Yes, I know I'm far behind. I have to update you on things like the Sinai Peninsula, climbing Mt Sinai at night, and a second set of wonderful long-distance-travel-in-Egypt adventures. Then I have to tell you about horseback riding in the Sahara in the pre-dawn, when the dunes and the stars are silver, and watching the sun blaze up in the smoggy sky and turn them gold, and galloping through the desert whooping like a wild Indian. Then there's that moulid (what, you ask, is a moulid? Guess you'll have to wait and see). And there's STILL spring break! I'll be updating this with Egypt stories for another year. Sorry.
Anyways
Most of you are familiar with my general dislike for the male half of the Egyptian population. The grabbing, the comments, the stares (all exponentially creepier when coming from men my father's age and older) wear on one after a while. But this is a new low.
Somehow, an Egyptian man named "Ali" got my phone number. He began calling yesterday evening while I was watching a tv show on someone's computer downstairs and had my phone tucked away. I looked when we finished watching--12 missed calls, it reads in arabic. God, who died? I think as I pick up the phone to check the numbers. Then it's ringing in my hand. One ring, then hangs up. Again. One ring. One ring. One ring. Four "missed calls" in less than 30 seconds. I hand the phone to Kari, she checks her phone to see if the number matches anything she has. Nope. I walk outside and try to pick up the next call, but can't. So I call him.
The phone rings once, and then music begins on the line. Cheesy Arabic pop, and I can hear it ringing in the background. Then the music cuts off and the phone picks up. Allo? Hello, who is this? (silence) Who is this? Masa' il-khreer. (Good evening) Masa' il-nur. (response) Who is this? (silence) Who is this? Ismi Ali (My name is Ali.) Ali, do not call this number again. DO NOT call it. I hang up and walk back inside.
The phone starts ringing again. And again. It's just going off constantly. Always one ring and then "missed call." Kari calls him and threatens him. Doesn't do anything. After racking up about 15, I turn off the phone at Max's advice.
When I leave to go upstairs, I turn the phone back on. Nothing so far. Perhaps he got the message? By the time I'm in the second floor stairwell, it's ringing. I can't pick it up, but I call him back. Ali? Aiwa. (yes) Ali do not call this number again. Bihebik. (I love you.) I don't care. Do not call this number again. Stop calling me.
The phone continues to ring. Within five minutes there's 30 missed calls. I realize I have to walk to the store a few blocks away, so I take my phone. It's ringing constantly. Finally, on a darkened Cairo street at 1230 in the morning, I ball up and call him again.
**Please understand that the following paragraphs are not censored. Skip for children or those offended by profanity.**
The now-familiar Arabic pop plays until he picks up the phone. Ali, isma'ni wi isma'ni bizabt. (Ali, you listen and you listen good.) Mish a'arifatk. (I don't know you.) Stop calling me. Stop calling this number. Lam tatasl bi. (Never call me.) I love you. I don't give a fuck. Stop fucking calling me. I swear to God if you do not stop I will come fucking find you and you will be in trouble. We will have a mushkila. (a problem) Lam tatasl bi. Abadan. (Never call me. Ever.) Khalas. (We're finished.)
The phone keeps ringing. Before I make it a block he's called 15 times. I call again. I realize that this is encouraging the behavior, I really do. But I was so angry and upset. Allo? Ali, isma'ni. (You listen to me.) Isma'ni (mocking me). Don't fuck with me. I swear to God if you call this again I will kill you. Don't ever fucking call me again. Lam tatasl bi. Lih? (why?) Lam tatasl bi. Fahim? (Never call me, never call me. Do you understand?)
It keeps going. I get back to the dorms and in the stairwell I crack. I call him again. Ali. This is it. Khalas. (We're finished) If you fucking call me one more fucking time I swear to God I will fucking kill you. H'aqtalak. (I'll kill you.)
I get to my room and before I can turn on my computer I have ten calls. I decide to go downstairs and ask the hulking men at the front desk to call him and explain to him that he needs to stop. Kari suggests the same. Max says to trace the call so we can go beat him up. This is, however, Egypt. I don't think call tracing will make it here in any way, shape, or form for another thirty years. So I head down. By the time I make it to the front desk I have 48 missed calls. He is nothing if not persistent.
