So as I have posted in my "About Me" I was in Egypt for a semester, following my semester in Japan. Egypt was my first attempt at a travel log, though I wasn't as consistent as I had hoped. In the future, this is where all of my travel logs will be housed. May they be colorful and hilarious!
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Day One:
As the plane landed and I looked out below, Egypt looked like any other miniature landscape; perhaps a bit more brown, but I warrant that’s the sand’s doing. Gazing out the window, I feel like I should be in some chick flick, and some sinuous, vaguely Egyptian music should be playing in the background hinting at adventures to come—but there is no soundtrack, no dashing stranger I’ve met on the plane. In my heart I begin to understand why people claimed Egypt would challenge me. I barely know the language and my afro and dark skin are odd. I already feel the battle for my self-worth beginning. What am I doing here? How to charm these people when I feel so utterly alone?
I obviously stick out, the looks I get say it. But luckily I am out of the airport and Mahmoud and company are waiting for me. His accent is pleasant and I suddenly feel like things may be sort of okay. Thank you God for this at least. On the ride over, we exchange questions in broken English, because the Arabic I do know seems unsalvageable. I’ve got a long way to go and so I shoot up a silent prayer. Help me fall in love with this country and culture. Only then can I truly learn the language. Egypt and Nigeria are very similar, I notice as we head home. It’s just as bloody hot here.
We head upstairs, with help from local men to get my luggage. There is a young girl who smiles at me with eyes like a lion’s. I envy her those eyes, but smile back. Up, up, up the stairs and then I am tackled with a warm hug and English as we open the door to the apartment. Mahmoud’s sister, my sister is a glowing young woman with some knowledge of French I later discover. French may help me learn Arabic. Go figure.
As I sit in my bed, sort of unpacked, with my shower out of the way, I feel utterly bewildered. Nevertheless the Magdy’s are sweethearts and I know that if nothing else I will have friends here. They enjoyed the presents I brought over for them, my sister most of all. I think we bonded somehow, because now she wants me to visit Egypt every year. She also says “I love you,” now and then. All in a day’s work I say.
Though perhaps I should get my hair braided. Am I chickening out? Trying to blend in? In America my natural hair is a novelty. People like it, or at least are curious. But here? I feel the reception may be different. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was.
In other news, I’ve taken a rather strong liking to Turkish coffee and this “green tea” that Heba keeps giving me (which really tastes more like chamomile with honey to me).
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They won’t stop feeding me. As a self proclaimed foodophile, one would think that I would be thrilled. Alas an epithet about “too much of a good thing,” comes to mind. Fact is, I simply can’t eat this much. Heba and Mahmoud think I’m being shy—he even told me “aib” or shame on me—but as it turns out this hearty foodophile eats like a bird according to Egyptian standards, ironic as I had prescribed such mannerisms to my mother and had often wondered at how she could live as if on air when there is so much good food in the world. No longer. I only hope that as I learn more Arabic I can figure out a way to sincerely decline food without seeming “bird-like.” Thinking into the future however, reminds me of the impending end of Rahmadan. What will I do when they all start eating again, rather than just at sundown? Lord preserve me I might just die before then.
After a meal of chicken baked with onions, potatoes, and water with salt, pepper and other lovely condiments to create a baked-in sauce with (Compliments of the lovely Heba), I had a little battle with my phone (unlocking it). I had to pretend I was my mother, then pretend I was me on speakerphone, then pretend I was me and my mother together on skype. It was exhausting, but I got things running eventually. Skype saves lives, I tell you. After that I packed for a three day trip to Alexandira! Mahmoud and Amr have been planning to take me to the North Coast. I guessed they had an apartment, but what I hadn’t guess was how much I would love their mom, who came with us after we picked her up from her Alexandrian home (more on this later). We left at around eleven thirty in the evening or so for the two or so hour trip. Lovely, right? Mahmoud played tour guide and pointed out big hotels and the Nile. But after a while even he grew silent, tired as we all were. Amr drove, and remained mostly silent though I was surprised to learn he understood English quite well when I tried to explain to Mahmoud that I was allergic to cigarette smoke (Amr had just lit up). When we picked up Ohm or mom, she invited me into a richly furnished home with a fond kisses on my cheeks and charmingly accented English. She had me sit in a parlor as she got things ready for the car. After that brief interlude we carried on and I marveled at how much Egypt reminded me of Nigeria. Cairo was Lagos in twenty or so years (if Nigeria can get its act together) and the Alexandrian country side reminds me of Umohia or Erifite. Homes equipped almost to the limits of taste with plush upholstery and chandeliers, and outside a shaky infrastructure, unpaved dirt roads and peeling plaster.
