Tag Archives: cairo

Sep 11 2011
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Best blog posts, Fiction, Humorous, Open Letters, Three minute read

I’m Cute and Furry!

I live on Cairo’s streets! Love me!

Hello there! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Cairo street ferret! You just caught me bounding along effortlessly.

Wasn’t that adorable?  Don’t you just want to die because of how cute I am! Did you see the way my body forms perfect mini-arches with the street as I’m springing along? Weren’t you reminded of the scalloped dye cuts that your mom used when she went through that scrapbooking phase? Some people have described my cutesy antics as magical, ineffable, and transcendental. For me, it’s just my normal life. Do you know what it’s like when people are inspired by even your most ordinary actions? Is anyone moved to tears or laughter at the preparation of your morning coffee? No? Well, this might be something we ferrets alone can understand.

When I saw you leave Cairo Jazz Club, I thought I’d make an appearance so you could know there is something beautiful left in the world. I was just over there by that pile of trash doing dainty ferret things when I sensed a smoky soul in need of a lift and then hop! bounce! There I was! And then I was gone! You don’t have to tell me how much you enjoyed seeing my amiable face and bizarrely flexible body. I’ve heard every praise known to man and ferret, so anything you say will be meaningless anyways. I’m glad to do this merely as a service for those a little bit more burden-laden than the rest of us in this city.

I know you Arabic students have a hard life, trying to make it off of a stipend that only supports a humiliatingly upper-middle class lifestyle, the exorbitantly expensive restaurants, country clubs, and apartments embarrassingly out of reach. You have to deal with nightly homework in a subject you specifically came to Egypt to study. If that isn’t enough, you have class a ridiculous four days a week, and only fourteen weeks of vacation out of the year long fellowship. So I get it.

You and I are not so different. I live off of street trash and car fumes. In fact, after the Ferret Council of 1974, street ferrets decided to evolve and can now digest most forms of Styrofoam and need car exhaust in order to survive. It gives us increased flexibility and fur sootiness. I, like you, also smoke people’s cigarette butts whenever I can find them. If I’m really lucky, I inhale the second hand smoke directly from someone’s mouth. That’s only happened once before and I don’t think the man himself understood why he was laying on the ground smoking a cigarette with a street ferret tickling his whiskers, but it was a pleasant, and maybe once in a lifetime, experience for both of us. I also live my life prancing around the streets of Cairo, my slinky-like body structure allowing me to be run over or stepped on without any damage whatsoever to my person, even though my pride is always hurt. The ferret rage comes afterwards, and sometimes I crawl into the hoods of parked cars and tinker with their engines just to show them. It’s eerie how much satisfaction I get from watching things burn. But that’s what this city does to you.

So…I’m getting bored with this conversation. You Arabic student types aren’t exactly skilled conversationalists, are you? Anyways, I’m glad I could brighten your night a little bit and I hope life gets easier for you. Really, I do. I hope someone finds you and decides to pay you for just being who you are and nothing else, since that’s what everyone deserves. If I’ve learned anything from Cairo’s streets, it’s that everyone is special.

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Sep 10 2011
2 Comments
Fiction, One minute read

Found: One Bag of Slop, One Hoof


Cairo’s Lost and Found Forum

Items found: bag of slop, hoof

Location: Revolution Street, Mohandiseen, Cairo

Descriptions: 

Bag of slop: A bag of slop has been found in Mohandiseen on a pile of dirt near a street sign. The bag appears to be rapidly disintegrating though the innards are still quite moist and slop-like. As it is in an almost perfect disk shape, the bag is easily distinguished from the other bags of trash nearby carrying solid contents. The mush itself could be either chunky tomato sauce or chunky animal blood and organs, judging by the ooze surrounding the bag. There are two lacerations in the side of the receptacle as well as an empty bag of potato chips resting on top of it.  The exact kind of knot used to seal the bag is unclear, though this could easily be determined upon inquiry and subsequent investigation. Since the slop bag is in easy sight of any passersby, it may be snatched up very soon. The preservation of the slimy innards is also at risk, since the Cairo sun has a tendency to return everything to a dust like state as soon as possible. Anyone looking for their lost bag of goo would be advised to contact me as soon as possible.

