The Taboo of Physical Disability in Coptic and Middle Eastern Culture
My name is Marina Z. Nakhla. I am a 23-year old daughter to two Coptic Orthodox Egyptian immigrants, a sister, and a friend. I am currently a second-year graduate school student, studying clinical psychology and planning to pursue a doctoral degree with an emphasis in neuropsychology.
I also have a physical disability.
I was born with bilateral lower extremity abnormalities. More specifically, I was missing my tibia and other essential bone structures in my legs. This caused my ankles to be unable to bear any weight. Doctors gave my parents two incredibly unbearable options: to keep my deformed legs and remain in a wheelchair for my entire life, or to amputate both of my legs above the knee. My parents chose the latter. At fourteen months old, I underwent a bilateral above-knee amputation. In addition to my leg impairment, I was also born with 7 fingers — 4 on my left hand and 3 on my right. Fortunately, no surgical procedures were required because my hands functioned fine.
As a Coptic Orthodox Egyptian born in the United States, I have experienced both American and Egyptian stigma towards physical disability.
It is essential to openly speak about physical disability and educate individuals in our community in order to build tolerance and acceptance toward those who look and are “different.”
The hospital I was born in did not detect my condition prior to my birth. It was a life-altering surprise to both of my parents, who had never been exposed to any form of physical disability. My condition worried them beyond belief, and their decision to amputate my legs was undeniably the most difficult decision they ever had to make together.
It gave me comfort in knowing that I was handcrafted by God.
Upon my parents’ decision to amputate my legs, my parents did not receive any support from our non-immediate family nor most of the Coptic community. In fact, my family members were against the amputation and demonstrated great disapproval. Our church members didn’t provide any comfort either; they had only heard what happened and gossiped about the situation, and so after my surgery, only very few people from the church would visit.
My parents were in an extremely unimaginable situation and instead of receiving support from their so-called safety net, they had to turn to my team of doctors instead. My mother and father received reassurance that everything was going to be okay, and that I would be able to live a normal life. Additionally, my mother and father leaned heavily on other medical professionals to obtain the resources that they needed and learn how to deal with the situation.
If our community was more informed, socially aware, understanding of the challenges, and accepting of physical disability, perhaps my parents would have been able to receive more resources from the Coptic community. They would’ve been able to lean on the church, rather than depend solely on medical professionals. They would’ve been able to share their fears with church members, rather than feel completely isolated.
Our church members didn’t provide any comfort either; they had only heard what happened and gossiped about the situation, and so after my surgery, only very few people from the church would visit.
Growing up, my mother always told me “God made you special, not different.” This quote really stuck with me throughout the entirety of my life. Whenever any of my peers would ask me what was “wrong” with me, I’d always tell them the same. It gave me comfort in knowing that I was handcrafted by God. When I was a child, I always felt like the odd one out and was very sensitive about other kids my age asking me why I walked strangely, or why I was missing fingers. I oftentimes found myself simply smiling and responding, “…because God made me this way.” It’s important to emphasize that God, our creator, fabricates each and every individual distinctively, especially in a religious community.
Physical disability is not shameful.
Although my parents shielded me from the hostility of others, they never hid me from society. They took me to church, school, the mall — anywhere really. As a matter of fact, my dad would even take me to work with him and brag about me and my accomplishments in school. My parents were proud of who I was.
If they had sheltered me from society, maybe I would’ve grown up ashamed of myself and afraid of others’ judgment. Fortunately, however, this was not the case. Over the years, I’ve been complimented by both Americans and Egyptians for being comfortable with my disability. Nonetheless, it’s important to acknowledge that this isn’t the case with every person who has a disability. Some people are still hidden in families and/or countries with more conservative and narrow-minded perspectives towards those who appear differently than the “norm.” In fact, numerous historic instances exhibit physically disabled peoples being abandoned and even killed.
I remember that growing up in the Coptic Church wasn’t easy. I was payed attention to quite closely. Every time my mom would take me to church as a child, people would always come up to us during communion and tell us “she has to take off her shoes” or “she can’t wear her shoes into the altar.” Quite frankly, I was really hurt receiving this kind of attention at church. I always noticed members of the congregation staring with disapproving looks.
However, my mom always attended to my needs and shielded me from others. She was my spokesperson and supporter. She’d always tell them that I wear prosthetic legs and that I can’t take my shoes off. It became so difficult to the point where my mother wasn’t able to take me to church for a period of time — she was very sensitive about people bothering us, and taking communion became a burden. When we did return to church, my mother would have one of her friends take me into the altar for communion in order to relieve some of the pressure. People eventually stopped bothering, but I’d still get stared it. It almost felt like I was doing something shameful.
