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Published: September 13th 2012
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I stood there staring at a Cairo airport coffee machine, like maybe if I look at it hard enough, long enough, it'll take mercy on my sick soul and pour me a cup of espresso. My tummy is rumbling and all my joints ache and I hold only three Egyptian pounds in my hand. The cheapest coffee from this machine is five pounds.
Then I was saved. With a shaved head and a kilt, he would look like Pharaoh reincarnate. "Miss, this machine isn't working properly. There are no cups."
My feverish brain takes a moment to process. No cups means no coffee.
"Oh well. Even if there were cups, I'm still two pounds short," I tell him.
"Are you feeling ok?" he asks.
"Not so good today. Just thought I'd find comfort in a hot cup of joe."
"I see. You come with me. I have something for you," Pharaoh tells me.
I followed the sunned Egyptian a few yards to the terminal where his wife and kids are waiting for a flight. He unzips his backpack, revealing a clean white plastic cup. "Here you go," he says and hands me the cup.
He fishes into his pants pocket and slips out two Egyptian pounds. He places the cup and the money in my hand.
"Come!" Pharaoh commands.
I obey and we walk back to the espresso machine, insert the money, place the cup under the spikit, and viola!, out comes my brown liquid salvation.
He asks me to join his family while I savor my drink. Pharaoh is actually called Wael and he's traveling to the Red Sea with his family for a week on the beach. They tell me of their work, life through the Revolution, why she won't wear a headscarf and how proud they are of their Egyprian heritage.
"Not many tourists come here now," he says shaking his head.
"I think people have been frightened by the media," I reply.
"Yes, that is true, but it is safe here. What you see on the news..." and his voice trails off.
"Oh, I know what people have seen on the news. Its enough to put my mother on the verge of tears to think of her daughter coming here."
At the thought of this, Wael bursts out laughing. He translates to
Khan el Khalili
Ever seen this many men in a fabric store? his wife to make sure she understands. She, in turn, tils her head back and howls.
"I believed it was safe to come here," I tell him, "but people hear the words 'revolution' and 'riot' and see images of mobs and burning buildings and that scares them."
"All of that has passed now," Pharaoh reminds me.
"I know, I know. That's why I'm here. I feel safe and I love it," I reassure. He grins at his wife.
"Ok Wael, when I go home what do you want me to tell my friends about Egypt? What do you want people to know?" I ask.
"I want you to tell the truth. Just say what you see! Always tell the truth." That's all he asked.
So what did I see? I saw Egyptians go out of their way to give a wandering lost American directions. I saw young men stop traffic so I could cross three lanes of madness. I saw gaggles of giggling scarfed girls. I held mother's babies. I had a shopkeeper hand me his sandwich when he overheard me say I was hungry. I've been high-fived and told "Welcome to Cairo!" about
a thousand times.
True, I've also been hounded, hassled, ripped off, run down and baksheethed-to-death. But, its Egypt! I wouldn't expect any less.
And I've had a kind Egyptian man make sure the sick American girl got her morning cup of coffee.
Welcome to Egypt.
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Loved it!
You never dissapoint!