We reached the apartment at three or so in the morning (Joy) and after un-packing and being shown my room, I was promptly fed. Again. This time there was baked pita, fresh mangos (the best I’ve ever had), and “straight from the cow” milk (Which Ohm had warmed for me to drink after she finished stuffing my face), an omlette dotted with black pepper, and ishta (fresh frozen milk) with honey, and reddish olives. Did I mention the olives? Oh and the Greek yogurt—there was just so much! Needless the say the whole thing was DELICIOUS. But Ohm just kept giving and giving…
She did call me beautiful on several occasions which leads me to believe that Egyptian men get their charm from their mothers. No surprise there.
Wow! Thanks Alpha!
Day Three:
The onslaught continues. Ohm is like a greek grandmother—or Yiddish. Feeding me until I feel almost ill and then sneaking an extra helping when I’m not looking. This morning she had me eating about as much food as we shared last night together. But I did manage to get her not to stuff me with more food. That’s a step in the right direction, right? Wrong I’ll never claim to be a foodophile again.
But food woes aside, get this: I am literally living by the Mediterreanean sea right now. The breeze is divine and the color of the water is not quite the emerald of Aruba and not quite the New Haven beach. I spent all day lounging on the balcony reading Lireal, because let’s face it: The Old Kingdom Trilogy never, ever gets old.
Breakfast was greek yogurt with honey, baked pita with Ishta and the best boxed apple juice I have had in my entire life. I kid you not, this stuff was like magic. It immediately brought me back to Japan. While I like the way that Japan does fresh milk (better than Egypt’s in my humble opinion), Egypt’s juice is better than the way Japan does its juice (and here I’d thought that a feat nigh impossible!). I also have a tendency to collect addictions, usually food related, when I travel. In Japan I had a tumultuous affair with every コンビニー (conbinii) or convenience store in northern Kyoto. It was such a problem. Even now I find myself wondering how I can breathe without a conbinii break; in Russia, these light little pancake things that were wonderful with strawberry jam and cream. I get chills just thinking about them. In Egypt, I believe Ishta will win my steady affections, though I have been known for my infidelitous (palin speare? Naw. Too classy) ways in this certain aspect of my life.
Of course I would be remiss if I did not mention the sunset. I have a feeling that sunsets in Egypt will always be beautiful, but with a clear view of the horizon and the Medittereanean sea blustering below, the entire thing was breathtaking. The sun itself was rendered fair marigold and the sky was a startling array of plumish purple and candy clouds. It was interesting also to watch Amr as he awaited the sunset. It meant something else to him, the end of the fast, than it did to me, a thing a surpassing beauty. And for all our difference in thought, we both still marveled in the same way. It is a remarkable thing to study, the human capacity for expression.
Day: I have no idea because I have not been as dilligent as I said I would be with this log thing-
Today was an adventure. I have been desperate to get my hair braided before school starts, to find a job and to find a flat. The combination of these three seems to have addled my mind, because I did the unthinkable: I approached a stranger. Now before mayhem erupts in the streets, I have to say I picked my stranger well. Fresh off the Metro in Tahrir, I had just ended a rather disappointing job interview. No pity please; the interview was perfectly lovely, however I could not provide the school with what they needed: a full time teacher in the mornings. The only disappointment came from my inability to help them. But back to the adventure.
I was walking about looking for the juice stand that Kia, that’s Malahkia the Magnificent to you, had pointed out to me the day I first met her (and went to look at the flat she eventually came to live in). I was positively parched. Now thirst in Egypt is very different from thirst in the States. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it happens more often and that for some reason it seems deeper. Anyway as I tried to find this juice bar that I had only been to once, relying on my photographic memory I grew too tired and finally despaired of the whole endeavor, planning on heading back to the AUC old campus to drop by Hardee’s. There was the added difficulty of needing to call Mahmoud to give our address to the taxi cab driver; he wasn’t answering his phone, so I couldn’t just go home.
