The Chronikler

At less than 100 days old, our son, Iskander, embarked on the greatest adventure of his short life when we visited family and friends in Egypt – his first trip to his other homeland. This great voyage into the unknown appealed to the embryonic intrepid explorer inside him whose innate inquisitiveness helped Iskander to traverse his fear of the wild roar of honking horns and the stampede of passing traffic to discover a new species of experience in the concrete jungle.

The visit brought out a whole new aspect in our sociable, cheerful, yet sensitive son. It also caused us to view my homeland through new eyes – those of a young baby. Though he tried valiantly, he found it hard to adjust to the sudden change in tempo and temperature.

Our sojourn in Egypt also got us thinking about where would be best to raise our son in the various stages of his life, and how our choice of location could affect the person he turns out be. It will influence not only his personality, but his sense of national, cultural and religious identity.

In Egypt, certain advantages and disadvantages became quickly apparent. Cairo is one of the world's great metropolises and possesses many of the benefits of a mega city. Even though Iskander has revealed to us a new level of warmth among normally-reserved Belgians, the culture in Egypt is more tolerant of babies and children in public spaces . Moreover, in the early years of his life, we'd be able to afford more childcare services.

Living in Egypt would enable Iskander to become closer to the Egyptian side of his family but, on the flip side, it would put greater distance between him and his Belgian relatives. It would also enhance his command of Arabic and awareness of Egyptian and Middle Eastern culture. But, again, on the flip side, it would have a negative impact on his Dutch and his knowledge of Belgian and European culture.

The major drawbacks of living in Cairo are the pollution and overcrowding, the massive socio-economic chasm separating those who make loads of bread and those who eat little but bread. That's not to mention Egypt's ongoing privatisation of all spheres of life, from education and healthcare, down even to open green spaces, the embankment of the Nile, which has become one endless string of private restaurants and clubs, to Egypt’s plentiful coastline, which has been conquered and occupied by endless ribbons of chalets, villas and hotels.

In fact, the white sands of the country's north coast have become a kind of luxury Club-Cairo-Med, the setting for a dystopic colony of the wealthy who have abandoned the poor (known as el-aghyar or "The Others") to their own devices, except when they need them for menial work or as game to hunt, as in Ahmed Khaled Tawfiq's futuristic novel, Utopia.

If we moved to Egypt and wished to live by our egalitarian principles and send Iskander to state schools and treat him on the public health system, we would be condemning our son to an extremely disadvantaged future. Providing him with a decent level of education and healthcare is not only relatively costly but would expose him to the kind of social elitism which, if it were to rub off on to him, we would find hard to square with our principles.

Even apparently straightforward things like finding space for him to play outdoors or take up a sport are a real challenge in a city which has planted concrete in pretty much all its green spaces, and most of what remains belong to exclusive private combined social and sporting clubs.

In contrast, Belgium – with one of the world's highest standards of living and also one of its highest taxation levels – possesses an abundant supply of high-quality state-run education and healthcare facilities. In addition, sports and other recreational activities are not solely the preserve of the well-off.

Although disparities do exist between the haves and the have-nots, most Belgians occupy the middle ground. In addition, the rule of law and principles of equality are more deeply established – which would enable Iskander to grow up in a context which is more egalitarian.

A major challenge in both societies is cultural and religious pigeon-holing. As I spelled out in an earlier article, my wife and I will raise Iskander a-religiously and it will be up to the adult him to choose his faith or lack thereof.

In Egypt, this labelling is even institutionalised. For example, a person's religion appears on their identity card and birth certificate, and both the bureaucracy and society at large assume that children belong to the same religious group as their fathers.

Although it is now technically possible to leave the religion field blank, this is generally not done, except when it comes to Egypt's small Baha'i minority, and I expect that "helpful" bureaucrats will resist our attempts not to burden our son with a faith when we come to register him in Egypt.

Ironically, Iskander's name, though most people we know love it, may label him as belonging to the minority faith in both countries. We chose the name – which means Alexander – partly because it predates both Christianity and Islam and belongs to a man who, despite being a ruthless military commander, allowed religious and cultural tolerance in his vast empire.

Nevertheless, in Egypt, unlike other Middle Eastern countries, Iskander is a rare name and is mostly used by the country's Christian minority. In the current climate of religious tension, this could cause people to discriminate against him.

In contrast, his name's exotic ring to European ears will lead many Belgians to assume that its owner is a Muslim. And although the country's institutional architecture does not force people to make professions of faith and everyone, in principle, is equal before the law and should receive equal opportunity, in reality, prejudices do exist.

This was driven home to me by the promotional posters of Vlaams Belang which ask passers-by rhetorically why they should vote for the far-right party by using the Arabic word for why, lematha. The demonisation of Muslims is not just limited to the far right, but extends to mainstream conservatives and even quite a few liberals and leftists.

