So, today was a pretty fantastic day. In fact, it almost made up for my gallstone attack.
The day started out like any other, going to class and in the like. It was nice to be back, and all the professors were very kind and understanding. Ustaaz Nour returned my exam grade from last week, which was significantly higher than the previous exam grad, al-hamdu lillah. Ustaaza Nahla gave me an extension on the skit I missed because I was in the hospital. And Ustaaz Immad offered to personally take me to the monastery I won't be able to visit this weekend on account of my surgery.
After little classes I was a little apprehensive about returning to the dorms because I wasn't sure if Hadir was going to be there or not. I realized last night after posting that I left out two bits of very important news, as caught up in my health as I was, but I was too tired to go back and edit.
The first piece of news, before I get back to my story, is that Chelsea is leaving the UT Flagship. I know that doesn't mean anything to a lot of you, but for those of you who've heard me talk about Chelsea you know how much I love her. She's been the Assistant Director of the University of Texas Flagship (my Arabic program) for my entire time at UT, and we're all sad to see her go. Alas, Ustaaz Mahmoud E-mailed us the day I got so sick letting us know that she got a better job at the University of Maryland Flagship and that her last day will be August 16th. I don't know what that means for our Flagship, but at least I'll still see her on August 15th on move-in day at the Arabic House.
The second piece of news brings my back to my story. When Robyn brought me back to the dorms from the hospital Tuesday night, I had to sign in at the front office before I could go up to my room. If you don't sign in when you come in for the night they'll knock on your door at an ungodly hour, and I just wanted to sleep. The women working in the dorms were worried for me though. Word had gotten around that I was sick and they all had to ask after my health.
The questioning took a while, especially considering I was still groggy from my meds, and eventually Robyn came into the office to check on me. She told of the women for keeping me from my bed, which was a little harsh, but appreciated. Before we could head up though, they asked me where Hadir was, as they usually do. And as I usually reply, I told them I didn't know.
'Is she still traveling?' they asked. And that got a weird look from Robyn, who proceeded to ask me how long Hadir hadn't been in the dorms. So I told her the truth.
Apparently, the girls here aren't allowed to leave for an extended period of time. Sure, a weekend here or there isn't a problem, but Flagship pays their room and board to give us more experience speaking Arabic. Therefore, them taking an extended leave of absence is basically them not doing their job. I've been getting plenty of experience with the other girls in the dorm, but Robyn was still livid.
Yesterday, I got a phone call from Hadir, telling me she'd be by the room today. I didn't understand why she was calling to give me a heads up at first, but apparently Robyn called and fired her. I feel terrible for getting her fired, but part of me wonders if it's for the best. She did say when she stopped by that one day for dinner that she'd wanted to leave the program but came back for my sake, even if she still hasn't spent the night in the room once in the last three weeks.
So that brings me back to where I was, not sure if I wanted to Hadir to be in the room packing or not. I want to say goodbye, of course, but I feel like sitting in the room doing my homework or something while she packs would be awkward. Either way, she wasn't there, and even if she had been, it wouldn't have mattered because I didn't stay in the dorms long anyway.
The same night I got the E-mail about Chelsea, I got an E-mail from Anita Housen, a UT graduate student and the future Events Coordinator of the Arabic House. She's been living in Cairo for the past year, was coming up yesterday to visit our program in Alexandria, and wanted to meet some of her future roommates. I told her I'd still be recovering yesterday, and I was, but that if I felt better today I'd give her a call.
I was tired after lunch, so I planned to call her after a nap, but she beat me to it. She was in the dar and wanted to know if I was busy. Tired isn't exactly busy, and I was excited to meet her, so I trekked back over there to shake hands and make small talk. At the same time, I met Anita's friend Paulette who doesn't speak Arabic, but is visiting Anita for her last month in Egypt. They're going to Siwa tomorrow or the next day.
Both girls are a lot of fun. We didn't get into any in depth conversations in the dar though, we were mostly making plans for later that night. There was a free concert scheduled for eight o'clock at the citadel starring a famous performer who specializes in Eastern jazz. It sounded great, and I said I'd consider meeting them there later. Honestly, I was already tired, and I have mountains of homework to finish, hopefully before my surgery. Still, the thought of bonding time was nice, so I didn't rule it out.
At some point, conversation died down, we were all doing different things, and I ended up falling asleep on the couch in the dar. It's a million times more comfortable than my bed in the dorms and I couldn't resist. Mama Karima woke me up at seven-thirty about half an hour before the dar was going to close, got me some water to wash my face, and sent me off to dinner, which ends at the dorms at eight. I made it there with about five minutes to spare, but five minutes was all I needed for the light dinner of tomatoes, cucumbers, honeydew, and bread.
Charlie, another one of the Arabic House residents, was also still at dinner and asked about my plans for the night. She wanted to go to the concert, but didn't want to go alone. I said I'd go with her, and though I didn't mind in the least, she assured me we didn't have to stay for long. Then again, neither of us knew what the night had in store for us.
We met up with Anita, her friend, and two Egyptians outside the citadel about half past eight. They'd tried to get into the concert but decided the over crowding wasn't worth it. Still, there's a lot to do around the citadel, so we decided to hang out for a while.
Paulette is an artist, and it just so happened that there were boards set up for a public anti-smoking mural where people can paint whatever they want to discourage smoking. We stood around eating cotton candy, watching her paint, until we started getting swarmed by a bunch of begging children. The Egyptians decided to leave, and that left four of us, without a plan.
I learned quickly, however, that if ever we don't have a plan, Anita will find one. She started asking around for a man named Muhammad Romansy, like romance-y, so you'll understand my initial confusion. When I asked who he was, her reply in Arabic was "the most beautiful man in Alexandria." It wasn't until I met him that I really understood what she meant.
Muhammad Romansy is a boat rower in the ocean around the citadel. Anita met him a few years back when she was in Alexandria, I think with Flagship, and has returned to see him every year since, so they're good friends. While he was very nice though, she didn't mean that just his personality was beautiful.
While Romansy was born and raised in Alexandria, is 100% Egyptian, grew up on the citadel, and has been rowing boats since childhood, you couldn't tell it just by looking at him. He's tall, and thin, and has the muscles and callouses of an Egyptian boatman, but he's also blonde, with green eyes and pale skin. All the most beautiful features according to Egyptian culture, mostly because they're so rare her. I'm not gonna lie, it was kind of weird at first hearing his accent-less Arabic for a while, but meeting his one was of my best experiences in Egypt so far.
Romansy is from a different class of people than we usually get to interact with. He dropped out of school to row tourists around full time, but he wants more than anything to get a work visa and work outside Egypt. At age twenty-three he's married, with a daughter, and they live in a three room apartment: salon, bedroom, combination kitchen / bathroom with a squat toilet.
When Anita finally found someone who knew him, she replaced the old phone number she had for him with the new and gave him a call. As it turns out, he was at the concert, but came out to see us. After a short reunion, he insisted on taking us out on the waves. Anita assured us he was the best rower she'd ever seen, had never flipped a boat, and vowed to quit rowing the first time he ever does. That was enough for me.
We had to wait a half hour or so to take the boat out because there were police around, and apparently it's illegal to take tourists out in a boat at night. Once the police had left though we filed onto a rickety old row boat and headed out towards the waves. We didn't get into the choppiest parts, sticking instead to the relatively calm seclusion of inlet next to the citadel, but there were still exciting parts: when a large wave came, or when we all had to shuffle around the tiny space without falling out because Paulette or Charlie wanted to try rowing. It was a beautiful experience, though someone did throw a rock at us at one point. It hit Charlie on the back, but she said it didn't hurt badly.
When we got back to shore, there was a tiny disagreement over money. Romansy's boat had already been dragged out of the water for the night, so he'd agreed before going out to pay another boater ten pounds to use his boat. After the ride, however, the other boater wanted to twenty. We gave Romansy twenty, even though he was able to renegotiate it to ten, and had him keep the second half. Then we bought ice cream and rice pudding for his family (who were still at the concert) and walked with him back to his home for tea.
As I mentioned, Romansy is from a different class than we're used to, among the poorest Egyptians. He took us through some back alleys and then up a flight of stairs so dark we had to use a lighter to see, and then into that three room apartment I mentioned.
