As I prepared to move to Cairo, I consistently received warnings from well meaning people to be prepared for all the crazy things that would, upon my arrival, surely shock, horrify, and confound me so greatly that I would give anything to run back to the safe comfort of Suburbia, USA. Perhaps it’s because I like change, or perhaps it’s because of a slightly irrational and unhealthy sense of adventure, or perhaps it’s simply because I’ve traveled quite a bit and lived in developing nations before this, but I have yet to experience anything that surprises me greatly. In fact most days, my life seems completely normal and reasonable to me. Then I get in a taxi, and suddenly the absurdity that is Cairo assaults my senses with such a force that I have to laugh. At which point the cab driver looks into the rearview mirror, brows knit together in confusion, not at all understanding why the odd American girl sitting alone in the backseat is laughing. Until you are whizzing down the Autostrade, swerving around large trucks full of livestock, listening to Celine Dion croon, “neeeeaaar, faaaaaar, whereeeeeeever you are, I believe that the heart does gooo oooooooon” you probably won’t understand the laughter either. Egyptians have an strange affinity for Celine. Though freakishly weird, there is actually nothing unusual (in Cairo, that is) about listening to “Love was when I loved you, one true time I hold to” while nearly running over a truck full of goats. The coffee shops I frequent tend to prefer “You were my eyes when I couldn’t see - You saw the best there was in me...you gave me faith cause you belieeeeeeeeved...I’m everything I am, because you loooooved me” or occasionally “It’s all coming back to me now.” I’m not sure what it is about cheesy pop music that so enthralls the Egyptian community, but come for a visit and you’ll see what I mean. Of course, if you’re in MacDonald’s, you’ll get a little Leann Rimes to go with your Celine... ”And tell me now...How do I live without you? I want to know. How do I breathe without you if you ever go. How do I ever ever survive?” Once, I sat in MacDonald’s below the hospital, waiting for the birth of a friend’s baby. Over that five hour period, Leann wailed about separation from her lover no less than 9 times. NINE TIMES. How does anyone live with her?? Speaking of living, its a daily fight for survival here on the streets of Cairo...a fight I nearly lost last Sunday morning when a crazed microbus driver swerved towards me. On purpose. And then laughed. Needless to say, I was startled and a bit annoyed. I resisted the impulse to rake my keys down the side of the bus, because 1) I’m pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t do it and 2) it wouldn’t actually harm the aesthetic value of the vehicle and would possibly result in the loss of my arm. Though cab drivers, microbus drivers, and other public service workers are generally civil, reasonable people, I do occasionally encounter the microbus driver who gets a kick out of trying to scare the white american or the cab driver who wants to rip me off because he thinks I’m rich. Like yesterday. There are two kinds of cabs in Cairo: white cabs, and black cabs. If you’re going a short distance and know how much you should pay and can speak enough arabic to stick to your guns when the driver tries to hassle you, taking a black cab is usually cheaper. However, if you’re going a longer distance or there may be lots of traffic or you have a few stops to make, it’s to your advantage to hail a white cab, equipped with this lovely device called a meter. I needed to go out of my area and I needed to make a few stops, so yesterday I hopped into a white cab, equipped with a meter. The cab driver wanted to know how much I was going to pay, so I said “Turn on the meter, please.” To which he promptly replied that it was broken. I told him that it was illegal to refuse to use the meter if a passenger asked for it (it is!). He told me it was broken. After discussing this for a few moments, I reached up and turned the meter on. “Oh wow, look it works now! Great! We can go now, thanks!” The cab driver was NOT happy about this. I had called his bluff. I’ve been in enough cabs to know how the meters are turned on. Poor guy, I guess he thought he had another dumb, rich, american in his cab. He wasn’t going to use the meter, so I got out, thanked him kindly, and left the poor guy fuming and muttering under his breath. Sorry Mr. Cab Driver - I am not a rich American. Ahh, the joys of Cairo! :)
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