Even if he is not labelled as belonging to a minority faith, he runs the risk of being viewed as a "foreigner" in both his homelands. This is probably more problematic in Belgium, where immigrants are treated by some with suspicion and hostility, whereas in Egypt, a hybrid European khawaga will be viewed with a mix of curiosity and awe.

Rather than lead him to become a victim of prejudice, I hope that Iskander's multicultural heritage will help him to lead a diverse, rich and fulfilling life, and will enable him to get the best out of his multiple heritage, while taking those who do not appreciate this in his stride.

This is an extended version of an article which appeared in the Guardian newspaper's Comment is Free section on 31 March 2010. Read the full discussion here.

Iskander, shortly after his birth.

Saturday 28 November was the best birthday I have ever had. The sight of our son, Iskander, breathing his first, after a long and taxing journey for both mother and child, has to count as the single most emotional and moving moment of my life.

The memory of his cries mixing with our tears is one neither my wife nor I are ever likely to forget. But this magical moment, this three-way bonding experience, this blind date with our new life partner is apparently one I shouldn't have savoured, according to French obstetrician Michel Odent, who is against what he bizarrely derides as the "masculinisation of the birth environment".

The eminent obstetrician even links the rising number of emergency caesarean sections to the presence of fathers in the delivery room. While this, at first sight, appears to be a troubling side effect of our modern lifestyle choices, I find it does not stand up to scrutiny. Pregnancy and birth are complex biological processes and so linking a rise in C-sections to the possible inhibition of oxytocin, also known as the "love hormone", caused by the presence of a nervous male strikes me as somewhat tenuous.

If this were true, then one would expect fewer emergency C-sections in societies where men are barred or discouraged from attending the birth. But this does not appear to be the case. C-sections, including emergency ones, are on the rise not just in rich, liberal societies, but across the globe, including in China (where men are generally not welcome in the delivery room), Iran (where some husbands have only just been allowed to attend), Saudi Arabia and India.

And what about all those other factors? Surely, one of the reasons why more caesareans are performed is largely thanks to the massive advances in medical technology that have transformed what was once a potentially lethal intervention for the mother to a relatively low-risk life-saver.

In addition, not only can doctors better monitor what goes on during labour for danger signals and react rapidly when they are exhibited, the medical community is rightly averse to putting the lives of the mother or child at undue risk. Also, the increasing levels of obesity are making natural births more difficult, while the growing stature and head size of babies has not really been matched by pelvic size.

My wife was forced to undergo an emergency C-section, but the reason for it had little to do with my presence. It was due to pre-eclampsia and foetal distress caused by a loosening of the placenta, leading our baby's heart rate to fluctuate dangerously, reaching worrying lows.

Had we not been there for each other, the endless, agonising crawl of the clock as the surgeon on weekend call dashed to my wife's aid would have been unbearable torture – Katleen, alone, hearing Iskander's weakening heartbeats and me, outside, wearing away the floor with my apprehension. Instead, we gave each other strength and took it in turns to offer reassurance when one of our spirits flagged.

My presence in the operating theatre was also useful. Katleen, whose anxiety for the baby had completely eclipsed any possible concerns about her own wellbeing, as she admitted to me later, was somewhat reassured by the fact that I could see what the surgeons were doing and could communicate that everything was going okay to her with my eyes.

I was also able to hold the fort while the surgeons performed the more laborious post-op procedures. Instead of our newborn son spending that time in an impersonal neo-natal unit with minimal human contact, I held him to my bare chest to give him some of that essential, reassuring skin contact he needed at the start of his life. In return, he gave me one of the most extraordinary feelings I've ever experienced. When his mother was ready to take him to her breast, the moment was overwhelming for her and for me, out of both joy and relief.

Although Odent may be wrong to link the presence of men in the delivery room with the rising rate of emergency C-sections, he does have a point when he says that nervous dads are a hindrance.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 12 December 2009. Read the related discussion.

Though Muslims don't need minarets to worship, the Swiss vote to ban them is a troubling sign of mounting intolerance.

Alongside the crescent, the minaret is one of the most instantly recognisable symbols of Islam. However, it's only functional purpose – to call worshippers to pray – has, in the modern age, become obsolete. And even then, it is not absolutely necessary, as attested to by the earliest mosques which did not have minarets.

That is why, at face value, the Swiss referendum on whether to ban minarets, especially since there are only four of them in the entire country, as Tariq Ramadan points out, seems superficial and pointless. In fact, when my wife first heard the news she wondered whether the Swiss didn't have anything more important to go to the ballot box for.

Preposterous as the whole campaign is, especially given that Zurich's oldest minaret is so much a part of the cityscape that most passers-by don't even notice it, it does carry certain ominous undertones.

