Category Archives: Anecdotes

Mar 05 2012
45 Comments
Egypt, Humorous, Two minute read

The Cairo Expatriate: A Rare Breed

The loons are in the center

It is my personal theory that people who want to live in the Middle East are mentally unbalanced. Most humans do not willingly exchange their comfort and familiarity at home for discomfort and alienation abroad. Therefore, those that do make this trade probably feel ill at ease in their own culture and are likely insane. Indeed, most of the expatriates I’ve met suffer from heightened social awkwardness, an awful family from which they have fled, disgust with their culture, feelings of isolation at home, various kinds of guilt, and/or bad breath. Not surprisingly, the severity of the mental imbalance and personal issues is multiplied tenfold when it comes to long term expats in Cairo, a city of bad food, crowds, and some of the worst pollution in the world. If living here appeals to you, something is wrong.

My suspicion that Cairo expatriates are a bunch of eccentric loons was validated last night at an AUC event. As I gazed around the lounge of the Cairo Windsor Hotel, decorated with desert animal antlers and a Boston College pennant, I realized I had found myself in a kind of expatriate birdcage. Each party attendee was odd in some way, much like an exotic bird with its own story and quirks, the kind of strange pet that is hard to love and misunderstood by outsiders. The more I observed, the more I felt an ornithologist examining the fantastic plumage and social behavior of rare and valuable species.

Some expatriates have come for business, others to hunt mummies, and still others—the most pathetic ones—study Arabic. Some expats have been here for decades, growing stranger with the years and watching as new crops of expatriates come and go, while others come just for a year or two while they’re trying to figure things out. Each one hates Cairo in a way, though many of them also love it because in this city they’ve found a place among freaks like them.

New blood comes in and refreshes the stock every now and then, but still it runs strange. At expatriate parties, I often have to be prepared for bizarre amounts of eye contact, awkward introductions, unorthodox worldviews, and hazardous dance moves.

To be honest, I fit right in.

The best part is that Cairo is a place for everyone else, for those that didn’t fit in back home and want to start anew in a place where the cost of living is cheap and everyone recognizes you from the facebook pictures of a friend’s friend’s party.It’s a weird mix, but on the bright side, even boring people are a little interesting. We welcome you if you want to come, but prepare to get strange.

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Feb 29 2012
31 Comments
Egypt, Fiction, Two minute read

The Mummies of Niagara Falls

view from pyramids on a clear day

Today, Cairo was besieged by a dust storm, its air becoming the color of cinnamon. As a result, the sunlight that warmed my apartment was the color of a slightly dehydrated person’s urine. As I napped in the urine light, I dreamed of jumping into a pool with my clothes on. I don’t think it was a coincidence.

Unfortunately, the effect on both air quality (including taste), and visibility was not so pleasant. But perhaps the biggest shame of all is that this entire dustastrophe is likely caused by a stupid mummy from Niagara Falls.

Mummies are known worldwide to be needy, wrathful, and prone to outbursts of childish rage. Anything can send them over the edge and make them call down all kinds of ridiculous curses on Cairo*: hordes of seedy politicians, shark bites, annoying fashion trends, etc.

Though all mummies are moody, there is a group of particularly infamous mummies at the Egyptian Museum in Niagra Falls, Canada. Colonel Sydney Barnett purchased these mummies and transferred them to Canada from Egypt in 1850, back when Egypt was legally selling national heritage for a quick buck because there was a lot of it and it was just lying around anyways. A few decades later,  Theodore Roosevelt called these mummies, “a group of genuinely awful creatures.”

There are nine mummies in the Niagara Falls Egyptian collection, but only four have coffins.  The ones without coffins are named Slappy, Silly, Sally, Socky, and Stumpy, and the ones with coffins are named Sammy, Sudsy, Stubbles, and Trent. According to museum curators, these mummies have been nothing but a nuisance and a bother since they arrived in Niagara Falls. Slappy and Trent never stop complaining about the cold, and the endless grumbling really pisses off Socky and Stumpy. Sudsy and Stubbles both resent tourists’ “sausage fingers.” Sally has a crush on one of the museum curators and never shuts up about it. Sammy and Silly squabble endlessly over coffin rights, while Sudsy continually asserts that he was the Colonel’s favorite when everyone knows it was actually Socky, and all of them constantly try to annoy one another by poking each other or throwing stuff at each other’s cases. It’s a nightmare.