We sat in the salon for a while, waiting for his wife and daughter to come home. I love the Egyptian tradition of salons, mostly because I love just sitting and chatting with Egyptians. They all seem to have such energy and hospitality. Romansy found us some music to listen to on the television in the corner and we looked through stacks of old photos with him: wedding photos, photos of his daughter, photos of him with tourists.
Eventually, his wife and daughter, Ibtasar and Aya, made it home. After getting changed out of street clothes they came and sat with us for a while too. Well, Ibtasar came and sat with us, because Aya's only one and a half and mostly wandered around the room from person to person, dancing and making faces.
At one point, Ibtasar gave us an Eastern dance lesson, seeing as she could do it and none of us could. I don't know that that changed by the end of the night, but we had fun anyway. Romansy's daughter was by far one of the more adorable children I've seen in Egypt, especially covered in rice pudding as she was later in the night. She still breast feeds and her mother decided this would be a perfect time for us to all try to teach her to eat like a big girl together. It was entertaining, if not successful.
On a side note, even if Ibtasar wasn't spoon feeding Aya, she was spoon feeding the rest of us while we drank tea. It was a little odd for us, but as per culture in Egypt, she was doing whatever she could to make us eat. And there're only so many times you can refuse before it gets rude.
While I don't doubt the goodness of Romansy or his wife, cultural differences did begin to creep up in different parts of conversations in the night. It was almost nice seeing them, because while I know they exist, the more educated classes who know about American culture tend to try to hide them. They know Americans tend to be disturbed by certain topics. I have to specific examples.
On the boat out on the ocean, Paulette made a comment about how rowing for just five minutes had strengthened her arm muscles ten fold. Anita, Charlie and I were taking turns translating, and when we told Romansy what Paulette had said he got this sort of offended look on his face.
Women shouldn't be strong, he said. God made men the strong ones so that they can put women in their place. If a woman were to become stronger than her husband, she might start hitting him, and then there would be an imbalance of power. None of us really knew what to say to that. It's not something you'd hear on a boar in America at any rate. But we just shifted the subject a bit and continued our conversation.
Later, when Ibtasar was telling us about how much she loves to dance, she told us a story that would have been equally inappropriate anywhere else, or even in some other classes. Romansy's brother got married a few months back and Ibtasar danced at the wedding. While she was with mostly women, there was one man in the room, and when her and Romansy got home he hit her hard across the face for dancing for another man when he was her husband. And yet she told the story smiling and laughing the whole time, like it was a good joke.
Despite the differences, they were lovely people, and I was lucky to have met them in my travels.
Around midnight Charlie and I realized we should probably be heading back to the dorms, so we took a taxi to Anita and Paulette's hotel. It wasn't too far from the dorms, but still far enough that we didn't want to walk, so we headed for the tram station. We never did make it to the tram though. Instead, we ran in to another group of Flagship students on a street corner. They'd been to Mermaid for the night and were trying to decide what to do next. We hung out with them for a while, though the decision making mostly turned in to us standing around talking on that street corner for who knows how long.
Sameh, one of the Egyptians from the boys' dorms, had somehow ended up with his professor tagging along, and though I didn't know it at the time, apparently said professor was very drunk. Which is very inappropriate in Egypt. He'd been searching for a prostitute, and making inappropriate remarks about women, and Sameh was trying to come up with a plan to ditch him before he really offended someone. Most of us are easy going, but we weren't about to argue with convincing the professor to go home.
The plan became that we would say we were tired, head back towards the girls' dorms, and then make new plans once the professor had gone. But once the professor left, we mostly degenerated into standing around talking again. It was getting late at this point, and because the professor didn't live far from the University, we weren't far from the dorms. We kind of decided without deciding that we wanted to head back.
The girls made it back at about two-thirty. The front doors to the dorms were locked, but there was a police officer out front who knew who to call for a key. We got inside, headed upstairs, and I started downloading A Very Potter Sequel and working on answering me E-mail. I know I don't have time to watch AVPS, and I'm considering saving it for after my surgery, but I doubt my excitement will let me wait that long.
Anyway, I don't know if I effectively conveyed how much fun I had tonight, but it was a lot. I love Egyptians. And since meeting Anita I'm even more excited about living in the Arabic House. It's going to be a good year, but I'm still going to miss Egypt.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Days 45 & 46: The Hospital of Safety
So... I don't think I could have gotten a decent post out yesterday if my life depended on it. I'm sure those of you who already know the story have already forgiven me, but for those of you who don't... just wait. I'm going to start at the beginning though, so it may take a while fore me to get going.
Yesterday morning I woke up, as usual, but couldn't for the life of my get out of bed, despite it being a later day. I skipped breakfast and pressed my snooze button until I only had half an hour to shower and get ready. I did it, but it was cutting it close.
In the dar, it turned out I had no need to rush. Ustaaz Immad had gotten us an appointment at the orphanage that I later found out he used to volunteer at. That little tidbit of information actually explains a lot about him. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to be volunteering with orphans in his spare time. He's just that kind hearted.
Anyway, we had to wait for everyone from class to gather, and a few people had business to take care of before we left, so we ended up sitting around idly for a bit. And in this idle sitting, I started to not feel so well. One of the girls in our class had gotten sick the day before, so I was a little worried I had what she had, but I was really excited about going to the orphanage, so I sucked it up. In hindsight, not my best choice.
The bus was chosen as our optimal choice of transportation, seeing as there were seven of us. The problem with buses is they're lurchy. I swore I was going to throw up at least twice, but somehow, mind over matter or something, I managed to keep it down. An Alexandria city bus is not somewhere you want to get sick.
But eventually we made it to the orphanage where we met the sweetest woman who was in charge. We sat in her office with her for a while, my stomach in knots, as she told us about the orphanage.
Egyptian orphanages are a little different than American ones, mostly because Egyptian families are so large and close knit. Egyptians tend to grow up with all of their aunts and uncles like second parents, so if a parent dies, there's almost always another family member to take them in. As such, the orphanage is full of children who, rather than not having parents, usually have parents who can't afford to take care of them.
The other reason children might be in an orphanage has to do with religion. By Egyptian law, children inherit the religion of their fathers. Normally, this isn't an issue, because Muslims tend to marry Muslims and Christians tend to marry Christians. However, in the case of a Christian and a Muslim having a baby, if that Christian and Muslim ever split, the child is bound to the father and not the mother. As you can imagine, if the father decides to move away for work or something, as is within his right, that doesn't make the mother very happy.
The solution is often that they put the child in an orphanage of the necessary religion so that the mother can still see her child. The orphanage we visited was Christian, and the director told us that they tend to integrate religion into all facets of life. So it's a big deal.
The orphanage itself was quite nice. They have a large yard to play in and a gym and communal computers. There are forty-seven boys living there at the moment, from first grade up through university. The younger ones were at the beach for the day with some volunteers, but we got to meet some of the older ones. They were all very kind and polite, even inviting the boys in our class to come back and play soccer sometime.
It was a nice visit, or would have been, if my body wasn't inclined to hate me.
All through the directors talk in her office I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to hear what she had to say, but all of my attention was focused on my stomach. About half way through the meeting, I thought I'd found a godsend. One of the other women working there bought in a tray of sodas for us, including sprite zero. And sprite always makes upset tummies feel better, right?
Nope, not right at all.
I thought it might have been just because it was zero, and not regular, even though I realize that's ridiculous now. When you're panicking over keeping down phantom stomach contents (because remember I hadn't eaten that day) you're not exactly thinking straight. At one point, while another student was asking a question, I actually got up and headed for the door. I didn't want to throw up in the lovely woman's office. I made it to the lobby before I realized I didn't know where I was going, but by then I was able to keep it down.
The director had followed me, so I asked for a bathroom, hoping I could throw up in private, feel better, and continue with the visit. No such luck. For some reason, in the tiny bathroom, I couldn't get anything up. So I washed my hands and went back to the meeting.
The tour after that was torture. There's no air conditioning in the orphanage, so I was hot as anything, sweaty, sticky, and of course none of that helps with an upset stomach. As they started to lead us to the gym, I had that sudden uncontrollable urge again, but was thankfully able to make it to a toilet, where I threw up more than I knew I could possible have in my stomach.
