Charming: Our First Evening in Cairo

In Canada, you need to be polite. In Egypt, you need to be charming.

My wife and I moved to Cairo in the heat of July, without a single friend in the country, any knowledge of the language, or the slightest idea where we were going to live. We had four boxes of possessions, acceptance letters to the American University in Cairo, and a reservation at a hostel downtown.

Our first evening staying in the hostel, we headed out to find food. Being unfamiliar with any local food and knowing that the next day would be hectic, we found a Macdonald's (yes, there are Macdonalds' in Egypt) and ordered a pile of hamburgers to last us several meals. Then my wife went back to the hostel with the food while I looked for a grocer which might have bread and jam for breakfast.

When I went back to the hostel, I passed through the front room, which, like all Egyptian businesses, was manned by one employee and two of his friends. When they saw me, they chuckled and patted each other on the back. I asked if there was something on my face, and they replied by saying that they were not expecting to ever see me again.

With this mysterious conversation still playing in my head, I went to our room and found my wife happily munching on a hamburger. "Why are the people in the front room laughing at me?" I asked.

"Oh," she smirked and raised her eyebrows glibly.  "When I came back, they asked me 'What happened to your husband? You left together, but only you came back.' So I said, 'I sold him.'"

"You sold me?"

"Yes, sold you. And they laughed and asked, 'What was the price?' And all I did was hold up the bag of Macdonald's."

"What did they say to that?"

"They said that I got a good price."

It was then that I realized that I had chosen the best traveling companion in the world. And that realization was proven right, over and over, as we found a flat, bought furniture, and arranged our new lives. There was no heart in the country that she could not charm or strike fear into. I optimistically believe that some of these powers have rubbed off on me, via her and the Egyptians I befriended, but honestly I will always be an apprentice in the subtle ways of the Egyptian wit.

The Annoying Security Guard: A True Story from Cairo

(This story is my revenge on a specific security guard in Cairo who was really annoying and conceited.  Most security guards in Cairo were very nice to me.)

A long metal gate blocked access from the road to the bus station. The gate had been painted green nearly five years prior and was now colored green-brown hybrid that completely failed to draw the eye. For this reason, four and half vehicles had run into it in the last month. 

Beside this mangled gate there was a guard hut. It was simply a large metal cylinder stood upright with one side cut away. Inside there was barely enough room for one plastic lawn chair. On this chair there sat a security guard. He sniffed as he watched the cars drive and the pedestrians walk. When a car wanted to enter, he was meant to get up from his chair and drag the mangled gate open. When a person wanted to enter, he was meant to get up from his chair and check their ID as they walked by. 

On a normal day, he did neither of these tasks.

Today was a very normal day.

He leaned back in his chair, thrust his legs apart, and sniffed again. Maids in long dresses and simple hijabs meandered slowly past, avoiding his eyes. Women with pants and long hair sped by shouting into their mobile phones. Men in slacks and dress shirts marched through, nodding and muttering greetings. A delivery truck stopped at the gate and honked. The driver eventually gave up and opened it himself. 

Time passed. The security guard sniffed and checked his watch. His shift was nearly over. He let his arm fall limply back into his lap.

At nearly 3:45, a man approached that woke the security guard from his routine and, for the first time in hours, he was motivated him to stand up. The man could best be described as "long." He sported long legs, long hair, long arms, and even a long chin. His clothing attempted but completely failed to blend him in with the other passers-by. All these details were inconsequential however, because this man also had pasty white skin. 

The security guard lifted himself from the chair, and his legs seemed to remember their old purpose. He took a step forward and held out his palm to communicate that the man with white skin should stop. Once eye contact was made, he frowned to give an impression of seriousness, and also because it takes twice as many muscles to smile as to frown, and he did not want to strain himself.

“I.D.” was all the guard said. This was the first thing he had said in hours.

“What?” The white man said.

“I.D.”

“What I.D.?”

