Time is a strange concept here. For one, it moves very slowly. Or even if the day goes by quickly, it feels as if I've lived a month since the morning. And even days when nothing in particular happens, it's somewhat of a mini-lifetime. I forget how old I am here, I forget what month it is, I forget what the year is on the calendar. Because not much here is new. Everything looks a bit like the inside of a house that's been left abandoned for decades. Most of the cars hail from the eighties and share the roads with carts pulled by donkeys and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. Men are still pushing handcarts down the street selling bread or fruit or sugar cane, and I think I've only seen a decent pair of shoes trudging through the grey dust once or twice.
I dodge frolicking baby goats on they way into the office and women and men alike wear ankle length galabias which make me feel like I'm walking around in Bible times until I catch a glimpse of my reflection and realize I failed to get the memo. Many of the women can't understand why I'm thin. They keep assuring me that a few more weeks on Egyptian food and my mom won't recognize me when I get off the plane and that I may not even match my own passport anymore. I laugh because I doubt it. I don't eat beans on the reg like they do and my metabolism seems to mostly still be kickin' it in high gear. Al-hamdulilah.
At any rate, the plane will be years from now or no time at all. I'm still searching for my niche here, so I hope a little that it's the former.
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