I was miserable, but the women were incredibly kind to me. They got me a bottle of water and helped me wash up. We left not long after that, and I was feeling a bit better, even though my stomach still hurt. My plan was to finish up classes for the day and then go take an anti-bacterial for my digestive track. Unfortunately I didn't get that far.
We were running a little late getting back from class because the orphanage was a little ways away, so the half of us that had afternoon classes decided we didn't have time for lunch and just went to the dar twenty minutes early. I didn't realize one person could get so much sicker in twenty minutes.
I nearly threw up twice, which would have been horrible, because the water was cut off in the building for that day. Meaning no toilets. Eventually I just gave up. Missing one Fusha class wasn't going to kill me, even if we were going over the new vocab that day. So I went to Ustaaz Nour, my eyes watering with a mixture of pain, dizziness, and the effort to speak and keep my stomach calm, and told him I was going back to the dorms.
He was very understanding about it, always is. And I had my homework to turn in, so it wasn't like I was skipping out just because I wasn't prepared. Robyn didn't ask any questions either. I wonder now if she was just being kind or if I really looked that bad. Either way, I didn't really care as long as I got out of there.
I managed to make it back to the dorms before throwing up again, but it was a mad dash from the elevator (I was in no condition to take the stairs) to the restroom, where I only made it to the sink. Thankfully, it was all liquid anyway. At least in the comfort of my own bathroom I was able to pause, take a few breaths, and wash my face. After which I changed in to pjs, tried to drink some sprite, and climbed into bed, praying for sleep. But that wasn't going to happen.
Over the next few hours I ran to the restroom no less than four times. The first to throw up the sprite, the second to throw up the pepto-bismol I'd taken after that, the third pure water, and the fourth the strongest anti-bacterial I had. I was miserable. Every single time was violent and messy.
At that point, I didn't know what to do. Clearly something was wrong, but I couldn't keep down anything that might make it better, and I definitely couldn't sleep it off. So I called Robyn, just to get her opinion, see if it was normal to be this violently ill. She didn't have any advice, but she did call some of the med students to come check on me.
While I was waiting for someone to show up, Habiba stopped by to set up a meeting. She took one look at me and got this horrified look on her face, like I was death warmed over or something. I managed to explain, sort of. Either way, she went and got someone, and with that someone and Robyn's someone, and everyone who was just attracted by the commotion, I had a party of Egyptians sitting in my room discussing what was wrong with me.
Someone gave me another type of pill at some point. I managed to keep it down for a bit, though I still don't know how. I think it helped, but I might have just been going through a down period.
Anyway, Robyn showed up a while after that, and we decided to go to the hospital, mostly because I was dying of thirst and obviously couldn't drink anything. I got my choice of the public hospital or the private one. The private one has better care, but it's also more expensive. Then again, health care is Egypt is a steal compared to America, and I have insurance, so I went with the better care.
They gave me an IV of fluid, first of all. Asked some questions, took my temperature and blood pressure, performed some tests. I think everyone figured it was bug. That's what I thought it was. Mostly I was just hoping they could inject me with a medicine I couldn't throw up. But if I've learned anything over the last few days, Egyptian doctors will go to great lengths to make sure they're right. Which is useful.
So, just as a precaution, they took an ultrasound. Yes, it was cold. Yes, it was sticky. It was a unique experience too, seeing as it's Egypt and they respect women's bodies way more than any doctor in America ever has. I didn't even have to put on a gown. They just rucked up my shirt as little as possible and went at it.
Anyway, as I was saying, it was a good thing they performed the ultrasound, because I, at the ripe young age of twenty, have a wide variety of over-sized gall stones. All that vomiting was a gall stone attack, go figure. And the back pain from where I thought I'd thrown out my back vomiting? Yeah, also part of the attack. Yay me.
Anyway, they got me an appointment with a specialist for the next morning, wrote me a couple prescriptions, and let me go. I'd only thrown up once in the hospital, so I kind of hoped I was getting better.
When I finally got back to the dorms I wasn't sure I'd left the hospital. Many of the Egyptian girls staying in the dorms over summer are in Med School, and almost all of them were anxious to show off their expertise. They were all wonderful though. You would think it would be annoying, having that many people hovering, but it was kind of reassuring just to know they cared. It was also helpful having them there to explain what all the big words on my ultrasound results meant. The results were in English, as most medical practice is in Egypt, but I have no idea what chronic calcular cholecystits or bilirubin means.
I wanted to go to sleep, but I was still sick, and I had to wait two hours to take my first medication. I called Mom and talked to her for a while, then watched a show I'd downloaded. It was doctor show, thankfully, and it made me feel tons better seeing all those poor patients worse off than I was.
I left the door unlocked all night so that the girls could poke their heads in and make sure I was breathing. I swear some of them were more concerned than Mom, which is saying a lot.
My appointment this morning was at ten, but appointments here don't work like appointments in the states. Ten means the doctor will be in at ten, and all the patients get a number when they make their appointment, and then he goes through them one by one. I was fourth in line. But if the doctor's there early, or other patients don't show up, you could be in in now time at all.
Either way, Robyn said she would meet me at the dorms at a quarter to ten. The hospital's only about a five minute cab ride away. I had no intention of getting up early, but I was still disgusting from the day before, so I planned to get up at nine and at least shower before the appointment. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
My head felt like a ball of lead when my alarm went off this morning. So I hit the snooze button until about 9:32. That gave me just enough to time to pee and brush my teeth before I had to run down and meet Robyn. Still gross.
At the very least I wasn't nauseous anymore. From what Mom's research has told me, gall stone attacks come and go. And from what the doctor's told me, they usually come from fatty foods. At this point I hadn't eaten in two days, so fatty food wasn't a danger.
We got the hospital, and of course there was a wait, but I'm good at waiting. I realized to late I'd forgotten to bring a book, but there were enough signs and diplomas and things on the walls for me to occupy myself deciphering. If nothing else, this whole episode was a great vocabulary builder.
The doctor, when we got in to see him, was a very nice man. I've heard that Egyptian doctors don't like to explain things, but he answered all of my questions without a problem, and when he laid out my options for me, he did it in great detail.
Basically, I need my gallbladder removed, end of story. The question was whether to do it here or back in America. Either place, it would be a laproscopic surgery, meaning that tiny little microscope and about three centimeter long incision points and almost no recovery time. It's cheaper in Egypt, but I have insurance, so that's not a big issue. In America, obviously, I would have the added benefit of my family, but it's a simple surgery, so while it'd be nice to have them around it's not really a necessity.
I needed to discuss my decision with Mom, of course, so I asked the doctor for some time to decide. He gave me the paper work for both options. Talking to Mom though, I realized something important. At this point, I actually have more confidence in the Egyptian doctors than the American ones. They'd certainly treated me better up to this point.
On that note, I'd like to make a side-bar. Some of you may know that back in America I was having stomach issues a couple months back. Anytime I ate, my stomach would hurt, especially when I ate fatty or greasy foods. I had a check up around the same time and I brought it up to Dr. Nguyen. She told me it was heart burn. I questioned her diagnosis, because I'd had heart burn before, and it didn't feel like heart burn, but she brushed me off and told me to by over the counter pills. Mom found out today the conversation wasn't even on record.
Those were my first gall stone symptoms, completely disregarded despite my wanting tests. On the other hand, here, throwing up in a country I expected to be throwing up in, they run a test just to make sure and find something potentially severe. The way Robyn put it, they'd rather cure you the first time than get your money the second.
Anyway, in case you hadn't figured it out I decided to go through with the surgery here. Doctors aside, if I didn't do the surgery here I'd be on a heavy pill and strict diet regimen for the rest of my time here, and I'd still be at risk for another attack. Frankly, I'd really rather enjoy my last two weeks here, and I really don't want to risk an attack on an airplane, because that would suck.
Anyway, after I made the decision we started running around the hospital: to radiology for x-rays, the lab for blood work, and then back to the doctor to find out what to do next. He said the entire surgery team had to approve my work-up before we could set a time for the operation, and the blood work wasn't going to be done until seven that night. So we set an appointment for eight.
Side-bar again, I love Egypt's since of time. I had a doctor's appointment at eight pm. Where else does that happen without an emergency? Everything is open here all the time and people don't think you're crazy for being up at four in the morning. It's awesome.
