods throughout the city where different ethnic groups lived: black, Irish, Italian, German, etc. At the time, each neighborhood preserved the culture and customs of its inhabitants.
More than 130 years have passed since the Great Fire, but its memory lived on like a scar on a beautiful face, recalled by Chicagoans from time to time sorrowfully and emotionally. The word fire acquired a different meaning for them. If anyone anywhere in the world uttered the word, it wouldn't have quite the same impact as it would in Chicago. Fear of fire has led to the city's development of the best firefighting system in the world. A firefighting academy was established on the site of Mrs. O'Leary's house where the Great Fire started. Thus the citizens of the city did their utmost so that the tragedy might not be repeated. Officials in the city, half jokingly, but proudly, have come to repeat a famous saying: “The firefighting system in Chicago is so efficient that it warns you of a fire even before it starts.”
HOW WOULD SHAYMAA MUHAMMADI KNOW all this history, having spent all her life in the Egyptian city Tanta, which she rarely left other than to attend a relative's wedding or to go to Alexandria and spend the summer with her family as a young girl? Shaymaa came from Tanta to Chicago, in one fell swoop, without preparation or preliminaries, like one who, not knowing how to swim, jumped into the sea fully dressed. Anyone who saw her roaming the hallways of the medical school at the University of Illinois (in her loose, shari'a-dictated garb, the veil covering her chest, her low-heeled shoes and wide, straightforward strides, her rustic face unadorned by any makeup, turning red for the slightest reason, and her faltering, heavily accented English, which made communicating by gestures easier than speaking) must have wondered: what brought this girl to America?
There are numerous reasons:
First, Shaymaa Muhammadi is one of the most accomplished and highest ranked graduates in the Tanta College of Medicine. She is extraordinarily intelligent and has a legendary capacity for work, which makes her devote long, continuous hours to studying without sleeping or getting up except to perform her prayers, eat, or go to the bathroom. She studies in a calm manner and with deep concentration, without haste or impatience. She spreads the books and notes on the bed, crosses her legs, and tilts her head a little to the right, letting her soft hair cascade down the side of her head. Then she bends, and in her beautiful, fine handwriting she writes down the main points of the lesson and proceeds to memorize them. She savors that, as though indulging in a favorite hobby or weaving a garment for a faraway lover. Her unmatched distinction in her studies easily earned her an official Egyptian government scholarship.
Second, Shaymaa is the eldest daughter of Ustaz Muhammadi Hamid, principal of Tanta Boys' Secondary School for many years, during which dozens of students graduated and assumed prominent posts. Five years after his death people throughout the governorate of Gharbiya still remember him with love and