Although mosques don't need minarets to function and Muslims don't need them to worship, the Swiss decision – by a majority of 57% – to ban their construction carries enormous symbolic significance. Ironically, it even came on the weekend in which Muslims were celebrating one of their holiest festivals, Eid al-Adha.

To be clear, Muslims in Switzerland are still legally entitled to practise their faith. However, the message this vote sends is one that undermines the principle of religious freedom. The Swiss are effectively saying that, even if Muslims have the legal right to gather together for communal prayer, mainstream society wants them to be invisible.

In addition, one can't help thinking that for one of the main sponsors of the referendum, the far-right and populist Swiss People's Party (SVP), the heart of the issue is not so much minarets, but Muslims themselves. If it were up to them, I suspect, they would much rather ban Islam than minarets – but fortunately the law would never allow them to organise such a vote and Swiss voters don't fear Muslims enough to go that far – judging by some of the statements members of the party made in the run-up to the vote.

For example, the SVP's Ulrich Schlüer described the minaret as "a symbol of political power, a prelude to the introduction of sharia law". In this, the SVP is like far-right parties across Europe who subscribe to the preposterous notion of the imminent emergence of a "Eurabia", a myth I've deconstructed before.

As a sign of the deeper hatred upon which this ban is built – and a foretaste of things to come if we do not address the issue of intercommunal relations in Europe urgently – anti-Muslim politicians in other parts of Europe are already jumping on the Swiss bandwagon.

The party of the infamous Geert Wilders – who has already called unsuccessfully for the banning of the Qur'an – has demanded a similar referendum to be carried out in the Netherlands.

Mario Borghezio of Italy's Northern League also called for a vote in Italy, surreally suggesting that: "The flag of a courageous Switzerland which wants to remain Christian is flying over a near-Islamised Europe."

Unsurprisingly, the Swiss decision has not gone down well in Arab and Muslim countries. But I offer a similar observation to the one I made at the time of the German hijab murder controversy: troubling and Islamophobic as this vote is, millions of Swiss and other Europeans also find it reprehensible. In addition, it is not a sign that European Muslims are being persecuted. In fact, the Muslim minority in most of Europe enjoys more freedom of faith and conscience than minorities in many Muslim countries.

Nevertheless, the vote does fill me with foreboding. If matters are left unchecked, then European Muslims could well one day, become an oppressed or persecuted minority, and the artificial divide between western and Muslim countries could widen until it becomes an unbridgeable chasm.

We like to take pride in the fact that we live in the most tolerant times ever. But there were periods in Europe's history where Christianity and Islam actually may have co-existed more harmoniously than they do today. An interesting example of this was Sicily, under both Arab and Norman rule.

On the eve of the Swiss minaret referendum, our son, who is of mixed Arab and European background, was born. Although we are sceptical of religion, intend to give him a secular upbringing and let the choice of belief system be his when he comes of age, I hope that by the time Iskander is an adult, he will be able to live comfortably and proudly with his multicultural heritage and not be discriminated against because of it.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 1 December 2009. Read the related discussion.

Our unborn child is so hip that he is fashionably late for his own birthday reception. Though he is already something of a globetrotter, he seems unwilling to wean himself off the five-star womb service to which he has grown accustomed.

Once our son finally decides to shine for his parents,  he will be the biological embodiment of innocence, a clean sheet, unaware of the world or of his place in it. Our choices and decisions on his behalf will have potentially lifelong consequences. Even something as apparently straightforward as a name, especially given his mixed cultural background, will play a significant role in shaping his identity.

Although there are many things a child cannot choose or change, including the parents (s)he is lumbered with and where (s)he is born, one area that should certainly not be hereditary is faith. We are determined to leave the choice of belief systems to our son to make for himself, once he is old enough to do so.

In this, we agree with the message of Ariane Sherine's 'Please don't label me' campaign, though this is something Katleen and I have had an understanding about for many years, in the context of the hypothetical 'what if' games we're so fond of.

This is partly due to our belief in freedom of choice, and there is no domain so personal as the belief system one subscribes to. We also do not wish to deprive him of the beautiful aspects of his triple heritage – secular humanist, Muslim and Christian.

In addition, since we are both of a sceptical bent, reject dogma and accept the possibility that we may be wrong in our evolving beliefs, we think it is only sensible that our child should reach its own conclusions. Until that time, he will not be exposed to the overtly ritualistic or liturgical aspects of religion, except as an outside observer: no church or mosque, no Bible or Qur'an, no circumcision or communion.

Despite our rejection of organised religion, we will raise our son to appreciate the power of faith and attempt to give him a balanced appreciation of both the beauty and ugliness of religion and its role in shaping human civilisation.

That's not to say we will actually go out of our way to educate him about religion, not least because we're not that interested in it. As Katleen rightly asserts, we will approach the topic from a cultural perspective and try to discuss and contextualise what exposure he has to religion as and when it occurs.

