Category Archives: Fiction

Aug 29 2011
Leave a comment
Anecdotes, Fiction

Make Your Own Cairo Street Sludge

Just add water and blazing heat

It never rains in Cairo, but the ground is always wet. This is one of the great paradoxes of this country. From whence does the moisture come from, if not bequeathed upon us from the bounty of the sky? This man made street moisture is a conglomeration of air conditioning residue, also known as Cairo rain, car washing by-product, and people throwing water on the streets to keep the dust down. The final result is unwanted, unpleasant, gloopy, sticky, ubiquitous, puddles.

Personally, I hate stepping in puddles. This aversion is not limited to Cairo. I hate unprotected puddle stomping everywhere and especially so when I’m wearing open toed shoes or pants that leave part of my leg bare and thus unprotected from any stray drops of street water.

The puddles here, for a variety of reasons, are particularly unappealing, and I shiver every time I’m forced to step in the street goo. What if it splashes onto my pants, squishes between my toes, or (God forbid) somehow makes its way into my mouth. No amount of pure grain alcohol would be enough to make me feel clean again.

I was searching for what exactly makes Cairo street water so special, and found this recipe on allrecipes.com. I haven’t tried it yet, but it had great ratings and comments.

Extra-Foul Cairo Street Puddle

By-products of at least 3 animals (feral dogs and cats are acceptable)

Powdered garbage

Handful of trash

Motor Oil

Human Spit

Bleach

Air-conditioning residue

Spilled Pepsi

One shard of glass (optional)

Dust (to taste)

Mix all of the above ingredients. Leave for years. In the morning, add an extremely inappropriate amount of water, making sure to waste as much as possible. Let sit in sun and reduce for 4 hours. Encourage cars to drive through. The mixture will be most foul before 4 o’clock pm, when it might completely evaporate. Does not keep well. Makes a great gift!

Tagged , , , , , ,
Aug 28 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Fiction

Grizzly One Pant Man

The beloved vessel

There is an interesting character that I see daily as I walk  to the metro. All I know about him is that he owns one pair of pants and a car. It is not clear what he does when he’s not washing his car, opening all its doors and playing music loudly , or sleeping in the trunk with the trunk door open. In short, he’s a bit of a mystery.

Recently he’s taken to talking to friend and I when we walk by him, always starting out with a warm “Thank-you. How are you?” To which I respond in Arabic “Very well” and then he says in English, “You speak Arabic. Very good.” To which I say in Arabic, “Thank you.”

Apparently this conversation never gets old, since it has literally occurred 20 times. There’s something reassuring in the fact I only need to walk past him in order to earn a “thank you.” If only I could earn a paycheck by passing people while trying to ignore them as well. At any rate, I thought I’d made an online dating profile for him since he seems like an interesting guy with dreams and a set of wheels.

okcupid.com profile for “Grizzly, one pant man. With car”

My self-summary: I may seem like a pretty simple guy, especially since I only speak extremely broken English with foreigners. The reality is that I set out years ago on a journey to live a nomadic lifestyle with nothing but my one pair of pants and my car in order to break free and discover truth.  But I fell in love with a girl and followed her to Medan Messaha, trying to woo her with thank yous and how are yous. I lost her when she went inside the Pizza Hut. I waited for her for ages, but either she never came back out or she sneaked out while I was napping in my car. So I’ve been here for the last twenty years, not learning any more English and cleaning my car compulsively.

What I’m doing with my life: Eventually I dream of moving my car to the other side of the square. Until then I want to figure out how to do laundry and wash my car at the same time.

I’m really good at: speaking broken English with foreigners, sleeping in semi-open spaces, moving my car from one side of the street to the other, washing my car, arranging the knick knacks in my car, yelling occasionally, rolling up the cuffs of my pants, etc.

The first things people usually notice about me: I resemble the Santa Claus hanging in my car, except for I look crazier, have slightly darker skin, am thinner, and role up my pants. I guess it’s mostly just the beard that causes the connection. People also notice the huge gaps in my teeth and my bizarre stare.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food: I had a Twix bar once and that was pretty good. I kept the wrapper and used it to decorate my car.

The six things things I could never do without: the sponge I use to wash my car, my car, my pair of pants, my community of people who are equally busily unemployed, buckets, beauty

On a typical Friday night I’m out: on Friday nights I like to turn the music up in my car and open all the windows and doors and just make sure everyone around me knows that I have a car with loud music.

The most private thing I’m willing to admit: I once watched someone choke to death and didn’t help them since I was in the middle of getting a spot out of my car upholstery and had just applied the fabric cleaner.

I’m looking for: someone kind of like my car, but a woman. And a newer model.

You should message me if: you’re willing to help me clean my car, you agree to never touch my car with your bare flesh, you will find somewhere else besides my car for accommodation, you’re okay with always being second in my life, and you are equally skilled at speaking broken English at foreigners.

Thank you! How are you!

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Aug 23 2011
4 Comments
Best blog posts, Fiction, Humorous, Three minute read, Travelling

Please Send Lactation Cookies

Despite the glistening fountain water the only moisture you’ll get is a tourist’s back sweat.