So, after the hospital, I was feeling a lot better. I went back to the dorms for a shower, and then had a light lunch of tomatoes, cucumbers, bread and white cheese. I also had a piece of baklava, which yes, has a little fat, but I only had one, and baklava's my favorite, and the dorms only have it once every three weeks. Also, it settled fine, so no problem.
Since I was still feeling alright, alright enough to go to class at the very least, I figured I'd best start on my homework for tomorrow. In Egpytian we had three movie clips that we had to watch and transcribe, but they were only on the computers in the dar, and we couldn't put them on a flash drive. As such, I headed over to the dar for our weekly meeting, and then hung out doing my homework.
I finished with the Egyptian around and headed back to the dorms for dinner. Bread, rice, and watermelon. They didn't have cheese this time. Sad face. Robyn showed up around seven and ate with us. Zeinab, one of my my friends who lives on my floor, had asked earlier in the day to go with me. Like I said, they're worried about me. As it turns out though, she thought I was having surgery tonight, and when she realized it was just a meeting didn't want to crowd the doctor.
Eman, one of the other med students, did come with us. I hadn't spent much time with her before, but she's certainly a sweetheart. She got into a playful argument with the taxi driver on the way there, insisting I was Egyptian and refusing to believe he couldn't see it. At the hospital she memorized my patient number, just in case, explained my blood results to me, and helped me translate some words while we were waiting.
We had to go down to the operating room to see the doctor. Apparently that's where he hangs out at night. He was there with the team, and meeting them was funny only from the way the doctor introduced me. They asked me if I wanted them to speak English and he interrupted, insisting with a smile that I spoke Arabic perfectly, but my English wasn't so good. One of the doctors spoke a lot of English anyway.
They said my stats were fine to go ahead with the surgery, and we scheduled it for nine in the morning on Saturday. I have to be at the hospital at eight, I have to fast after midnight the night before, and I have to take a shower either before I go to bed, or before six in the morning.
The last thing we did before leaving was check the price. I sprung for a single room, because it's only two hundred dollars more, and as much as I love them, Egyptians can be loud. I'm not going to post the price, because it's still a big number, but I know it's far cheaper than anything I would have gotten in America.
We stopped at the pharmacy once again on our way out. The specialist had given me a list of three medications; two of which I already had, but I needed the third. Only when I got back to the dorms with Eman (Robyn took a taxi home while we took the tram where we played with this adorable baby boy who kept blowing zerberts when Eman tickled his elbow), did I realize it was the exact same anti-bacterial the travel doctor prescribed me before leaving America.
When I realized, I ran it by Zeinab just to make sure, and while she assured me they were the same medicine, she told me I should take the American, just because it was American medicine and therefore better. I'd heard people say that was a stigma in Egypt, but it was funny hearing her say it so seriously. Meds are meds. Zeinab was, however, amazed by my pill bottle.
Everything in Egypt is over the counter, so everything comes in boxes like you get over the counter in America. When a doctor writes a prescription, it's basically just a list of medications. You don't need his permission to buy them, he's just suggesting them. It astounded Zeinab that you could get different amounts of pills, and she loved that the side effects came listed on the side of the bottle. I'll be finishing off the anti-bacterial pills in a day or two, so I promised she could have the bottle afterward. I'm considering emptying my prescription pain killers into a bag so she can have that bottle too.
Anyway, that's about it for the story. I feel like it might have been a little disjointed, but give me a break. I just went through an ordeal. People are still asking me how I am every five minutes, but I can honestly tell them I'm doing well now. Hopefully come Saturday I'll be even better.
Oh! And in explanation of the post title, the hospital I've spent the better part of two days at is called "Mustashfa Al-Salaama" which roughly translates to "The Hospital of Safety." I was trying to translate it for you guys before I started to post and... well, it doesn't really work. While salaama literally means safety, it has a lot of connotations having to do with peace and health and sometimes religion. Islam and salaama come from the same s-l-m root.
Well, that's it. It took me a long while to write this post, so now I'm tired, and going to bed. Good night everyone!
Yesterday morning I woke up, as usual, but couldn't for the life of my get out of bed, despite it being a later day. I skipped breakfast and pressed my snooze button until I only had half an hour to shower and get ready. I did it, but it was cutting it close.
In the dar, it turned out I had no need to rush. Ustaaz Immad had gotten us an appointment at the orphanage that I later found out he used to volunteer at. That little tidbit of information actually explains a lot about him. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to be volunteering with orphans in his spare time. He's just that kind hearted.
Anyway, we had to wait for everyone from class to gather, and a few people had business to take care of before we left, so we ended up sitting around idly for a bit. And in this idle sitting, I started to not feel so well. One of the girls in our class had gotten sick the day before, so I was a little worried I had what she had, but I was really excited about going to the orphanage, so I sucked it up. In hindsight, not my best choice.
The bus was chosen as our optimal choice of transportation, seeing as there were seven of us. The problem with buses is they're lurchy. I swore I was going to throw up at least twice, but somehow, mind over matter or something, I managed to keep it down. An Alexandria city bus is not somewhere you want to get sick.
But eventually we made it to the orphanage where we met the sweetest woman who was in charge. We sat in her office with her for a while, my stomach in knots, as she told us about the orphanage.
Egyptian orphanages are a little different than American ones, mostly because Egyptian families are so large and close knit. Egyptians tend to grow up with all of their aunts and uncles like second parents, so if a parent dies, there's almost always another family member to take them in. As such, the orphanage is full of children who, rather than not having parents, usually have parents who can't afford to take care of them.
The other reason children might be in an orphanage has to do with religion. By Egyptian law, children inherit the religion of their fathers. Normally, this isn't an issue, because Muslims tend to marry Muslims and Christians tend to marry Christians. However, in the case of a Christian and a Muslim having a baby, if that Christian and Muslim ever split, the child is bound to the father and not the mother. As you can imagine, if the father decides to move away for work or something, as is within his right, that doesn't make the mother very happy.
The solution is often that they put the child in an orphanage of the necessary religion so that the mother can still see her child. The orphanage we visited was Christian, and the director told us that they tend to integrate religion into all facets of life. So it's a big deal.
The orphanage itself was quite nice. They have a large yard to play in and a gym and communal computers. There are forty-seven boys living there at the moment, from first grade up through university. The younger ones were at the beach for the day with some volunteers, but we got to meet some of the older ones. They were all very kind and polite, even inviting the boys in our class to come back and play soccer sometime.
It was a nice visit, or would have been, if my body wasn't inclined to hate me.
All through the directors talk in her office I couldn't concentrate. I wanted to hear what she had to say, but all of my attention was focused on my stomach. About half way through the meeting, I thought I'd found a godsend. One of the other women working there bought in a tray of sodas for us, including sprite zero. And sprite always makes upset tummies feel better, right?
Nope, not right at all.
I thought it might have been just because it was zero, and not regular, even though I realize that's ridiculous now. When you're panicking over keeping down phantom stomach contents (because remember I hadn't eaten that day) you're not exactly thinking straight. At one point, while another student was asking a question, I actually got up and headed for the door. I didn't want to throw up in the lovely woman's office. I made it to the lobby before I realized I didn't know where I was going, but by then I was able to keep it down.
The director had followed me, so I asked for a bathroom, hoping I could throw up in private, feel better, and continue with the visit. No such luck. For some reason, in the tiny bathroom, I couldn't get anything up. So I washed my hands and went back to the meeting.
The tour after that was torture. There's no air conditioning in the orphanage, so I was hot as anything, sweaty, sticky, and of course none of that helps with an upset stomach. As they started to lead us to the gym, I had that sudden uncontrollable urge again, but was thankfully able to make it to a toilet, where I threw up more than I knew I could possible have in my stomach.
I was miserable, but the women were incredibly kind to me. They got me a bottle of water and helped me wash up. We left not long after that, and I was feeling a bit better, even though my stomach still hurt. My plan was to finish up classes for the day and then go take an anti-bacterial for my digestive track. Unfortunately I didn't get that far.
We were running a little late getting back from class because the orphanage was a little ways away, so the half of us that had afternoon classes decided we didn't have time for lunch and just went to the dar twenty minutes early. I didn't realize one person could get so much sicker in twenty minutes.