Until now, every time I go to a different church where people are unfamiliar with who I am, they’ll still come up to me. I understand that sometimes people don’t know any better — I mean, I had prosthetic leg covers at the time. This made my prosthetic legs appear very similarly to an actual human leg. On the contrary, if they witness someone struggling or walking differently, they should understand that that person has a unique situation. They shouldn’t be quick to judge.
Nowadays, I’ll sometimes experience kids in church asking me, “what happened?” I find that parents typically immediately stop their kids when they find them asking me… but I wonder… do they later explain to them why I look different? Why I walk differently? What a physical disability is? Or do they just leave them not knowing?
It’s not immoral to discuss physical disability.
Instead, it should be embraced. Physical disability must be normalized, which in turn will make it more socially acceptable. It begins with the acknowledgement that disability is not shameful. Yes, God allowed some of us to be born differently. But in the end, we all have a purpose in our lives and God allows that purpose to become unveiled at some point in our lives.
People with physical disabilities are not incapable. They can live life like everyone else, with the proper adaptations.
When my parents raised me, they didn’t treat me as if I was “different” or as if “something was wrong with me.” I was assigned chores, disciplined if I broke the rules, and expected to go to school and church. Interestingly enough, several of my family members and individuals in the Coptic community disagreed with how my parents were raising me. They didn’t like that I did chores around the house, that I was disciplined like any other kid, that I wasn’t always helped and instead pushed to do things on my own. Nonetheless, my parents knew they were making the right decision. If they had listened to what others said, I wouldn’t have been the independent person I am today. The way they disciplined me taught me not to take things for granted, allowed me to appreciate hard work, and overall built a foundation for my work ethic.
I worry that I’m not viewed as whole in Middle Eastern culture.
I’m very public with my physical disability through blogging and social media, so now more and more people are becoming aware that yes — I do drive. I do go to school. I am able to run errands and get things done around the house. It’s more difficult for the older generations to understand this. They’re still surprised to hear that I drive and go to school regularly. They make assumptions that I can’t do things. This leads to my fear of judgement if I were to ever date or consider marrying a man within the Coptic community. To be honest, I do fear that people within our community think that I’m incapable of being a wife, a mother, and of managing a household. I worry that I’m not viewed as whole in Middle Eastern culture, and this is because I know that judgment may be unavoidable.
Overall, the way my parents raised me and my openness about my physical disability have helped me become the person I am today. I’m very outgoing — my friends refer to me as a “social butterfly.” I’m hard-working, persevering, and a “go-getter.” My experiences have fueled my passion for writing about different issues experienced by amputees and physically disabled individuals. They have molded my desire for making a difference in others’ lives, for making a difference in society.
Support is crucial. Physical disability is not “taboo.”
The Coptic community and Middle Eastern community in general can be very judgmental, whether it comes to physical disability, mental illness, or any other deviance from the norm.
Nonetheless, I am extremely grateful to be an Egyptian Christian born in the United States. I’ve been to Egypt before, and speaking from first-hand experience, I don’t know how people with physical disabilities survive there. There are rarely any wheelchair accessible ramps, some very archaic buildings do not have elevators, and the ground can be quite rocky and bumpy to walk on. While my one-month visits to Egypt were incredibly challenging, I cannot imagine life for physically disabled individuals there.
On the other hand, here in the United States, there is an abundance of support groups, medical services, and conferences for those with various types of physical disabilities. Although our health care system isn’t the best, I am eternally grateful for all the opportunities here in the states.
It’s vital to speak openly about physical disabilities and educate the Coptic community. We must learn to provide unconditional love and support towards everyone, even if they may physically appear to be different than the rest. As Coptic Orthodox Christians in the United States, we must be good role models for our brothers and sisters in Egypt. We must break the negative stigma that physical disability is unmentionable and embrace others’ unique differences.
“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.” John 15:12
Marina Z. Nakhla is a first-generation American-born Egyptian. She was raised in St. Mark Coptic Orthodox church in west Los Angeles. She is currently a second-year Master’s student in Clinical Psychology at California State University, Northridge. Her long term-goals are to earn a Ph.D., and to work as an independent neuropsychologist and researcher within the amputee community. She aspires to be an advocate for underrepresented students in pursuing higher education, as well as for individuals with physical disabilities. Outside of school, Marina enjoys spending time with her family and friends, traveling, sight-seeing, and writing.
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