More content inspired by my trip to Italy:

Postcards to Mother

While lazing about the Italian countryside, I thought constantly of mother and how much she would have liked everything I was doing, so I took to writing little fake postcards to her in order to bridge the miles between us. Of course, they never got sent and oftentimes do not describe “reality,” but it’s the blog that counts.

Rome

Tonight we ate ham, so that was good. I’m staying at a stranger’s house. Hope she doesn’t kill us. It feels so empty here, so sometimes I close my eyes and cross the street. It’s very peaceful. Miss you.

I walked around in Rome with my backpack on today. Do salt stains bleach shirts? Everyone here seems to know I’m not Italian even though you said I looked European. Were you lying to me?

Saw a dumb fountain but was distracted by the writhing mass of human flesh worshiping it. You wouldn’t have liked it very much. The weather was hot and it didn’t look like a mountain.

My vest doesn’t have enough pockets in it to hold all of my allergy medication. Please send me a new one?  And Major Milk Makin’ Lactation Cookies?

Our couchsurfing host was very nice. She didn’t kill us and even gave us a key to her place. I wish the guy I am traveling with were you. Please send cookies.

San Benedetto Del Tronto

I’m at the beach. The only way to not fit in here is to be pale. I felt like I was in middle school again except for I was wearing pale skin and adventure sandals instead of purple every day of the week. You always appreciated my fashion and pastiness.

Saw a field full of dead sunflowers today and thought of you.

Our friend’s parents don’t speak much English and they remind me of you when you speak Spanish. They make up for it in kindness though, just like you, except that you usually have lactation cookies. Please send some.

There are a lot of tattooed and other “weird” people in Italy. You’ll have to ignore them if you come. I saw old men in speedos today and it was more jarring than watching a Lady Gaga performance. You might just avoid the beach altogether.

People here eat Italian food every day. I miss your meatloaves.

I bought an earring, a tank top, and some hair gel for Dad so he can look more Italian. I got you and the sisters matching snakeskin string bikinis. Brother already looks Euro enough. Hope you like everything. It all cost 50 Euro. Pay me when I get back.

My host’s dad was making penis jokes at dinner about the phallic bread we had. You would have disapproved just like his mother. Wish you were here to scold.

Bologna

Traveling companion has fallen ill. I’m feeling weak too. Both very hungry. Please send lactation cookies/medicine.

Mom, I dangled over the side of a cliff today, my feet barely scraping the side of a very deep ravine. I didn’t even want to do it but no one would tell me no. Wish you were here.

Do you remember the check Grandma sent me for my birthday? Could you put the money in my account? Italy is great.

Despite your reassurances that “everyone will know what I’m talking about” no one knows this kind of cheese you want. Are you sure it’s Italian?

Italy is wonderful. I’m not coming back to the states. I didn’t think I hated my family enough to stay abroad forever but it’s just that beautiful. I know you’ll understand. Email me with questions.

Egypt Again

Back in Egypt. Food turns to ash in my mouth. I’m hallucinating that I can hear crickets and didn’t even have the energy to kill the cockroach that was preening itself on the wall for an hour. Please send money and cookies. Sorry I said that I’d never be coming back to the states. What I meant was I am never coming back to Oklahoma.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Aug 10 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Fiction, Humorous

Is He Trying to Hypnotize Us?

He looked like this little guy

On August 8th, 2011, I and friend visited a fancy place in Zamalek in order to hear the winners of the Egyptian “This I Believe” contest recite their essays. I went to pretend like I cared about culture, and my friend (who is real) wanted to go because she had heard of the “This I Believe” essay contest in the states. No refreshments were provided, even though this event was sponsored in part by the American Embassy, so some of you may be sadistically happy to know that your tax dollars did not provide even one mini cupcake to a hungry American. Let us hope the tax dollars went to more democracy funding related endeavors and not refreshments at a different event that happened to coincide with this one. Some of the essays were more interesting than others, and all of them were in Arabic, making it harder to pay attention and I found myself thinking about winter for some reason.

Right after the event ended, I and friend were at the book table engrossed in the back of the translated This I Believe when a man accosted us at unawares. For the next eternity-like twenty minutes, we stared deer-in-the-headlights-esque as this man spewed a never-ending list of English vocabulary words and expressions at us while also reciting his resume/CV.  While “talking” to him, I felt desperate to leave yet was also held captive by a grotesque fascination with the creature that stood before me.  In my entire life I had never been subjected to something so much like a live infomercial, and this one was selling one thing: Ahmed.

Though I’m sure he was aware we were humans, his did not desire to converse with us so much as to have sentient beings (targets) to talk at that could actually understand his ridiculously ornamental use of the English language. A sample of his conversation could be deadly since it is so rich in English idioms, vocabulary, and antioxidants. Nevertheless, in spite of my own personal danger, I will attempt to communicate the absurdity of his personality and manner of speaking. I will  give him credit for at least being aware of a vast quantity of English words and phrases despite the fact he did not always use them correctly. I have exaggerated the extent of his errors here, though had you been obliged to listen to him for untold lengths of time I can assure you that you would show no mercy either.