I nearly threw up twice, which would have been horrible, because the water was cut off in the building for that day. Meaning no toilets. Eventually I just gave up. Missing one Fusha class wasn't going to kill me, even if we were going over the new vocab that day. So I went to Ustaaz Nour, my eyes watering with a mixture of pain, dizziness, and the effort to speak and keep my stomach calm, and told him I was going back to the dorms.
He was very understanding about it, always is. And I had my homework to turn in, so it wasn't like I was skipping out just because I wasn't prepared. Robyn didn't ask any questions either. I wonder now if she was just being kind or if I really looked that bad. Either way, I didn't really care as long as I got out of there.
I managed to make it back to the dorms before throwing up again, but it was a mad dash from the elevator (I was in no condition to take the stairs) to the restroom, where I only made it to the sink. Thankfully, it was all liquid anyway. At least in the comfort of my own bathroom I was able to pause, take a few breaths, and wash my face. After which I changed in to pjs, tried to drink some sprite, and climbed into bed, praying for sleep. But that wasn't going to happen.
Over the next few hours I ran to the restroom no less than four times. The first to throw up the sprite, the second to throw up the pepto-bismol I'd taken after that, the third pure water, and the fourth the strongest anti-bacterial I had. I was miserable. Every single time was violent and messy.
At that point, I didn't know what to do. Clearly something was wrong, but I couldn't keep down anything that might make it better, and I definitely couldn't sleep it off. So I called Robyn, just to get her opinion, see if it was normal to be this violently ill. She didn't have any advice, but she did call some of the med students to come check on me.
While I was waiting for someone to show up, Habiba stopped by to set up a meeting. She took one look at me and got this horrified look on her face, like I was death warmed over or something. I managed to explain, sort of. Either way, she went and got someone, and with that someone and Robyn's someone, and everyone who was just attracted by the commotion, I had a party of Egyptians sitting in my room discussing what was wrong with me.
Someone gave me another type of pill at some point. I managed to keep it down for a bit, though I still don't know how. I think it helped, but I might have just been going through a down period.
Anyway, Robyn showed up a while after that, and we decided to go to the hospital, mostly because I was dying of thirst and obviously couldn't drink anything. I got my choice of the public hospital or the private one. The private one has better care, but it's also more expensive. Then again, health care is Egypt is a steal compared to America, and I have insurance, so I went with the better care.
They gave me an IV of fluid, first of all. Asked some questions, took my temperature and blood pressure, performed some tests. I think everyone figured it was bug. That's what I thought it was. Mostly I was just hoping they could inject me with a medicine I couldn't throw up. But if I've learned anything over the last few days, Egyptian doctors will go to great lengths to make sure they're right. Which is useful.
So, just as a precaution, they took an ultrasound. Yes, it was cold. Yes, it was sticky. It was a unique experience too, seeing as it's Egypt and they respect women's bodies way more than any doctor in America ever has. I didn't even have to put on a gown. They just rucked up my shirt as little as possible and went at it.
Anyway, as I was saying, it was a good thing they performed the ultrasound, because I, at the ripe young age of twenty, have a wide variety of over-sized gall stones. All that vomiting was a gall stone attack, go figure. And the back pain from where I thought I'd thrown out my back vomiting? Yeah, also part of the attack. Yay me.
Anyway, they got me an appointment with a specialist for the next morning, wrote me a couple prescriptions, and let me go. I'd only thrown up once in the hospital, so I kind of hoped I was getting better.
When I finally got back to the dorms I wasn't sure I'd left the hospital. Many of the Egyptian girls staying in the dorms over summer are in Med School, and almost all of them were anxious to show off their expertise. They were all wonderful though. You would think it would be annoying, having that many people hovering, but it was kind of reassuring just to know they cared. It was also helpful having them there to explain what all the big words on my ultrasound results meant. The results were in English, as most medical practice is in Egypt, but I have no idea what chronic calcular cholecystits or bilirubin means.
I wanted to go to sleep, but I was still sick, and I had to wait two hours to take my first medication. I called Mom and talked to her for a while, then watched a show I'd downloaded. It was doctor show, thankfully, and it made me feel tons better seeing all those poor patients worse off than I was.
I left the door unlocked all night so that the girls could poke their heads in and make sure I was breathing. I swear some of them were more concerned than Mom, which is saying a lot.
My appointment this morning was at ten, but appointments here don't work like appointments in the states. Ten means the doctor will be in at ten, and all the patients get a number when they make their appointment, and then he goes through them one by one. I was fourth in line. But if the doctor's there early, or other patients don't show up, you could be in in now time at all.
Either way, Robyn said she would meet me at the dorms at a quarter to ten. The hospital's only about a five minute cab ride away. I had no intention of getting up early, but I was still disgusting from the day before, so I planned to get up at nine and at least shower before the appointment. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
My head felt like a ball of lead when my alarm went off this morning. So I hit the snooze button until about 9:32. That gave me just enough to time to pee and brush my teeth before I had to run down and meet Robyn. Still gross.
At the very least I wasn't nauseous anymore. From what Mom's research has told me, gall stone attacks come and go. And from what the doctor's told me, they usually come from fatty foods. At this point I hadn't eaten in two days, so fatty food wasn't a danger.
We got the hospital, and of course there was a wait, but I'm good at waiting. I realized to late I'd forgotten to bring a book, but there were enough signs and diplomas and things on the walls for me to occupy myself deciphering. If nothing else, this whole episode was a great vocabulary builder.
The doctor, when we got in to see him, was a very nice man. I've heard that Egyptian doctors don't like to explain things, but he answered all of my questions without a problem, and when he laid out my options for me, he did it in great detail.
Basically, I need my gallbladder removed, end of story. The question was whether to do it here or back in America. Either place, it would be a laproscopic surgery, meaning that tiny little microscope and about three centimeter long incision points and almost no recovery time. It's cheaper in Egypt, but I have insurance, so that's not a big issue. In America, obviously, I would have the added benefit of my family, but it's a simple surgery, so while it'd be nice to have them around it's not really a necessity.
I needed to discuss my decision with Mom, of course, so I asked the doctor for some time to decide. He gave me the paper work for both options. Talking to Mom though, I realized something important. At this point, I actually have more confidence in the Egyptian doctors than the American ones. They'd certainly treated me better up to this point.
On that note, I'd like to make a side-bar. Some of you may know that back in America I was having stomach issues a couple months back. Anytime I ate, my stomach would hurt, especially when I ate fatty or greasy foods. I had a check up around the same time and I brought it up to Dr. Nguyen. She told me it was heart burn. I questioned her diagnosis, because I'd had heart burn before, and it didn't feel like heart burn, but she brushed me off and told me to by over the counter pills. Mom found out today the conversation wasn't even on record.
Those were my first gall stone symptoms, completely disregarded despite my wanting tests. On the other hand, here, throwing up in a country I expected to be throwing up in, they run a test just to make sure and find something potentially severe. The way Robyn put it, they'd rather cure you the first time than get your money the second.
Anyway, in case you hadn't figured it out I decided to go through with the surgery here. Doctors aside, if I didn't do the surgery here I'd be on a heavy pill and strict diet regimen for the rest of my time here, and I'd still be at risk for another attack. Frankly, I'd really rather enjoy my last two weeks here, and I really don't want to risk an attack on an airplane, because that would suck.
Anyway, after I made the decision we started running around the hospital: to radiology for x-rays, the lab for blood work, and then back to the doctor to find out what to do next. He said the entire surgery team had to approve my work-up before we could set a time for the operation, and the blood work wasn't going to be done until seven that night. So we set an appointment for eight.
Side-bar again, I love Egypt's since of time. I had a doctor's appointment at eight pm. Where else does that happen without an emergency? Everything is open here all the time and people don't think you're crazy for being up at four in the morning. It's awesome.
So, after the hospital, I was feeling a lot better. I went back to the dorms for a shower, and then had a light lunch of tomatoes, cucumbers, bread and white cheese. I also had a piece of baklava, which yes, has a little fat, but I only had one, and baklava's my favorite, and the dorms only have it once every three weeks. Also, it settled fine, so no problem.
Since I was still feeling alright, alright enough to go to class at the very least, I figured I'd best start on my homework for tomorrow. In Egpytian we had three movie clips that we had to watch and transcribe, but they were only on the computers in the dar, and we couldn't put them on a flash drive. As such, I headed over to the dar for our weekly meeting, and then hung out doing my homework.
