Homesick

I was so sick that I couldn't drag myself off the stained, lumpy cot to join the others to see The Whirling Dervishes perform at Kahn el Kalili. I'd been looking forward to seeing the world-famous dance troupe for two weeks since I'd arrived in Cairo, and I was excited about wandering through Kahn el Kalili market where they performed. I was really especially eager to experience smoking apple flavored tobacco through a hookah pipe at el Fishawi, the oldest cafe in the world. The family that owns el Fishawi claims to have been open 24 hours a day, every day, for over 125 years.

I lay in bed at the Dahab Hostel feeling claustrophobic. I wondered if I had the flu, or maybe food poisoning. When Kim, my bunk mate from Korea took out an envelope filled with family photos, I realized that there was nothing wrong with me physically; I was homesick. I'd been trying for three days to call my sister from the internet cafe in the alley across the street but for some reason Skype wasn't working.

That night a group of us sat on the rooftop garden. It had been raining for the past week, so the vibe was mellow. Kim passed around some weed, but that only made me more lethargic. Three dread-locked Australian hippies from across the hall brought out some congo drums and an out of tune guitar and played old Beetles songs. Priti, a Bollywood actress shared some greasy McDonald's fries. We sat around discussing 9/11 and the Iraqi war, and the memories of that day put me into a deeper funk.

I was about to go back bed when Eric, who had been living at the hostel for four months invited us all to squeeze into his room around his laptop. For the next few hours we laughed at Kenny, Kyle and Stan as we watched hilarious reruns of South Park, and the strong desire to return home lessened. The next morning I woke up, eager to continue my journey again.

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