Between the nine of them, they’ve called down 203 curses on Cairo since moving to Niagara falls, one of which indirectly caused the Arab spring. Their life in the comfort of Canada has made them unbearable, petulant, self-important beings that forget they are essentially raisins wrapped in toilet paper. This current dust storm is probably just another effect of their brattiness. If I had to guess, I would say that Stumpy probably made Trent mad again by saying Trent wouldn’t be so cold if his wives had ever actually loved him, which is a low blow and doesn’t really make any sense.

On some level, though, I guess I can understand how that makes Cairo deserve a dust storm.

*Curses can only be called upon Cairo, not any other city.

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Feb 27 2012
14 Comments
Anecdotes, Two minute read

Secret Cookie in my Pocket

Give me a book and the cookie. Spare me the class.

I didn’t read the book for class, but I did have a secret chocolate chip cookie in my pocket. Whereas the rest of the class intended to mire themselves in the angst of post-modernity, I intended to wait for a little bit and then eat my cookie.

Oh it was going to be delicious. It was by far the best cookie in the classroom, possibly the best in Cairo, and a certain contender for the best cookie in all space and time. Its buttery taste, the fluffy yet chewy texture of the crumb, the chocolateyness of the chocolate chips….yes, bringing this cookie to school was likely the best decision I was going to make all week.

The class begins and my eyes instantly glaze over. I am already far from this place, my mind slowly orbiting around three topics: “I have a cookie in my pocket. How will I make it in San Francisco? I need to do laundry today.”

As if through a window, I see the professor in front of me yammering about something, the other students nodding in agreement. I find myself doing the same, compelled by a primal instinct that forces the human to avoid scolding by pretending to listen.

Group work is vicious, dragging me to back to the classroom to offer my own fabricated insights. This is difficult to do because of the cookie distraction. One day the students will turn on me, pointing their fingers at me and saying in unison, “This one sucks.” But that day is not today. The work ends, and we return to our own worlds that are supposed to revolve around the professor and whatever she’s saying. I go back to thinking about the cookie.

My stomach growls and I know the moment has come.

I remove the cookie from my pocket, its tender body protected from my coat pocket by a thick layer of foil. As I unwrap it gently the foil yields forth its precious burden. The student next to me gasps.

I know what she is thinking. Yes, this is a chocolate chip cookie baked fresh from my kitchen. Yes, it is America itself contained in a bit of flour, butter, and sugar, and it is likely the most valuable thing at the university at this time. It is mine, and I’m going to eat it now, and as the crumbs dissolve on my lips, I too will dissolve away from here and from this classroom where words are being said about the novel I didn’t read, the point of which only the author could understand.

This cookie, however, I understand. Why couldn’t the author write something more like it?

P.S. You should try “The Chewy Recipe” for your cookies, courtesy of dude Alton Brown. They are very delicious and better than homework.

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Feb 23 2012
8 Comments
Anecdotes, Open Letters, Two minute read

Open Letter to the Brown Upright Piano in Our Living Room that I Played for Eleven Years and then Abruptly Abandoned Upon Graduating from High School

an actual photo of a piano drowning in heartbreak

Hey you. It’s been a while hasn’t it? How have you been? You look good– I noticed your new picture frames; they go really well with the Bach bust and the fake plant, and I’m not just saying that. I mean it. I would never lie to you.

Well I guess there’s no point in avoiding the subject, so I’ll just come out and say it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that after the thousands of hours we spent together over the years I just left you like you meant nothing to me, like you were something I was ashamed of and wanted to forget. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for those wonderful years we had, only to have our relationship ripped away from you without warning. All those days we spent frolicking in the sun, meandering through hidden forests filled with magical creatures, exploring alien planets, visiting ages long past. While the rest of my family was tortured with the endless repetition that is piano practice, we were somewhere else entirely, floating above imaginary canyons colored fuchsia and turquoise, never scared when we were together. You have to know I’m telling the truth.

