Dust is everywhere. It's in my hair, it's in my nostrils, it's underneath my fingernails. In Manshiyet Nasr, it hangs in the air like a curtain. I was chastised today for leaving my water bottle open. They shouldn't have worried. This place is already in my bloodstream.
But trash is everywhere. It doesn't just litter the streets in this community. It owns them. The smell is constant and the only reprieve is indoors, and then only occasionally. I stepped on something today that I'm pretty sure was the remnants of a rat. My foot slid. I swallowed the quickly rising bile in my throat and kept moving. Yesterday, I encountered my first live one on the stairs at the organization. Inside mind you. It was cowering on the third landing and was the size of a kitten. I wish I could say I was brave and passed by it, but no, I went running back down the stairs like a 12-year old girl and couldn't go back up until Adham, the computer guy, went up and blocked it with his computer case. He said, "It stays here, you walk there." And then all the women in the office laughed at me when I walked through the door.
"This is normal here," said Mary, juggling a beautifully perfect baby boy on her knee. His name is Oliver. When Mary found out I wasn't married, she said I could marry Oliver. This makes two mothers in less than a week that wish I would marry their sons. I suppose I could do worse than people telling me everyday that I'm beautiful like the moon.
But it's more than that, and I cannot explain it exactly. The overwhelming brownness takes on a certain beauty after a while, and the people hardly cease reflecting the inescapable sun. They are effortless and comfortable, soft Arabic words flowing from their mouths. Arabic isn't always so soft though. Not when it's being yelled into a phone or at a police officer. But despite these outbursts of anger, everyone seems to be one extended family. That of Egyptians. They may have never seen each other before, but there's a tacit understanding to help if you can. We could learn from this.
I exist in warmth here, and not only because there are few times when I'm not sweating. Their eyes, their faces, their smiles, their easy laughter: it's in the air here, as effusive as the dust. It's working its magic as it flows through my veins. The guesthouse owner Maged says it's because I'm becoming Egyptian.
But trash is everywhere. It doesn't just litter the streets in this community. It owns them. The smell is constant and the only reprieve is indoors, and then only occasionally. I stepped on something today that I'm pretty sure was the remnants of a rat. My foot slid. I swallowed the quickly rising bile in my throat and kept moving. Yesterday, I encountered my first live one on the stairs at the organization. Inside mind you. It was cowering on the third landing and was the size of a kitten. I wish I could say I was brave and passed by it, but no, I went running back down the stairs like a 12-year old girl and couldn't go back up until Adham, the computer guy, went up and blocked it with his computer case. He said, "It stays here, you walk there." And then all the women in the office laughed at me when I walked through the door.
"This is normal here," said Mary, juggling a beautifully perfect baby boy on her knee. His name is Oliver. When Mary found out I wasn't married, she said I could marry Oliver. This makes two mothers in less than a week that wish I would marry their sons. I suppose I could do worse than people telling me everyday that I'm beautiful like the moon.
But it's more than that, and I cannot explain it exactly. The overwhelming brownness takes on a certain beauty after a while, and the people hardly cease reflecting the inescapable sun. They are effortless and comfortable, soft Arabic words flowing from their mouths. Arabic isn't always so soft though. Not when it's being yelled into a phone or at a police officer. But despite these outbursts of anger, everyone seems to be one extended family. That of Egyptians. They may have never seen each other before, but there's a tacit understanding to help if you can. We could learn from this.
I exist in warmth here, and not only because there are few times when I'm not sweating. Their eyes, their faces, their smiles, their easy laughter: it's in the air here, as effusive as the dust. It's working its magic as it flows through my veins. The guesthouse owner Maged says it's because I'm becoming Egyptian.
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