In order to clear up the confusion, the security guard thought it best to repeat himself in a clearer way, “I.D.”

“I live here.”

“What?” The guard’s ears had not quite woken up yet.

“I don’t know what you want from me, but I live here, I walk through this gate every day.”

The guard was only flummoxed for a moment. He knew how to handle this. Time to put his foot down. “You need an I.D.”

“I don’t have one. No one has ever asked me for one. And like fifteen people have walked through the gate without showing an I.D. since this conversation started.”

Ah, a tough guy huh. Well, the guard knew how to handle this kind of person: “You need an I.D.”

The white man stood there, looking at him, waiting for him to act. This pleased the guard; the complete dissipation of this citizen’s forward momentum, literally and figuratively, meant that the guard’s authority had been recognized. He stood for a moment, looking right to left and pursing his lips, just to be sure everything was at it should be. Then, with all the suave he could muster, he looked away and jerked his head towards the gate. The message was clear: I’ll let you off the hook this time, so go before I change my mind.

He returned to the guard hut and slowly lowered his weight into the lawn chair with the practiced focus of a man who has truly mastered the art if sitting. He leaned back and sniffed with comfort and superiority. Another job well done.

Self-Disciplined

This happens almost every workday morning.

I do my paperwork at home. In the living room. On the couch.
My wife is usually still quietly dozing in the bedroom, happy and unaware of my activities.

I sit at my computer. I open the correct program. The work program. The boring.

In the corner of my desktop, the tiny Firefox icon winks at me.

"Hey man." The little orange fox whispers. "What's up? Hey, you've got plenty of time. That boring work stuff will take care of itself. Let's have some fun!"

I'm supposed to be responsible, I work with kids after all.

But I am powerless to resist. "Okay." I say to the fox. "We can have a little fun. But then, I will do the work!"

"Sure you will..." Whispers the orange fox wryly as I click on him.

Happiness and joy dance across the screen. Fun. Laughter. Unicorns.

I look at the clock over and over, but the time just doesn't register in my mind. I have been sucked in and my brain can conceive of nothing but colorful pictures and funny blogs.

After several hours, a sudden, cold realization overwhelms me.

I glance at the clock, but this time, the clock has had enough. It leaps out at me and grabs me by the ears. It looks me straight in the eyes with its shining digits and big 'PM'. It shakes me like a rag doll, screaming "You are a horrible person!"

I awake from my blissful stupor in panic. The things I should have been doing trample over me like a stampede of failure. Somewhere, the little orange fox snickers.

I try to think of a way to save my morality, but there is no hope. I awake and discover that I've committed the unpardonable sin. I am reduced to a pathetic mass of self-pity and disgust weeping in the corner.

Slowly I realize. I have destroyed the entire day. Due to my incompetence, the delicate balance of existence has been ruined. The time I wasted has created a vacuum in the space-time continuum which, once it implodes in on itself, will form a black hole to engulf the earth and crush everyone into tiny pebbles.

In short, the day is surely ruined.

I wander the house, in anguish and mourning, praying hundreds of apologies to God and begging for a way out of this truly hopeless situation.

Eventually, I wander into the bedroom where my wife sleeps.

I cast myself upon the bed. I cast my limp arm upon her. She rolls over.

I moan. "I've ruined everything. The world is ended. I just came to say I love you before the world is engulfed in chaos."

With her eyes still tightly closed, she mumbles something.
"But I made you an enchilada for your lunch today..."

The weight of failure and hopelessness slowly slides from my shoulders.

Truly, I have been set free.

I burst from the room with renewed vigor. I dance to my duties and effortlessly glide through all my work. I defeat the boring, and crush that sneaky little orange fox beneath my new-found chastity. In one short hour, it is finished.

My wife slowly opens the bedroom door and pads to the stove to make tea.

I embrace her and declare. "You've saved the world!"


And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why my wife is a superhero.