You Can't Make Mistakes

Two lessons about the kindness of strangers in one week. I am starting to become a little unnerved.

After the incident with the wrong train the other day, I had assumed that my luck was up for the time being. I figured that I had spent all of my good will and happy chance in one blow.

Not so.

I went last night with a friend from University to have a coffee, some food, and to buy some groceries at the local Carrefour. She had just come back from a week in London and was not feeling good about being here by herself and moving around the city alone after dark. I told her that I would join her so she didn’t have to worry.

So we went, did what we intended to do and grabbed a cab back to her place to drop her and her stuff off. When we arrived, the driver severely overcharged us and no amount of arguing and fighting would deter him. Also, we were both sick, tired and just wanted to be done with it. So we gave him the 15 EGP that he asked for, and told him to get lost.

Afterward, I got in another cab and went on my way back home. I started talking to my cabbie, Muhammad, and by the time we got to my place we were laughing and he was telling me dirty jokes and we were having a right good time. He told me about his family and his kids and his wife and he said we should have tea and a sheesha one afternoon. He said he didn’t like to drive too much in the afternoon because it was so busy, but if I needed to go anywhere, to call him. I said that would be cool and we exchanged mobile numbers when we got to my building.

As I got out and pulled my bags from the back seat, I tried handing him a 10 note—which would have been too much for the ride, but I didn’t care. I don’t mind overpaying if the guy is cool. He refused to take my money. At first, I thought that he was just doing the politeness dance where he refuses three times and then I insist and he takes it.

Not this time. After I offered again he said, “Listen. I haven’t laughed while I was working in maybe 10 weeks. Most of the people who get in my cab don’t care at all. Especially the foreigners. You’re different, habibi.”

I almost cried. I was pretty much speechless. I told him to call me this weekend and we’ll have sheesha, thank you and goodnight. He drove off and I called my friend whom I had just dropped off while in my elevator to tell her what had just happened to me. It was in such stark contrast to what had happened just before that that I couldn’t even believe that I was in the same place.

And again, like before, the kindness of strangers is just astounding to me. This is something that I so rarely experience at home. It is weird there for people who you don’t know to just do something unbelievable kind. Most people just turn their heads and pretend not to notice when someone needs help. Forget about random acts of kindness. These are the things that I experience everyday here, amid endless frustration and bureaucratic hoops and other problems.

At the end of the day, though, it is all worth it if I can have a reason to tell someone at home that, “No. It’s not that bad living here as you might think. It’s actually really nice.”

Nose to the Grindstone or Into the Grinder

Well, I arrived back in Alexandria early this morning. Classes begin this week. I am in the intermediate level, which I expected. The placement examinations to decide our levels were ridiculous, as always, so I am not even sure what the levels mean. Everything about education is different here, of course. The courses are quite intense. The exams are terribly difficult. But, this is why I came here to study rather than continuing to study in the United States. Everything is easier there.

Honestly though, the place where most of my educations occurs is in the street. Buying groceries, taking taxis, feeding myself, getting my hair cut: these are the things that teach me the most. I attempt to talk to every single person that I meet on a daily basis, and not just to tell them my name and where I am from, but to ask them about their lives and the place that they live in. Honestly, the best advice about how to live here will never come from some silly travel guide, rather, it comes from from the little old lady from whom I buy tomatoes or my new friend Shami who works at the pizza place. These folks know everything about this place. Why would I ask the staff at Lonely Planet when I can ask them.

Now is an especially interesting time because Ramadan is upon us. This has created a whole new series of interactions for me to have with folks. I talk to guys that I meet in the street, in cabs, and at cafés about religion more than ever. I have also met a whole new group of people that I might have had I arrived after Ramadan: Copts. There is a large Coptic Christian population here and during Ramadan they, out of a sense of propriety also adhere to a type of fast wherein they don’t eat in public during the day, though often they will drink water, coffee, and tea as normal. It makes it a little more possible here to cope with the days of not eating, businesses being closed, etc.

I myself have fasted, relatively strictly, over the past three years, but for some reason, I found it very difficult to do so here. I had assumed that I would have an easier time of it being surrounded by many people fasting, but it was actually very difficult to begin. I fasted fully for the first day last week and my roommate and a German friend and I made Iftar at my apartment in the evening, but then the next day, I just couldn’t do it. I was also traveling, about which there are a different set of fasting rules anyway.

I have been a little surprised by my own reaction to fasting. I think that it is a wonderful tradition, typically. It teaches a good lesson. It is good as a way of cleansing the body. It instills discipline. But even with all of these things, I have found it impossible to keep up with here. I think that this has in part to do with my current workload. If I don eat all day and am parched and thirsty, my blood sugar gets terribly out of whack and the next thing I know I have to take a four hour afternoon nap. I can’t afford that much time right now, so, maybe it is for the best.

It is wonderful to experience here, regardless. There is a sense at the end of every day of quiet—though sometimes quite boisterous—celebration. People are in especially good spirits in the evening. I can wait to see the Eid at the end of the month. It should be a great deal of fun. Plus I have a week and a half off school, so it will afford the opportunity to travel around a bit and experience Eid in some other places as well as here.

For now, however, it is into the grind. This week begins the busiest period that I will ahve ever experienced, and I can’t wait. I am doing, right now, all of the things that I love the most. I look around myself everyday and just feel wonder. That is a good feeling to have.