When I turned back I happened upon a young black woman decked out in a Burberry purse, and pointy flats. She wore a loose neon t-shirt and skinny jeans and was about to step into a clothing boutique. Her hair…her hair was braided, somewhat messily, with that African blondish color I was so partial to in my youth and a vast assortment of colors I had not expected, neon pinks and greens to name a few. In my thirst ridden, fresh mango juice deprived state, I approached her and asked, “Do you speak English?” She turned, somewhat startled and then smiled. “I do! Can I help you?” And then the whirlwind began. I asked her about her hair and about the interesting jewelry she was wearing and before I knew it, we were gallivanting across Tahrir together. She showed me the small store she bought her rings from and I in turn accompanied her to get her cell phone back fixed. I should add to the mix that she called her hair weaving friend and tried to bargain on my behalf, only to then spot two Sudanese ladies walking buy, stop them and then solicit their services. How she can tell they braided hair I will never know, but they did and the date was arranged. Her name was Cleopatra (not her birth name I’m sure) and she had come to Egypt to reconnect with her roots. From what I gathered, she was Cleopatra reincarnate.
Now before you dismiss her as a kook, I have to say that I was rather moved by her mysticism. I have my own faith and stand by it, but there are elements of the unknown that her motley collection of beliefs seemed to address that interested me in an academic sort of way. She had a wide knowledge of all things esoterically inclined (she mentioned the moon quite a bit), and if you add to the fact that she didn’t look a day over twenty six (despite the fact that she claimed to be forty something) and you have a very charismatic young woman surrounded by happy circumstance. Everyone around us seemed to know her or like her for lack of knowing. She seemed to be, and proved herself to be, one of those people that things just happen around. We ended our day talking about dreams that we had had (evidently one of hers had referred to a “lucky girl” whom we both agreed could be me) and books we had in the making. We exchanged numbers after some drinks at a rooftop bar (though I got baked chicken with chips and water) and when Mahmoud FINALLY answered his phone, she helped me find a taxi and I was on my way home. It was a day for the history books, because I took a chance and it finally, finally paid off, just like in the movies.
Day- I’m living with Kia?!
I had my life planned out. I really did. Undergrad, fellowship to oxford for international law, law school, Foreign service or something. These were the steps I was to follow of be a happy successful life. Then I met Kia. Malakia the gorgeous and Magnificent (See earlier post), is an expert when it comes to traveling on someone else’s dime. Usually the government’s. She opened up a whole new world of fellowships and lifestyle choices to me, and she really is my best friend here. So when I FINALLY had arrangements for a flat with the lovely Clarissa and Rachel in the only slightly more lovely Maadi I had only one more issue to take care of. Where was I going to live until I could move in to my flat? The Magdy’s, while my favorite Egyptian family, were in a transition phase in their lives. Heba, was getting married and was soon going to move out and Mahmoud was going back to America for a spell. In other words, no one would be there to keep an eye on me, I had to leave. Before school started. And who should jump to my aid, knight in shining armor that she is? Kia, Kate, Ryan and Sean. These four comprise the “gang” I will refer to. I love these guys like I love food (note: not as much as before coming to Egypt as you well know). Kia is wonderful and I love her to bits. Her boyfriend Sean is like the sweetest person ever (and you should know that he has the infamous “lion eyes” that natives from the Indian peninsula are sometimes blessed with) and gives me cause to want to hug him every day. Kate is fantastic. We had a Glee moment…okay more like night but whatever. She’s one of those “I’m pretty fluent in Arabic, going with the wind, so cool an ice cube would be jealous, charismatic as chocolate” types of people. So when it turned out that she also was into musical theatre (and that her voice is fantastic), well, a beautiful thing began. Ryan, last but not least, is the somewhat sensible, former dorm conflict resolution operator. He’s also cute as a button, I mean in the way guys in their thirties are. I met him the same day I met Kia, at the hostel…which is a story I realize I haven’t told you…hmm. Anyway they all agreed to let me stay with them until I could move in. Just let that sink in.
So I’m sleeping on their couch—ahem comfortable couch shaped apparatus—and trying not to be too much of a leech (which is hard because I’m in college and that’s what we do. We mooch and leech). So bum, bada bum, bum, bum, bam! Introducing “the Gang”; my platonic support pillar here in Egypt. May our adventures be fruitful and ridiculous.
Thank you so much Alpha! I know this shout out is a little late (I have only just noticed your post) but thank you for your support!
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