But certain things will be harder in practice than in theory. It is inevitable that our own views and biases will be conveyed to our son. Perhaps understandably given our own convictions, we will wish him to grow up to be an adult for whom religion is inconsequential, except on an intellectual and cultural level, and who respects our common humanity above all else. But if he decides to embrace a faith, we will also be happy that he has found his own path, as long as he is tolerant of other world views.

Another major challenge will be society. In spite of our best efforts not to label our child, there is no guarantee that others will not go ahead and do so anyway – or try to introduce him by stealth to their chosen faith.

Although Europe has largely moved away from the assumption that a child is born into a faith, some may presume on the strength of his surname and possibly his appearance (if his North African side shows through strongly in his features) that he is a Muslim, and even discriminate against him on that basis.

Education is also a concern, and we will have to monitor carefully his schools activities – especially if he ends up in a "Catholic" school – to ensure that he receives no religious instruction.

In the Arab world, it is widely believed, among both Muslims and Christians, that faith is hereditary – an issue I addressed in this article – and so many will also make unwelcome assumptions.

This won't be a problem with immediate family and is also no longer an issue with the Egyptian bureaucracy. Luckily, earlier this year, Egyptians got the right to leave the religion field blank in their ID cards.

And when our son comes of age, it will be up to him and no one else to decide which faith ticks his box.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 26 November 2009. Read the related discussion.

Sleeper cells are awakening and an embryonic plot is taking shape. Small but powerful underground forces are massing – even the occasional lashing out has been reported. Great change is on the horizon.

No, this is not some movement to overthrow the government or bring in a new world order. In fact, the revolution is so localised that its ripples are unlikely to reach far outside our house. This revolutionary force is positioning itself to turn our lives upside down; to subjugate us and liberate us; to plunder our resources, but win our hearts and minds.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, we're having a baby.

I realise that the two opening paragraphs sound melodramatic but that's kind of how it feels. For years, I've smiled indulgently when friends told me how having a child completely changed their lives. Of course we were aware, on a theoretical level, of some of the transformations that accompany parenthood.

That is partly why we took so long – the good part of a decade together – before we decided to take the giant leap from recreation to procreation. We bravely resisted the bangs of the baby boom surrounding us.

With the familial urge failing to swell up inside my bosom, I was even beginning to reconcile myself to the prospect of being forever childless. Some see this as selfish, and at some level it is.

But isn't having a child also selfish in other ways?

Concerns aside, something imperceptible, like a continental drift, recently began to shift inside us. Then, one day, we decided to leave it to fate and, judging by her speed, Lady Fortune was in a hurry. But her timing was a little rotten.

The evening we discovered that we had crossed a very thin but significant blue line, our contemplations of the probable life forming inside my wife were cut short by her departure the very next morning for a fortnight with mine survivors in the Far East, where she had to deal with the immensity of the changes about to beset her by herself.

Even when still an embryo a few cells across, it's amazing how much influence an unborn child exerts. There are the lifestyle changes, like cutting out booze and caffeine (my two favourite drugs), full-time for my wife; part-time for me.

You also begin to notice things that had obviously existed in another dimension before, but have now managed to worm themselves through time-space to cross your path, including prenatal shops and gynaecology wards. Then, there are all the practicalities, such as booking creches well in advance because of the waiting lists.

There's also the gradual shifting of physical and visual centres of gravity. Suddenly, navel-gazing becomes the most entertaining pastime in the world, and my wife's slowly swelling tummy has grown, quite literally, into an object of immense fascination to us as we try to connect with the impenetrable netherworld of the womb.

Of course, the inevitable speculations about how the child will look kick in – and with our transcontinental backgrounds, the palette of possibilities is quite broad. Our main hope is that the baby will bear something of both of us. Given that my role during the pregnancy is largely that of an observer and assistant, I've had more space to let the wild horses of my imagination gallop.

A rose by any other name may smell just as sweet, but a child's name can actually have a significant impact on their lives. In our case, if it is too Arab-sounding, it will overlook the child's European heritage – and vice-versa. Meanwhile, the range of names common to both cultures is quite limited and, in many cases, overused by people in our situation – so the hunt continues.

Language is another issue. Between us, we speak half a dozen languages, and we want to raise our child to be fluent in three of them. So is culture. We want our child to grow up with a keen awareness of its different cultural heritages, and to be comfortable with them. Later in life, (s)he can choose to belong to all of them, one of them or none of them.

The idea of becoming parents still sounds outlandish to us. For the first 35 years of my life, parents were other people, and I was just plain old "Khaled". Now when our kid starts referring to me as "dad" or "baba" or even "pffft", I will feel like a bit of an impostor! But for our future child, our status as parents will seem like the most natural, and perhaps irritating, thing in the world – and (s)he will also think parents are other people.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 18 July 2009. Read the related discussion.