Welcome to Egypt

Well, sorry for the hiatus in writing, but I was busy moving to Egypt and just established a proper internet connection this weekend, sort of. Apparently my wireless router arrived at the apartment this morning. Everything here takes a bit of doing. Nothing is easy, really. This is a phenomenon that I have come to refer to as “Welcome to Egypt.”

“Welcome to Egypt” can be used as a normal daily greeting or as a mode of identification with other foreigners who are clearly in the same boat. When you see people attempting to do something that would normally work just fine at home, but which here works only partially or not at all, you say: “Welcome to Egypt” and everyone smiles and laughs and understands each other. It is a nice way of saying, “I feel the same pain as you. I just want to check my e-mail or go to the grocery store too.”

But it is perhaps not as bad as all that. I love it here. There is so much wonder in everyday life. I, for instance, am currently in Cairo for the weekend visiting American friends who have also just moved here to study and work. Every part of this journey has been frought with complications. I decided to stay an extra day upon realizing that I bought a train ticket for the wrong time of day yesterday and would have had to make my return trip at 8 in the morning rather than 8 at night. The answer to this dilemma: play pool and drink with Brits at the BCA in Mohandiseen. I had a right wonderful time. Everything worked out better than planned.

Getting here was also no big deal. I got on a plane in Detroit and a few Xanax and several hundred drinks later, here I was.

I found an apartment in Roushdy in Alexandria. It looks like the sort of apartment that you woul find in East Berlin in about 1983, but it is quite nice. There is good breeze from the Mediterranean and the light is great. It will be a perfect place to live until next June.

The school is also quite nice. It is a little building inside the Alexandria University compound across the street from the Bibliotheca Alexandria in the Kulayat al-Adab (the College of Literature). We took placement exams last week to put us into classes according to level of proficiency in Arabic. The results are due in today, apparently.

I am excited to start classes, but as usual for me, classes have been going on since I set foot here. Every day is a learning experience. Going to the market. Finding a place to live. Having DSL set up and having someone call you on the phone to deliver your router, only able to speak Arabic. These are the experiences that I live for. Every day is an adventure into the mundane. Living here makes it seem as though commonplace things are extraordinary.

Now, though, I must prepare myself and leave for the train back to Alexandria. I will write again very shortly and include some pictures of my journey.

I had a conversation last night with my good friend Mo who is currently living in Quebec. He is Egyptian, has lived in Canada for 6 years. I always, for some reason, think that Canadian governmental and political structures are similar to those of the United States. However, every time we have these conversations about Canadians, provincial politics, and the Maritimes, I remember that these countries are as different as night and day.

Here are some little-known facts about Canada, which I gleaned from our conversation. All quotes are direct from M. Zakzouk:

1. “Newfie” is not, apparently, a derogatory way to refer to someone from Newfoundland. [CORRECTION: After some thought overnight, Mo decided that "Newfie" must certainly be a derogatory term for Newfoundlanders, and should probably not be used in polite conversation. I would imagine that this term is akin to "Okie" in reference to Oklahomans. Wikipedia has this to say about the term.]
2. Toronto is not like New York City so much as it is like Chicago. A New York Equivalent would be too much for Canada to handle. There is way too much crime and filth.
3. Gun laws in Canada are confusing and ineffective because the provincial laws often counteract the national laws.
4. There is a Ministry of Statistics.
5. “Calgary is in the wrong spot on the map.” – on how Calgary seems like it should be in the United States. Apparently Calgary is the Dallas of Canada.
6. Some provinces dislike other provinces for no reason whatsoever.
7. “It would make more sense for Quebec to take over Labrador.”
8. “Alaska should clearly be a part of Canada.”

This information has been brought to you by the multitude of weird different types of Kit-Kat bars available in Canada. I believe that Canada is the test-market for new flavors of Kit-Kat, but this information cannot be verified by statistical data.

I helped two very good friends pack up and move to Cairo this weekend with their two dogs. My partner and I ended up agreeing to take care of their cat for the next several years that they will be gone, the Chairman Meow—also known now as the Chairman Now!—so named because his meow sounds like he is saying the name of Mao Zedong, the Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party.

While I am not taking dogs or other people, helping my friends get rid of their stuff, figure out what to do with the cat, get stuff from one place to another, get papers dropped off and phones canceled reminded me that I have a scant five weeks left before I move to Alexandria for the year. It reminded me that I am nowhere near ready to leave. I have about a million things that I need to do before I go. Even when thinking about completing all of the things that I need to complete before leaving makes me lie awake at night. And yet, I find myself waking up in the middle of the night so excited and thrilled in anticipation of the move.

I can’t wait to be back in Alexandria. Not because it is better there, not because it is an easy or comfortable place to live, but because I love the feeling of freedom that I get when I am living in a place other than my home, totally out of my element. Don’t get me wrong: I can find my way around, I feel very comfortable there. I don’t have too many culture shock issues, but Alexandria is not my home, and it probably never will be—at least not full time.

I find this feeling to be pretty ineffable, but others do not. My dear friend Wanda gave me a wonderful passage from Pico Iyer which fully and perfectly sums up the expatriate experience:

There is no reason to go further, but I will. When I am in a totally foreign environment, I feel not as though I am no longer myself, but as though I am only then fully myself. I am not required to put on the persona which I wear in my everyday life, but am free to be completely candid all the time. My needs are simpler, and therefore much simpler to fulfill. Every day is a challenge, or an adventure, and I learn quickly to take a great deal of comfort in the simple things that make me happy.

When else can we live in such a state.

———
¹ p. 23, Video Night in Kathmandu and Other Reports from the Not-So-Far East. New York:
Vintage Departures, 1988.