Animal hoof/leg: A black animal hoof attached to about a foot of brown, fur covered leg was also found in Mohandiseen near the bag of slop. Its scent can best be described as putrid, and the overall visual effect as nightmarish.  The appendage is likely from a mule or a donkey, though a horse or goat are not completely out of the question. Said animal part was left in a pile of (animal) feces at the base of a lamppost in broad daylight. It is not likely that the appendage itself was originally a part of the excrement. The hoof is also near a leaf and a plastic bag. Rotting did not seem to have progressed very far, though its status likely got exponentially worse as the day wore on. This hoof appears to be a possible source of many diseases and is likely a public health hazard. If you have lost it and would like to reclaim it before it also turns into a pile of goo, please fax me your inquiry as soon as possible.

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Sep 08 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Two minute read

Sell Me Your Shoes, Give Us a Smile

Cars, Humans, Buildings

A few days ago, I and my friend were on our way to Fellaki Square in downtown Cairo, matters of international importance awaiting our attention.  This is an area of Cairo that I don’t love since not only is it extremely crowded and noisy, but it boasts a thriving community of sleaze-balls that feed off the steady stream of tourists frequenting these parts. The only occupation of these folks is to slink around and bother the linen clad foreigners passing through. And even though I and friend have been here since June, our appearances are hopelessly foreign and therefore we are subject to the usual tricks of the touts and harassers.

As we were walking, a man passes by us and says to my friend in English, “I like your shoes.” This was unusual. For some reason, the man chose to forgo the traditional “Welcome in/to Egypt” and cut straight to the bizarre chase: footwear. I and friend were confused but not intrigued enough to continue the conversation, so my friend said “Thank you” and we continued to walk away, our backs to him. Conversations that are already this strange when they begin are going nowhere we want to go.

Yet he had more things to say at us about the shoes, shouting after us “How much for them?” This was still bizarre. Perhaps he was just performing his usual shtick, which involves him hanging around downtown waiting for the rare well dressed foreigner in order to heckle them about their shoes. For all I know he might have  a candid camera show that he produces himself by uploading footage from his cell phone for a small but devoted audience. My friend, however, was not interested in selling his shoes, and I still harbored hopes of purchasing them myself and didn’t want to encourage anything. And so we continued on our merry way.

The heckler was not to be ignored, however, and capped off his shoe conversation with both a non sequitur and the most creative end to a drive by harassment that I’ve ever heard. “Smile!” he commanded. Clearly, here was a statement that summed up the interaction perfectly. It was an uncalled-for statement that fit well with the unwanted and purposeless transaction as a whole. Furthermore, as most people know, there’s nothing more grin-inducing than strange men demanding you bare your teeth at them. Unfortunately, the mood had been soured by the failed shoe sale, so this last statement did not compel us to return, nor did it produce the appropriate feelings that would electrify our facial muscles and pull the sides of our mouths up into smiles.

Sometimes, like right now, I wonder what would have happened if we’d stuck around for longer. Would he have pulled out any other gems, like “Your teeth are good. How much for it?” I don’t suppose I’ll ever know the answer, but then again, I don’t suppose I ever really want to talk to him again. Maybe I’ll watch his show.

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Sep 06 2011
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Fiction, Humorous, Stories, Three minute read

CASA Fellow Struggles with Class, Surprises No One

Danger to herself and others

Cairo (Reuters) –  Monday, September 5, 2011

Today another CASA fellow reacted poorly to the beginning of the fall semester.  Anonymous sources had suggested that this student lacked the rigorous level of personal commitment and self control that the program’s recommencement demanded. Throughout the course of the day, all of these suspicions were proved completely true.

At around 8:36 pm on Sunday, September 4th, the student was quoted as saying “I should really try to get to bed early tonight since I want to get up at 5:00 tomorrow morning,” chuckles emanating from her dinner guests, two of which were imaginary.

Later that evening at 12:03 am, September 5th, 2011, she reportedly stated “It’s already 12! I really need to get to bed soon.” As one of her roommates said in a later interview, “She made all these kinds of statements, what about getting up early and stuff, but I think when push came to shove, she didn’t really think she would have classes on Monday, September 5th, and she certainly couldn’t recognize the implications of those classes.”