I finished with the Egyptian around and headed back to the dorms for dinner. Bread, rice, and watermelon. They didn't have cheese this time. Sad face. Robyn showed up around seven and ate with us. Zeinab, one of my my friends who lives on my floor, had asked earlier in the day to go with me. Like I said, they're worried about me. As it turns out though, she thought I was having surgery tonight, and when she realized it was just a meeting didn't want to crowd the doctor.
Eman, one of the other med students, did come with us. I hadn't spent much time with her before, but she's certainly a sweetheart. She got into a playful argument with the taxi driver on the way there, insisting I was Egyptian and refusing to believe he couldn't see it. At the hospital she memorized my patient number, just in case, explained my blood results to me, and helped me translate some words while we were waiting.
We had to go down to the operating room to see the doctor. Apparently that's where he hangs out at night. He was there with the team, and meeting them was funny only from the way the doctor introduced me. They asked me if I wanted them to speak English and he interrupted, insisting with a smile that I spoke Arabic perfectly, but my English wasn't so good. One of the doctors spoke a lot of English anyway.
They said my stats were fine to go ahead with the surgery, and we scheduled it for nine in the morning on Saturday. I have to be at the hospital at eight, I have to fast after midnight the night before, and I have to take a shower either before I go to bed, or before six in the morning.
The last thing we did before leaving was check the price. I sprung for a single room, because it's only two hundred dollars more, and as much as I love them, Egyptians can be loud. I'm not going to post the price, because it's still a big number, but I know it's far cheaper than anything I would have gotten in America.
We stopped at the pharmacy once again on our way out. The specialist had given me a list of three medications; two of which I already had, but I needed the third. Only when I got back to the dorms with Eman (Robyn took a taxi home while we took the tram where we played with this adorable baby boy who kept blowing zerberts when Eman tickled his elbow), did I realize it was the exact same anti-bacterial the travel doctor prescribed me before leaving America.
When I realized, I ran it by Zeinab just to make sure, and while she assured me they were the same medicine, she told me I should take the American, just because it was American medicine and therefore better. I'd heard people say that was a stigma in Egypt, but it was funny hearing her say it so seriously. Meds are meds. Zeinab was, however, amazed by my pill bottle.
Everything in Egypt is over the counter, so everything comes in boxes like you get over the counter in America. When a doctor writes a prescription, it's basically just a list of medications. You don't need his permission to buy them, he's just suggesting them. It astounded Zeinab that you could get different amounts of pills, and she loved that the side effects came listed on the side of the bottle. I'll be finishing off the anti-bacterial pills in a day or two, so I promised she could have the bottle afterward. I'm considering emptying my prescription pain killers into a bag so she can have that bottle too.
Anyway, that's about it for the story. I feel like it might have been a little disjointed, but give me a break. I just went through an ordeal. People are still asking me how I am every five minutes, but I can honestly tell them I'm doing well now. Hopefully come Saturday I'll be even better.
Oh! And in explanation of the post title, the hospital I've spent the better part of two days at is called "Mustashfa Al-Salaama" which roughly translates to "The Hospital of Safety." I was trying to translate it for you guys before I started to post and... well, it doesn't really work. While salaama literally means safety, it has a lot of connotations having to do with peace and health and sometimes religion. Islam and salaama come from the same s-l-m root.
Well, that's it. It took me a long while to write this post, so now I'm tired, and going to bed. Good night everyone!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Day 44: Disco Taxi
So, because it was a school day, there isn't too much to say. I've noticed some of the other students are getting a little pessimistic about being here, but I've been trying to distance myself from them because I have yet to stop adoring Alexandria and Egypt in general. There are still plenty of people here who are enjoying themselves as much as I am and it's great to just sit and compare our experiences so far.
I've been running low on snack foods in the dorm, so Tamar and Megan and I all went to Carrefour after dinner. There's nothing particularly interesting about that except that on our way back, we had a bit of an experience in the taxi.
Taxi drivers in Egypt like to define themselves by their cars. The outsides all have to be the same, so customers know they're registered taxis, but the insides tend to vary a bit. Some drivers cover their dashes in mirrors, others have tassels hanging from the ceiling, some have hung Quranic verses on the walls, the majority of them have fur on top of the dash, etc. This guy had the nicest taxi I've ever seen by far.
Not only were the usually black seats reupholstered in this gorgeous gray leather, but he had flashing blue strobe lights inside about the front and rear windshields, a silver tissue dispenser in the ceiling, and a television playing music videos installed where the radio would usually be. It was nice, but the driver himself wasn't very talkative.
I wondered how the fancy interior and somber demeanor of our cabby boded for our fare. A nice cab isn't any more expensive than a ratty one, but I thought the driver might feel he deserved more than we were willing to pay. A ride from the dorms to Carrefour costs five pounds, however there's usually more traffic on the way back, so we tend to pay a little more. Still, Egyptians have always told us no more than seven for the return trip.
Cab drivers disagree.
It's hard to find a cab driver to agree to take you from Carrefour to the dorms for less than ten, because they know there's no other way for you to get back. The thing is, we've learned not to ask about the fare, but rather to know what's appropriate and just pay it. This, however, usually leads to problems. More so this time.
We didn't even ask him to take us all the way to the dorms. Instead we got out on the McDonald's at the corner, which is easier for him. There had hardly been any traffic at all, seven would have been over paying him, but I happened to have exactly eight in my pocket, and it was a nice cab, so I didn't see why I shouldn't just give him all of it. The driver, however, wasn't happy with that.
I handed him the fare through the window and started to follow Megan and Tamar away from the cab when not the cabby, but the girl who was about the get into the cab calls after me. The driver is out of the car yelling "Tin boul! Tin boul!" and waving the money. I didn't get it at first, because "tin boul" means nothing in Arabic. So I stared at him blankly, taking the money when he starts to shove it in to my hands. It took me a minute to catch on.
Tin boul = ten pound. He wanted ten pounds, like the rest of them, and while I'm usually inclined to over pay just to keep people happy, he was being ridiculous. First of all, it pisses me off when Egyptians try to speak English to me like I'm stupid. Sure, I hadn't had a conversation with the man in the cab, but we'd given him directions in passable Arabic. Besides, 9 times out of 10 I understand their Arabic better anyway.
Second, there was no way I was paying ten pounds for a six pound ride that I'd already paid eight for. So I handed him back the money, told him that was enough, and walked off.
That's really the end of the story. He kept shouting angrily, but didn't follow. Which was smart, because we were near the dorms, where we have guards who would have chased him off. I just thought I'd tell it.
I've had cab drivers put up a fuss before, but usually all you have to tell them is that you know that you gave an appropriate amount and they grumble and accept it, because they know you're right. This was the first driver who was actively belligerent, and the first who kept shouting after I told him I knew what I was doing.
Anyway, just a story for you all, because nothing else of note happened today. Now I have to go finish my homework. Le sigh.
I've been running low on snack foods in the dorm, so Tamar and Megan and I all went to Carrefour after dinner. There's nothing particularly interesting about that except that on our way back, we had a bit of an experience in the taxi.
Taxi drivers in Egypt like to define themselves by their cars. The outsides all have to be the same, so customers know they're registered taxis, but the insides tend to vary a bit. Some drivers cover their dashes in mirrors, others have tassels hanging from the ceiling, some have hung Quranic verses on the walls, the majority of them have fur on top of the dash, etc. This guy had the nicest taxi I've ever seen by far.
Not only were the usually black seats reupholstered in this gorgeous gray leather, but he had flashing blue strobe lights inside about the front and rear windshields, a silver tissue dispenser in the ceiling, and a television playing music videos installed where the radio would usually be. It was nice, but the driver himself wasn't very talkative.
I wondered how the fancy interior and somber demeanor of our cabby boded for our fare. A nice cab isn't any more expensive than a ratty one, but I thought the driver might feel he deserved more than we were willing to pay. A ride from the dorms to Carrefour costs five pounds, however there's usually more traffic on the way back, so we tend to pay a little more. Still, Egyptians have always told us no more than seven for the return trip.
Cab drivers disagree.