By this point I'm almost in tears because I have to be up tomorrow morning at 430 to go horseback riding and I'm exhausted from life in every way and I just want to not deal with this but I need to use my phone as my alarm and I can't well do that if it's ringing off the hook all night. I'm also just frustrated and upset. It feels violating. Inexplicably, even though I'm trapped in the dorms with fat security guards who sit on their expanding posteriors drinking syrupy-sweet tea all day, I don't feel safe. At all.
At the front desk, I explain to the man sitting there what's going on: Someone I do not know has my phone number. He keeps calling me and hanging up. When I call him he tells me his name is Ali and that he loves me. I've told him to stop calling me, to never call this number, that I do not know him, and that I'll kill him. In English and in Arabic. The man looks confused. Why do I not wish to speak with one of my friends? he wants to know. What have I done to make him call this way? I think I actually stare at him with my jaw dropped for a second. Apparently, things like this being a woman's fault are universal. I ask him, can he just call this number and tell him to stop calling me. I just need the calls to stop. That's all. He just looks at me like I'm stupid. (Of course, who wouldn't want this on their phone?) I keep trying to explain to him that I just need him to call and tell the person on the phone to stop calling me. I'm near tears through this. He keeps asking what I have done to make this happen.
Finally, a tall Egyptian guy stops on his way out. Do I need help? he asks, and says he's an RA. I explain the situation and tell him I just need someone male to call and explain to Ali in Arabic that he cannot call me again. His phone is out of credit, so he borrows a friend's phone and calls the number. He politely explains to the other end of the phone that this number has been calling a girl at the American University and he cannot do it again. (As a point of pride, I understand the entire half of the conversation I hear.)
The calls stop until I'm in the second floor stairwell. By the time I'm in my room I have 14. I turn off the phone. When I turn it back on to set my alarm, there's nothing. I sleep my two and a half hours without a call.
In the morning, I get up at 430 to go horseback riding. Nothing on my phone. Alhamdulilah. I leave the phone on vibrate on my bed, thinking that if someone should call or text me before I get back, it won't wake my roommates by vibrating on my desk. Alhamdulilah I did that.
I get back from horses, dunes, and breakfast and walk into my room to grab my towel, etc for a much needed shower. My phone is lit up, showing recent activity. I look down. 40 missed calls. Dear God. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45.
I head into the shower.
Upon my return, there are 81 missed calls.
My phone is off right now, and has been for about an hour. Plan B is TBD. Because I want to use my phone.
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5 comments:
Ouch hon, that seems majorly painful. One of my American friends here has kind of the same problem. Not that this is going to be uplifting, but she's been trying for six weeks to get this guy to quit, and he's not getting the hint. I think there are certain guys in this world that just have so little respect both for a woman and for themselves that they can't break themselves out of this habit. How your particular one a) got your number, and b) fell so madly in love with you without ever having met you (as I assure you one's love for you only increases after being exposed to your wit and wisdom for a time) is particularly strange. That being said, we could always report him to the US embassy and have him renditioned. That happens a lot here. Just kidding... kind of.
When are you coming back stateside? I'll be in DC from 1 July onwards, but I want to catch up with you soon after we're reasonably settled in, not like we let last summer slip by. Inshallah you'll do well on your exams and we will see each other soon.
Plan B: Kari calls Vodafone.
Result (after fifteen minutes on hold): "It is impossible to block a number." "It is VERY impossible to block a number." "Why don't you put it on silent?" "I really cannot help you."
Thanks, Egypt.
MC:
you might want to consider a new sim card. Pain to change #s but I'm willing to bet this 'fan' of yours will pass on the # at some point.
Sigh.
MS
Hey Mc, that sounds creepily like what I went through umm about 2 days ago. Some creep with name I can't spell called me from fuckin Nigeria about 150 times. He would call, let it ring to voicemail and then hang up and call back. Creeps. Anyway, I sympathize, really I do. He called at 4:30 in the morning at one point, and you know me and mornings.
On a different note, when you get back, not that I know when that is, we should hang out, I'm home all summer!
Jen
That's some creepy stuff. I hope somehow he got the message eventually that it would be unhealthy for him to keep calling you, and stopped.
And Chris, you suggest renditioning him? He's already in Egypt. That'd be like leaving Wisconsin for California to get some cheese: why travel to the rest when you've got the best right at home?
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