He approacheth.

“So… did you find the essays pithy? Were they pertinent? Were some of them loquacious? Laconic? Verbose? Trivial? You know what laconic means? Ah yes, it is a GRE word.

“No? The essays were not laconic? I think some were egregious, what is your opinion? Do you have a thought? Dare you naysay me? What does gainsay mean? I think it means the same as naysay (checks on his iphone….that meaning is correct.). The etymology says it comes from again, like when you say no again and again because you are emphatic. I always think of pneumonic devices for new words. Every split second I am thinking of a new pneumonic device. I am like an intelligent Neanderthal. But why do we beat around the bush? I know I am a motor mouth.

“Are you traveling this summer? The pulchritudinous of Italy is gut wrenching. What does it mean when you call someone mongoose in English? Nothing? When we call someone mongoose in Arabic it means they are sly. I am giving a tour this Friday at the Egyptian Museum. The tour is the bees’ knees, my speech is easy on the ear, and you will wind up on the flipside better than sliced bread. Will I see you there? Ah yes, you are traveling.

“Well I will forgive and forget, this conversation has come home to roost so they say. By the way, I give lectures here every now and then. On what? What are your fields? International Relations and Foreign Service? I gave an entire lecture on the hoopoe, and it was lush in illustrations and unfolded across the span of the hour. The name in Arabic for hoopoe is onomatopoeiac, which means it was taken from a sound. Onoma, means name, and peaia means maker, so it is a name maker; it makes its own name.

“I am composing a book that is about evolution to revolution, since evolution is revolution on a grander scale, and revolution is evolution on a bigger scale. Evolution is revolution on a grander scale, since it takes a long time and has very small changes, and revolution is evolution on a bigger scale. Let me ruin the book for you: my thesis is that when a system becomes rotten to the core, change is inevitable. You have to go? Okay, here is my card with the info of my people. See you later alligator.”

Again, this is only an idea of what he said and the kind of conversation that this was, not an accurate transcription of said “conversation.” I bet the tours he gives are awesome, but of course that would mean that I actually have to hear his voice again, something I’m currently willing to put myself through. I will remember the word “gainsay” though.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Aug 01 2011
2 Comments
Fiction, Three minute read

Twas the night before Ramadan

Some Ramadan decorations…not the most impressive, just the closest

Twas the night before Ramadan and all through the flat,

No one was stirring, not even the mat

In front of the bathtub in spite of its mold,

Not to mention the pile of laundry to fold.

Emily was curled next to her laptop with care,

Playing too much with her freshly washed hair,

As she wondered what sights the morrow would bring,

The possibilities all in her head turning.

She had seen sprucing up for the past several weeks,

Lights and lanterns appeared and people clogged up their leaks.

She saw tapestries hung all full of colours bright

Pleasant figures in Alpha Market’s window one did spy,

The buzz in the air causing life to blur,

Evidenced by families buying twenty kilos of sugar.

“But,” she wondered, “how will this affect me,

I who have not yet embraced muslimery?

When will stores be open and how should I eat

if I cannot slaughter pigs on the street?

And what about alcohol, if I may be so bold?

Where will my 8th rate beer be sold?”

Oh life without urine-like drink did sound foul,

And just when she thought of giving a howl

She remembered the wonder of Ramadan here.

The streets, they say, be they far or near

Fill up with people as the sun departs

From sidewalk to sidewalk citizens satifsying their hearts

And their stomachs with delicious iftar vittles,

Not being shy, or taking too little,

Dates being thrown into the car windows of those

rushing home from their shops after they’ve just closed.

“Oh I wish,” she thinks,  “to eat with these folk

and though I’m not fasting I will hardly croak

at being invited to such a magnificent feast

where I will chow down on all kinds of roast beast.

“Until then,” she informs, “I still do not know

at what hours for my peanut butter I may go

to Alpha Market and for that matter

I remain clueless as to types of Ramadan clatters.

So please stay tuned as I absorb more culture

and I will pass it on to all of you for sure;

less facts than feelings as is my wont

But at least you’ll know all my favorite haunts.”

No complaining.

A few notes: I’ve noticed people buying food in ridiculous quantities at all the supermarkets, which have set up special Ramadan sections with all the necessities for having a proper iftar (break fast, occurs after sundown). One of the most important foods are dates, which are traditionally the first food one eats after fasting all day. Apparently people hand out dates to those struggling to get home in traffic or on the metro before the iftars. Water is also distributed since people fast from both food and drink.

I have been told about big tents that are set up all over town where rich people will prepare huge feasts for the less fortunate, and entire streets are full of those breaking the fast together. If this is real, I will take a picture of it. I will then post the picture onto this blog.

No alcohol may be sold to Egyptians during Ramadan (I think. This might just apply to bars.) and so you have to show your passport in order to get a beer. The hours for liquor stores are especially weird, though other places of commerce also have reduced hours during the day. At night, however, things get crazy. People stay up really late and feast and then sleep during the day. Unless, of course, you’re employed, and then life is a little harder.

More Ramadan madness to come!

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,
Newer posts →
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started