It's hard to find a cab driver to agree to take you from Carrefour to the dorms for less than ten, because they know there's no other way for you to get back. The thing is, we've learned not to ask about the fare, but rather to know what's appropriate and just pay it. This, however, usually leads to problems. More so this time.
We didn't even ask him to take us all the way to the dorms. Instead we got out on the McDonald's at the corner, which is easier for him. There had hardly been any traffic at all, seven would have been over paying him, but I happened to have exactly eight in my pocket, and it was a nice cab, so I didn't see why I shouldn't just give him all of it. The driver, however, wasn't happy with that.
I handed him the fare through the window and started to follow Megan and Tamar away from the cab when not the cabby, but the girl who was about the get into the cab calls after me. The driver is out of the car yelling "Tin boul! Tin boul!" and waving the money. I didn't get it at first, because "tin boul" means nothing in Arabic. So I stared at him blankly, taking the money when he starts to shove it in to my hands. It took me a minute to catch on.
Tin boul = ten pound. He wanted ten pounds, like the rest of them, and while I'm usually inclined to over pay just to keep people happy, he was being ridiculous. First of all, it pisses me off when Egyptians try to speak English to me like I'm stupid. Sure, I hadn't had a conversation with the man in the cab, but we'd given him directions in passable Arabic. Besides, 9 times out of 10 I understand their Arabic better anyway.
Second, there was no way I was paying ten pounds for a six pound ride that I'd already paid eight for. So I handed him back the money, told him that was enough, and walked off.
That's really the end of the story. He kept shouting angrily, but didn't follow. Which was smart, because we were near the dorms, where we have guards who would have chased him off. I just thought I'd tell it.
I've had cab drivers put up a fuss before, but usually all you have to tell them is that you know that you gave an appropriate amount and they grumble and accept it, because they know you're right. This was the first driver who was actively belligerent, and the first who kept shouting after I told him I knew what I was doing.
Anyway, just a story for you all, because nothing else of note happened today. Now I have to go finish my homework. Le sigh.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Days 42 & 43: New Friends and Old Friends
So, I didn't post yesterday, but that's because the post would have looked like the following:
"Today I woke up, did homework, ate dinner, napped, woke up, and did more homework. Also, I didn't go to the catacombs. Also, I remembered the the name of that amazing restaurant Habiba took me to. It's called Muhammad Ahmed. The end."
I figured you wouldn't fault me for waiting a day to add that to this post, not that this post is going to be much more interesting.
I had class this morning, of course. Nothing new there. It looks like I'm going to have a lot more Formal Arabic homework in the next two weeks, which sucks, but I'll survive. I'm already trying my damndest to get a head start.
When I walked into the dar, I learned that Moutaz apparently missed me yesterday at the catacombs. I kind of wish I had gone, but I know my sleep was more important because I'm still tired as it is, and I slept most of yesterday. In sha' Allah I'll still find an opportunity to go. Maybe next weekend if I don't get into the Marsa Matruh trip.
When I got back from classes Hadir was in the room again. Despite returning a few days ago, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her. I assume she was staying with family. Even now, she's still out with friends, so maybe I'll still be able to do homework in the peace and quiet of my own room. One can only hope, 'cus I still haven't found an alternate suitably calm place.
Tamar and I have a skit due together on Wednesday in Media class, so after dinner we walked to Silsila to work on it. We got a decent amount done, but being friends and all we kept wandering off on tangents about books and TV shows and life in general. Also, we decided we want to go to Siwa, the famous oasis, the weekend after next, even though we don't really have time. Then, with one scene left, we came back to the dorms to finish up.
The skit's a little... risky. It's about a demonstration against our professor, and how she gets assassinated. But then all the students cry because she's so awesome. And she is awesome. She has a great sense of humor, so we think she'll like it, and there was only so much we could do with the vocabulary, but there's a still a tiny sense that we're putting out necks out there.
After that, I started homework again, only to get an IM a few hours in from an old friend who I haven't talked to in ages. You know who are. It was great talking to her. I love being reminded that there are some people who will never really fade from our lives, even if we don't talk to them every day.
Now, it's back to homework. I have to get up early tomorrow, so I'm probably going to bed soon. I have to find an Egyptian to ask about puberty first though... Oh, Egyptian homework. How inconvenient thou art. Anyway, good night everyone!
"Today I woke up, did homework, ate dinner, napped, woke up, and did more homework. Also, I didn't go to the catacombs. Also, I remembered the the name of that amazing restaurant Habiba took me to. It's called Muhammad Ahmed. The end."
I figured you wouldn't fault me for waiting a day to add that to this post, not that this post is going to be much more interesting.
I had class this morning, of course. Nothing new there. It looks like I'm going to have a lot more Formal Arabic homework in the next two weeks, which sucks, but I'll survive. I'm already trying my damndest to get a head start.
When I walked into the dar, I learned that Moutaz apparently missed me yesterday at the catacombs. I kind of wish I had gone, but I know my sleep was more important because I'm still tired as it is, and I slept most of yesterday. In sha' Allah I'll still find an opportunity to go. Maybe next weekend if I don't get into the Marsa Matruh trip.
When I got back from classes Hadir was in the room again. Despite returning a few days ago, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her. I assume she was staying with family. Even now, she's still out with friends, so maybe I'll still be able to do homework in the peace and quiet of my own room. One can only hope, 'cus I still haven't found an alternate suitably calm place.
Tamar and I have a skit due together on Wednesday in Media class, so after dinner we walked to Silsila to work on it. We got a decent amount done, but being friends and all we kept wandering off on tangents about books and TV shows and life in general. Also, we decided we want to go to Siwa, the famous oasis, the weekend after next, even though we don't really have time. Then, with one scene left, we came back to the dorms to finish up.
The skit's a little... risky. It's about a demonstration against our professor, and how she gets assassinated. But then all the students cry because she's so awesome. And she is awesome. She has a great sense of humor, so we think she'll like it, and there was only so much we could do with the vocabulary, but there's a still a tiny sense that we're putting out necks out there.
After that, I started homework again, only to get an IM a few hours in from an old friend who I haven't talked to in ages. You know who are. It was great talking to her. I love being reminded that there are some people who will never really fade from our lives, even if we don't talk to them every day.
Now, it's back to homework. I have to get up early tomorrow, so I'm probably going to bed soon. I have to find an Egyptian to ask about puberty first though... Oh, Egyptian homework. How inconvenient thou art. Anyway, good night everyone!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Day 41: There's Always Time for an Adventure
I can't believe how exhausted I am after a Friday, but let it be known that the fact that I'm writing this instead of curling up and falling fast asleep is a testament to how much I love you all.
I woke up early this morning, expecting to go to the beach with Habiba and the girls, but they were no where to be found. We didn't have an exact leaving time though, so I figured they were just running late and started my homework. Lunch time eventually rolled around and I was starting to worry, but I went down to eat anyway and when I came back there was a note on my door.
Apparently the beach was overcrowded this morning, so the time for our excursion had been changed from morning to evening, four o'clock. I didn't really mind, though it did mean I couldn't have tea with Ustaaz Immad. Another time, in sha' Allah.
I did more homework, even took a half hour nap, and when four o'clock eventually rolled around Habiba came to knock on my door telling me Zeinab was running a little late. I didn't mind. I had enough to keep me occupied. Fifteen minutes later, however, she returned to tell me everyone else had backed out of the trip, so it was just us now. That wasn't a problem for me, but apparently the beach is better/safer in big groups, so Habiba didn't think going was such a good idea. Still, she wanted to go out. And so we did.
We knew we were going to miss dinner, so Habiba asked the woman in charge of dinner for the night if we could eat early. And because it was Habiba asking, and everyone loves Habiba, she let us. Let me just say, the food in the dorms is infinitely better fresh. The tomatoes, the grapes, even the chicken was more enjoyable. Mind you, we were eating dinner an hour early and the chicken was already cooked and in the warming bins, so I suppose that's not surprising.
After dinner, our first stop was the citadel at the end of the Corniche. I know I've written a little about it before. It's the castle like building that Ustaaza Radwa took us to our first day here, built on top of the ruins of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. I didn't get to go in when I went with Radwa, so Habiba planned to take me. Unfortunately, it closes at four, so that didn't work out the way we planned.
