Days of our Lives

Despite popular rumors that Egyptians spend their days building pyramids and nationalizing canals, the daily life here in Cairo is pretty calm. Well, calm is probably the wrong word, but lets just say that life here is no more glamorous or terrifying than it is in the states. Except for the fact that you get to remind yourself that "YOU ARE IN EGYPT!!!!" everytime you begin to forget exactly where you are located on the globe. My point is that the Mideast is not quite as thrilling when you are actually here, and you realize that even in this region, life is still made up mostly of the day to day grind.

Today was one of those ordinary days, but it was an exceptionally good one. It was Sunday, which is the first working day in Egypt-weekends are Friday and Saturday-so I went to school in the morning. I continuously confuse myself regarding the days of the week. Today is Sunday, but because it was the first school day after the weekend, I keep thinking it is Monday. Same thing happens on Thursday, which is the last weekday before the weekend, so I always think that Thursday is Friday. And then on Saturday, which is the last day of the weekend, I think that because it is Saturday we still have Sunday off. Confused yet? As you can see, it's quite a mess.

After Literature class, I had a sandwich at the University cafeteria, and then headed off to the Fulbright office to check my mail. Luckily, I get to avoid taxis and haggling for a fair price as I can take the metro to the office in Giza. Think of Giza and Cairo analogous to St. Paul and Minneapolis, except a lot hotter and without those damn gophers. The subway here in Cairo is amazing, it really is the best thing that has happened to the city since the sphinx. You walk down the stairs and suddenly you aren't in Cairo. You are in Washington DC, Paris, New York, Mexico City, Moscow, Tokyo or any other metropolis which has realized the genius of cheap, quick public transportation. You push your way to the front of the ticket booth, ignoring the kissing noises and hissing (which in this case is actually not directed towards you, but rather at the ticket seller as a way of getting attention) achieve your yellow ticket, and head towards your line. As the train approaches, people begin to run. Now I should have mentioned, the metro is not for the faint of heart. It can be packed, getting off and on the train is often a non-voluntary act, as you can be picked up by the crowd and carried to and fro. But the Metro is one of the only places in Cairo where I have heard my male friends tell me, "you are lucky to be a girl." The reason for this is because women have the option of the "women's cars" which are located at the front of the train. While plenty of women feel comfortable riding in the co-ed cars, I personally always walk down to the women's cars, as I feel better pressing my foreign-self up against a bunch of women as opposed to those men who might welcome being smushed up next to a foreign woman. Another plus is the considerably better smell associated with the womens car, a difference that the men of Cairo may never have the privilege of noticing. Getting on and off the train you will hear a "yalah Guma'!!" which roughly translates to "lets go gang!!" as people push and shove and crowd surf on and off the cars.

Arriving at the Fulbright office, I am delighted to find that I have received two packages from friends. I sit on the nice couches and ration my precious gifts, enjoying the cool air conditioner and welcoming environment of the office. I go to the office more than many students, because the director has allowed me to play the grand piano in the reception hall. It is an oasis of sanity amidst the bedlam of the city, and I always relish my time there.

After returning to campus, I met with May, an Egyptian Masters student that I had been introduced to through a mutual friend. She studies English Literature, and while I always prefer to speak Arabic with my Egyptian friends, I honestly forget that she even speaks the language as her English is so good! This is our second meeting, but she already feels like an old friend. Originally from Alexandria, this is also her first semester in Cairo, so we exchange battle stories and laugh over our shared experiences.

I return home to catch up on studying and laundry, but as I am hanging out my underwear to dry on the line outside my window, my neighbor, Nahida, comes out into the courtyard. She calls up to me and asks me how I am doing, and this reminds me that I need to return to her the dishes in which she gave us food. I decide to also give her 4 bulbs of garlic, as she had given me some onions last time when I didn't feel like going to the store. I ring the doorbell and she greets me with a smile and a number of greetings. But then her happiness turned sour when she saw that I had brought a gift..."what's this!?!?" she demands, peering curiously at the garlic cloves. "Well I wanted to return the favor, since you gave me onions last time, I thought I would give you some garlic." Nahida immediately starts into a string of "La, la, la, la, la (no, no no no no)" and her husband chimes in, "la, la, la, la," I think that this is just the routine that we play, so I push the garlic towards her telling her "please, take it TAKE IT, PLEASE!?" But Nahida and her husband continue, telling me that they have plenty of garlic, and that I cant give them gifts because I am a part of their family. "I am like your mother, you are my child." This dialogue continues for a while, and eventually I give in, no match for the seasoned veterans of hospitality. I miraculously escaped being invited in for a snack, but promised that I would make it another time, and I headed off to the gym.

I return from the gym and begin to cook my dinner. My roommate, Sammy, and I are discussing the day's events, and in the middle of eating my omelette, we hear the doorbell ring. It is the upstairs neighbor who has come to bring Sammy a sock which fell off the laundry line into the courtyard. She had washed it, and Sammy was very grateful for the sock which she had assumed was a goner. But our neighbor was not there only to return the sock, she also had to retrieve some fallen laundry of her own. We go outside to the balcony, and after a fruitless search, she spots the fallen item on a ledge which is impossible for us to reach. She suggested a broom, but I was afraid that such a plan would only end up with the laundry on the street and an angry neighbor in our apartment (although I would be armed with a broom if it became necessary). I asked Sammy to spot me, and crawled up on the ledge and reached down and grabbed the illusive clothing. Our neighbor was thrilled to have back her laundry, I was happy to have played superwoman, and Sammy was thankful to not have to write a regretful letter to my mother about how I fell off the roof trying to save some a baby's bib. Just another day in Cairo.