Cairo: The Good & Bad

I just spent a week looking at Cairo as if I were seeing her for the first time. My friend Anna came to visit, with Thanksgiving dinner and other essentials in tow. She brought creamed corn, themed paper plates, green beans, cranberry sauce, hand sanitizer and Stovetop Stuffing: all things she assumed could not be found in a developing country. She was right about the Stuffing. After a trip to the grocery store which hosted all the remaining items, we began to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. Conspicuously absent: Sweet Potato Casserole (the man who pushes his mobile factory of baked sweet potatoes had turned in early and could not be located); Turkey (Too expensive here. Besides, why get a turkey when you can walk down the street and pick a live chicken to behead for about $3?); Milo's sweet tea (one of the Uncles Who Can't Cook always brings that; I haven't any Uncles in Cairo); and Honey Baked Ham (Ham+Muslims=Haraam...you can't find a good pig anywhere.) Thus, in the history book of Thanksgivings, this one was not the most delicious. It was, however, one of the most memorable. So, I'd like to formally thank Anna Walley for being the only person I know who would pay overage charges on her luggage to make sure I had dressing and cranberry sauce.

I'd also like to thank her for the increased taxi fares and attention that comes to those who travel with foreigners. But, most of all, I'd like to thank her for helping me to rediscover a country that captured my heart two years ago and hasn't quite loosened its grip. Playing the role of hostess to a first-time visitor, I found myself both apologetic and proud.

Egypt is no Paradise. In fact, if there were some way to measure this accurately, we'd likely find the Mother of Civilization much closer to the Hell end of the spectrum. She's dirty; closed-toed shoes are a necessity for walking Cairene streets and the poor men who sweep the streets are merely feigning productivity. She's dangerous; I am NOT talking about terrorism here or even crime. The dearth of crime is surprising and terrorism is an overused label that allows us to forget that the Middle East is brimming with people, real live human beings, who have the same lust for life as their Anglo counterparts. No, what I am referring to is traffic. The kind of traffic that makes pedestrians run across streets in prayer, just in case things don't turn out as planned. The kind that doesn't stop unless you know the magic signal (It's a hand gesture where all four fingers touch your thumb, but is ineffective unless coupled with an "I mean it" look.) The kind that often grazes my leg or backside and makes me more determined than ever to attenuate those danger areas. (Pilates can save lives if properly used.) The traffic terrified Anna, just like it did me when I was new in town. Had seeing the Giza Pyramids necessitated crossing Midaan Tahrir (the city's busiest square), I don't think she would have gone.

Cairo is also noisy; 80 percent of the background symphony hails from the aforementioned traffic. Ten percent--Allah forgive me for admitting this, but my cultural sensitivity runs short at precisely 4:45AM--comes from the Shaikh belting out the call to prayer right below my apartment five times a day, most notably before dawn. Anna noticed this immediately and began sleeping with earplugs. I can sometimes sleep through it and can even study to the sound of "Allahu Akbar...Ya Allah, Ya Allah." Nonetheless, I've made an addition to my on-going list of how to live a better life (Thank you, Dr. Magdi): "Do not rent an apartment above a mosque. If there are no other options, make certain to attend at least one call to prayer to ensure that the Shaikh has a decent voice." This rule should save me from future feelings of guilt, as I usually laugh when he fails to hit a high note. The final 10% comes from my Bowab (omnipresent doorman). Mohamed, a sweet old man who once told me that I was like his granddaughter, has suffered trauma to his esophagus from years of screaming, "I'fil il-bab!! (close the door)." His dedication is laudable; though his voice is suffering, he's still screaming and apparently the tenants are still leaving the door open.

Thus concludes my list of why I still daydream about living in Italy. Now, to be fair, I should tell you why I will fight back tears the day I leave this city.

Cairenes are funny; Not just humorous, but wet-your-pants funny. They know they've got some problems and they laugh about them all. President Mubarak suffers most from their jokes, with our own illustrious leader Mr. Bush not far behind. Example: Some crazy man flagged down my cab the other day and, upon finding out that I am an American, said he needed to ask me a serious question. Uh oh, Here we go. "Listen Sister (if you speak Arabic, sometimes you get to be a sister), I need to know something. Who do you think has a bigger ego--Bush or Mubarak?" Having just sat in a cab for two hours because Mubarak's entourage was out and about, I had to go with the Egyptian dictator of 25 years. "Ha!, scoffed the man, "Today, yes. But Bush will do something tomorrow and you'll have to change your answer." Then he got out of the cab as abruptly as he had entered it, leaving the driver and me confounded but amused.

Next on the list of reasons to love Cairo are two of Anna's favorite perks: delivery and relativity in matters of time. When anyone here says that he will meet me in the morning, he usually means around noon. We say Sabah al-Kher (good morning) until lunchtime (3-4pm). Everyone delivers: all fast food restaurants, the ritzy restaurants, coffee shops, the pharmacy, the grocer, the alcohol store, the fruit man, the peanut girl, and the lady who will wax anything you request--this is a hermit's haven. Of course, the downside to delivery is that traffic renders most meals lukewarm by the time of receipt. Fortunately, I've been here long enough to learn to laugh about problems much worse than a cold shish tawouk.

This is an abbreviated version of Anna's first impressions. Details of navigating this city with a foreigner will soon follow.

*Disclaimer: I no longer consider myself a foreigner. The moment of conversion came one month ago when I asked for change back from the taxi driver and he readily gave me the due amount. (ie, I got the Egyptian price and didn't even have to fight for it!) I made a note on my calendar: October 14th, 2006, Ava Leone became an Egyptian.