Her inability to appreciate the reality of classes became especially apparent later on when a hand scrawled note was discovered in the toaster at her apartment. At first glance, the note appeared to be a schedule, which would initially indicate a modicum of order and progress in the student’s life. However, upon closer examination our experts found it to be a rudimentary journal of the student’s thoughts throughout the day. It read:

8:45 am: In class. Everything written in Arabic. Do they think we can actually read this? [Since said student had studied Arabic for 5 years prior to this statement, it can be concluded that she was already delirious.]

10:23 am: So hungry. Who am I? Where did these bats come from? [Further investigation indicates that by bats the student was referring to the black specs she saw swimming in her eyes, a common sign of both sleep deprivation and mad Arabic student disease.]

12:48 pm: Class just started. Very tired. Only 20 days until December [This, of course, is completely false, the meaningless production of a crazed mind.]

1:38 pm: So close to being free. Why is everyone staring at me? STOP STARING AT ME! [Recorded statements of students in her class indicate that these thoughts were vocalized verbally and with no sign she was aware of her own screaming.]

The rest of the note was lost, since it was found in a toaster, but scientists and eyewitnesses have pieced together a few rough details of what transpired the rest of the day. According to blind speculation on the part of her roommate, the student consumed no less than two sandwiches, belted out show tunes to herself within full earshot of passersby on the way home, wandered around aimlessly in a book store, and took a one hour nap.

Upon awaking, she commenced with her homework at once with an unhealthy amount of concentration before staying up again until 3:30 am, having learned nothing from the day before. If you have seen this student, please slap her firmly on both sides of the face and tell her to go to bed earlier. She, the program director, and the world will thank you for your service.

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Sep 05 2011
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Three minute read

Batty About You

Come for dinner and we’ll wipe the table off for you. Probably.

We have quite the impressive balcony in our new apartment. I don’t mean to toot my landlady’s horn, but it is, quite literally, the greatest thing that has ever existed. Despite the thick layer of dust and an occasional poopy smell, this balcony is one of the most pleasant places I have taken my Nescafe, and I am glad to be here.

A live tree hangs over the balcony, making half of the right side look as if it were in a forest. (Just to clarify, we are not in a forest. We are in the opposite of a forest: Cairo, where trees come to be coated in dust and then wither despite the abundance of carbon dioxide ). This tree is a preferred swooping location of our local bat population.

The thought of bats might sound unpleasant, like when you get an email from a guest you accidentally locked out on the balcony notifying you that she stole your delicates and won’t give them back until you replace the pair of designer jeans she tore while climbing down from the fifth floor. I myself used to think that bats were grotesque creatures, especially because their wings look like desiccated hands. They are also mammals that fly, which is just wrong.  Though they had never done anything to hurt me, childhood movies and Halloween taught me to fear them as creatures both of darkness and evil intent, only one of which they deserve.

But then, on accident, I learned something. Bats eat insects, including mosquitoes. This was a game changer. Were I given a thousand marble tablets, nine hundred and ninety nine assistants, three thousand years, a box of potato chips, and an endless supply of gummy bears and chisels, I would still not be able to carve out the depths of my loathing for mosquitoes. The bat, my former de-facto foe, became my friend since it feasts on the beings I despise.

Why should we hate the bats anyways? Is it because they are like us, preferring to stay up at night and swoop around in seemingly haphazard oblong shapes? Why should the dove be associated with love, when they are good for nothing more than statue-defecation and vegetation-carrying? Who cares if they’re monogamous? Aren’t bats the true romantic animal, staying up late, sacrificing the sunlight in order to eat disgusting creatures that would otherwise suck my blood? That’s all I’ve ever sought in a man.

I finally understand that bats are simple creatures, loving darkness, mosquito eating, and screeching, activities that I occasionally indulge in myself. Now when I see him/her/them swooping around outside the tree, I smile to myself as I imagine the thousands of insects they have crushed in the grips of their weird mouths. I no longer look on the bat as any less than human. They are my guardians in a world full of things with more than four legs, and what they do is more noble than creepy. I’m taking this opportunity to announce a new line of greeting cards, chocolates, and bedding based on the concept of bats as the true symbol of romance. If you are a hands-off, fun-driven investor, please email me at battyaboutyou@hotmail.com.

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