My Life? Complete.

I can come home now. My life is really just complete.

Yesterday I was walking from the dorms to the grocery store (about a 6-10 minute walk) around 1330. I was my usual, unassuming, unobtrusive Cairo self. A man in his late 20s or early 30s passed me on the street. He paused and gave me the generaly visual examination I've come to expect from men here. He then said...

...I'm not kidding....

"Hubba hubba."

Fin.

Desert Shield?

Worst sandstorm I've seen yet is going outside.

The world is yellow. I can't see more than a block. There's grit all over me: blown into my eyes, my nose, my ears, my mouth. My hair has a nice cap of tan-gray.

During a sandstorm, the world goes eerily quiet. People aren't in the streets, cars aren't in the streets. You hear the wind; you hear the branches snapping off of trees. Sounds that you do hear are oddly magnified in the quiet. A lone car horn made me jump, so did a branch crashing.

It's keeping up, so I'm going to hunker down in the library and hope that I don't get hungry before it ends.

Because God knows the open-air shops won't be open.

(There are, of course, a few groups of boys sitting outside on campus during this. Their number has, however, decreased steadily in the 90 minutes it's been storming. Boys are boys everywhere. Sorry, gentlemen.)

Please, come into my shop...

Gentle Reader,

You may notice that I have yet to update about my adventures over Spring Break, where I visited Rome and Sicily in Italy and Northern and Central Tunisia. I assure you I kept a journal of my travels. It totals over 100 handwritten pages. As time becomes available (when I am somewhere in my 80s), I will enter it into typed format. I’ll try and post some of the better vignettes, but please be patient. I’m into the “finals” swing of things, which means I have 50 pages to write in the next five weeks, as well as quite a bit else. In the meantime, you can amuse yourself with the following.

Yours truly,
Bint Ibn Battuta (alias m.)

If Egypt were Facebook, these would be my “Interests”

5.7 pounds to the dollar. Buying 4.5 liters of bottled water for less than a dollar. Walking the streets of Cairo with my game face (also known as the man-killing face, also known as the assassin face). The elementary school outside my window. My roommate’s obnoxious ringtone. My obnoxious ringtone. Having my room cleaned by the maids. Feeling awkward about having someone clean my room and change my sheets. What passes for “cleaning” here. Having it take four hours to do laundry. The cats that live in the dorms. The pregnant cat in the dorms. Watching Egyptian girls tease the cats until they get bitten and then pout for the Egyptian boys. The gym at the dorms where the Egyptian boys enter for ten minutes, do one set of six reps of bicep curls (with atrocious form) and call it a day—looking confusedly at me, dripping sweat with my game face on. Missing the gym at home. Missing running outside. Missing tank tops. The dorm guards who “check” your bags. Sitting in the lobby with boys. Complaining about gender segregation. Observing Egyptian courting methods. Underpaying cab drivers who get me lost three times. Overpaying cab drivers who take me where I actually want to go. Having a cab driver stop at the church to marry me before taking me back to the dorms. Ignoring cab drivers. Knowing the games cab drivers play and not falling victim. Having to give Cairo cab drivers directions to places of serious historical importance. Coptic Cairo. The Catholic cemetery in Coptic Cairo. Lying my way into it. Mar Girgis. Sarah’s apartment. Dan’s apartment. Complaining about Egyptian alcohol (it’s that bad). Khan el-Khalili. “My future wife, I am here!” “For you, I kill all four of my wives!” “How can I take your money today?” “Did you see? My heart—it broke!” “I make you good price.” Real Egyptian Price. The man I buy scarves from. Scarves. Silver jewelry. Looking in souvenir shops and laughing. Deciding what to buy people. “Harry Potter” in Arabic. The AUC Bookstore. The view from the top of Main Campus. Shocking the good folk of Zamalek by occasionally forgetting to put on a jacket and walking down the street in short sleeves. Getting cursed at by the hecklers at the pyramids in Arabic. Bitching them out right back in Arabic. The shock in their eyes. Complaining about the Egyptian museum. Ordering food in Arabic. Otlob.com. Caving and getting a McDonald’s chocolate milkshake. Eavesdropping on the Egyptians on the bus. Laughing at what they say about me. Crying at what they say about me. Ful in baladi bread. Being the only woman in the ful line. The front guy trying to flirt with me. Koshary. The guy at the koshary place who knows my face and exactly what I’ll order. Sahlab. Not being about to find skim milk to save my life. What passes in Egypt for “salad.” Dreaming of actual greens. Atrocious coffee. Nescafe 3-in-1. Being able to buy pretty much anything except tampons and safety pins at Alfa Market. Qur’anic recitation on the shuttle. Making the shuttle. Making the shuttle and getting a seat. Having a tan face and hands. Having a very white everything else. Hating Egyptian internet. Getting depressed about politics. Being haram on purpose. Being haram by accident. Being where I shouldn’t. Baksheesh. Understanding what someone is saying to me. Sandstorms. Being outside during them. The white lines when you come inside from one. Political Science seminars in limited English. Arabic classes in limited Arabic. Being confused when it rains. City Stars Mall. Movies with Arabic subtitles. Laughing at how badly the subtitles don’t match up. Electric kettles. Being frustrated with my Cairo life. Hating my Cairo life. Loving my Cairo life. Living my Cairo life.