And I’m sorry for all of those holidays I spent at home while visiting from college, when I would avoid looking you in the eye. I’m sorry about the way I would whisper of what we once had and act embarrassed when anyone brought it up. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to deal with all of it, with the way my life was changing and the way it seemed you would no longer have a part in it.

At some point we have to admit these things to ourselves. You knew I wasn’t a brilliant pianist. Don’t try to deny the truth. Sure I practiced a lot, and sure I was “advanced” and perhaps my teacher’s best student, but I didn’t have the shimmering gold talent it takes to be a real concert pianist. More importantly, I didn’t have the passion. I tried to tell myself I loved playing, and I think I believed it. Sometimes it felt so real, as we were tramping through the villages of Eastern Europe in a mythical spring, stars falling around us as we twirled upward into the night.

But at the end of the day, it was a ruse, a lie I was telling myself.  I didn’t have the passion it took to be excellent, and the love I had for playing came from a love of being the best. I know all this now, but at what cost! Oh my dear piano, you have to know it wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. But know this: we still had everything, for a time, those beautiful early mornings in winter, the world dark and frozen outside but us warming ourselves with the glow of quarter notes, the quiet afternoons when I was alone at home and could play as loud as I wanted in front of the only audience that truly mattered: you and me.

I will always remember you, even if I forget how to play entirely, even if my parents sell you to a lady named Fern without telling me. I will always remember you and me, a girl and her piano, and how life seemed better together. I can’t forget something that’s a part of me.

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Feb 02 2012
10 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

My Ear Infection: Party on the Inside

bring on the ear infection rock surfing

I have an ear infection. Yeah, I said it. My ear is crawling with infection. Perhaps that’s too much disclosure for the blogosphere. Just because I read the forums on Web MD religiously doesn’t mean I want to discuss everyone’s medical charts, especially my favorite authors on the web.

But now it’s out there. I’ve got an ear infection and it sucks. This is also not a ploy to get people’s pity. I don’t want or need your pity. I’ve already had cookies baked for me against my will and yes, they were inappropriately tasty. You see, I was raised on the plains of Oklahoma, where personal illness is usually treated as a case of sissy-hood. We believe most things can be cured by ignoring the pain and/or rubbing bacon grease onto the affected area. In the case of internal pain, the grease is rubbed onto the lymph nodes so the lymphatic system can carry its healing qualities throughout the rest of the body. It’s a highly developed system.

Unfortunately, bacon grease is hard to come by here in Egypt, so I was unable to pour any into my ear at the beginning of the infection and simply tried to ignore it. The infection proceeded to get increasingly hard to ignore, and I was forced to go to the university clinic, where I was given medicines of dubious names and qualities. I’m now taking a few  pills in a variety of shapes and colors and waiting for everything to go back to normal when I can pretend like this whole “being sick” thing never happened.

I feel like there’s nothing dumber than saying you can’t do something because of an ear infection. To me, it feels equivalent to saying, “Oh, my thumb hurts so I can’t come to your bridal shower,” or “My forehead is bothering me so I won’t be able to make it to the awards banquet,” etc. It’s such a small area of your body, but when it hurts, it hurts in spades. If you have healthy ears, kiss them both right now and be thankful. You could also have someone kiss them for you.

I was laying in bed last night, unable to sleep because of the bright, throbbing pain in my ear. I thought to myself “I am in hell,” as it crackled and sparked, reminding me once again of how awesome my other ear feels. (Again, I don’t want your pity. I’m just trying to use my pathetic example of hardship as blog fodder). Then I realized that I was seeing the pain in my mind’s eye as bright colors and shapes. I think at one point there was a recurring abstractly shaped fish figure that had pink and white stripes and I would see it as I closed my eyes even though I was still awake and wondered  if I would be able to skip school for this.

Now here I am in the morning and I’m not skipping school but I am going to the white desert again. At least I can continue my tradition of being sick before camping trips.

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