Still, if you'll remember, the area around the citadel is great for just hanging out. There are a lot of little merchants, and tons of children running around. We bought ice cream and sat on giant rocks just barely in reach of the sea foam and watched the sun set, chatting away. It was relaxing, and fun too. I always enjoy my conversations with Habiba, even if she doesn't believe that Mom isn't Egyptian.
Once the sun was beneath the horizon, we started to wander back towards the city in general, and towards the nearby mosque in particular. Abu Al-Abbas is the most famous mosque in Alexandria. Not only is it gorgeous, but inside is the tomb of a famous and pious Alexandrian in whose memory the mosque was built.
As it turns out, there's a market place under the streets surrounding the mosque that Habiba hadn't known was there. When we discovered it, we wandered around for a while. She was infinitely patient with me as a flitted from window to window looking for appropriate souvenirs for people. We went in a few places, and I bought a few things, but not much. There are a couple things I think I'd like to go back for, but I need to do some research first.
A couple interesting things happened in the market place that had nothing to do with shopping. First, was the wedding we walked in on. It was what the Egyptian's would call a "sha'bi" wedding, meaning lower class more or less, but with certain other connotations. Habiba has this thing for wanting to see brides though, so we sought it out. I had to put on my scarf to get close to the procession, but they welcomed us in like any other guest, sharing their chocolates and candies with us.
Once we left the wedding, I didn't bother to take off my scarf, so when we walked in to the next shop, the second question out of the shopkeeper's mouth (after where I was from) was if I was Muslim. I politely told him I wasn't, but someone nearby must have heard me because when we left that shop after getting a great deal on some jewelry there was man standing out front with a few books.
After verifying that I do in fact speak English, he put them in my hands saying "gift, gift." Normally I don't take gifts from strangers, but with a little help from Habiba I came to understand that he had just bought them especially for me from a nearby shop. What books, you ask? One about Muhammad, one about the beauty of Islam, and one about Christian Priests who have converted to Islam.
I don't have any intention of converting, but I have been wanting to pick up a book or two on Islam, and I figure these are as good as any. Habiba didn't seem to have a problem with me taking them either, so I thanked the man and we went on our way. It was an odd experience, especially since Islam isn't a missionary religion, but I didn't feel like the man was forcing them on me in the least, and as such it was kind of touching. That he would want to give me a gift like that.
Eventually we did make it into the mosque to look around, just in time for the evening prayer, actually. Once the praying started though, there was no room to leave, so we stood in a back corner by the tomb, watching quietly. The tomb isn't anything more than a glass encased box with prayer mats draped over it, but people have managed to slip money into the glass case through the years through openings in the bottom so that there were pounds and piasters all over the place. This really bothered Habiba, because apparently people put money there as a form of charity. Except if the money's in the box, it's not helping anyone, and therefore not fulfilling the givers' Islamic duty.
Anyway, I was glad I got to see a real Sallat in a real mosque, because while I see the girls in the dorm pray every day, there's certainly something different about seeing people gather in such massive numbers to perform the exact same chants and motions in such organized lines. All in the name of God.
I got a lot of weird looks on the way out of the mosque, and a few women stopped to question me. Are you Egyptian? Are you Muslim? Why do you where your scarf like that and not as a hijab? It was a little disconcerting, but they were only curious, and we got out of there quickly enough.
From that point, we didn't have much of a plan, but Habiba had never spent much time in this part of the city, so we just started to wander. Through market after market, deeper and deeper into the city. We saw a lot of interesting things on the way. A store grand opening complete with an entire streets worth of Christmas lights, ear splitting music, and men in giant mascot costumes. A higher class wedding pouring into the street around a beautiful bride and her new husband. A man selling fresh caught sea urchins off of a trash can lid. A group of police officers confiscating goods and fining those street vendors selling with a license - and there were a lot in this particular area.
It was all wonderful. Well, except for the police thing, that was a little sad. The best part though was that nearly everything was cheap. I got the exact same hookah set another girl got in Cairo for one-hundred and seventy-five pounds for forty. I think I'm going to donate it to the Arabic house, as a cultural group activity.
By this time in the night, we'd done a lot of walking. We were a little lost, and lot tired. Habiba asked some men at a tram station for directions and eventually we made it back to Mahatat Al-Raml, the big market place I first went to with Habiba about a month back. Seeing as it was late, about eleven o'clock, we were starting to get hungry again. Habiba took me to this great little restaurant where we got ful and hummus sandwiches on flat bread. They were amazing, and only a pound and a half. I don't remember what it was called, just that the name was very Arab, but I plan to go back first chance I get.
From Mahatat Al-Raml we took the tram back to the dorms. On the ride I learned that Habiba, despite being a literature major who loves to read, has never read Harry Potter. As horrified as I was to hear that, at least I don't have to fret over what to get her as a good-bye present now. I've already seen a street vendor who sells the entire series in Arabic. Hopefully he'll have two sets the next time I pass by.
When we got back to the dorms, Habiba had drink and food orders from some of the girls who were signed in for the night, so we stopped at a shop or two to buy water and chips and biscuits. The juice guy that I like so much was open, but they were performing construction on his building so he didn't have any electricity and the shop was lit by candles. I love me some late night juice, but the shadowy, narrow shop freaked me out a little, so I waited on the street while Habiba made her purchases.
Finally, we made it back inside the dorms. As mentioned previously, I'm exhausted. The combination of the early morning and the long day has my head spinning. There's a trip to the catacombs tomorrow that I signed up for, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm really willing to wake up and go. Besides, I still have a lot of homework. I've seen catacombs before, and these are Roman too, so they can't be that different from the catacombs in Italy.
Still, Moutaz would be a great guide, and I hate missing out on oppourtunities to see things in Alex. But if I were to go, I don't know where we're meeting. And if we're meeting at the catacombs, I don't know how to get there. And I don't have anyone's number who would know. I've pretty much made up my mind not to go, but I'm still disappointed. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to see the catacombs later, even if I don't have my own private walking, talking, Arabic Encyclopedia.
Well, that's it for today. I'm going to go pass out now. Happy weekend everyone!
I woke up early this morning, expecting to go to the beach with Habiba and the girls, but they were no where to be found. We didn't have an exact leaving time though, so I figured they were just running late and started my homework. Lunch time eventually rolled around and I was starting to worry, but I went down to eat anyway and when I came back there was a note on my door.
Apparently the beach was overcrowded this morning, so the time for our excursion had been changed from morning to evening, four o'clock. I didn't really mind, though it did mean I couldn't have tea with Ustaaz Immad. Another time, in sha' Allah.
I did more homework, even took a half hour nap, and when four o'clock eventually rolled around Habiba came to knock on my door telling me Zeinab was running a little late. I didn't mind. I had enough to keep me occupied. Fifteen minutes later, however, she returned to tell me everyone else had backed out of the trip, so it was just us now. That wasn't a problem for me, but apparently the beach is better/safer in big groups, so Habiba didn't think going was such a good idea. Still, she wanted to go out. And so we did.
We knew we were going to miss dinner, so Habiba asked the woman in charge of dinner for the night if we could eat early. And because it was Habiba asking, and everyone loves Habiba, she let us. Let me just say, the food in the dorms is infinitely better fresh. The tomatoes, the grapes, even the chicken was more enjoyable. Mind you, we were eating dinner an hour early and the chicken was already cooked and in the warming bins, so I suppose that's not surprising.
After dinner, our first stop was the citadel at the end of the Corniche. I know I've written a little about it before. It's the castle like building that Ustaaza Radwa took us to our first day here, built on top of the ruins of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. I didn't get to go in when I went with Radwa, so Habiba planned to take me. Unfortunately, it closes at four, so that didn't work out the way we planned.
Still, if you'll remember, the area around the citadel is great for just hanging out. There are a lot of little merchants, and tons of children running around. We bought ice cream and sat on giant rocks just barely in reach of the sea foam and watched the sun set, chatting away. It was relaxing, and fun too. I always enjoy my conversations with Habiba, even if she doesn't believe that Mom isn't Egyptian.
Once the sun was beneath the horizon, we started to wander back towards the city in general, and towards the nearby mosque in particular. Abu Al-Abbas is the most famous mosque in Alexandria. Not only is it gorgeous, but inside is the tomb of a famous and pious Alexandrian in whose memory the mosque was built.
As it turns out, there's a market place under the streets surrounding the mosque that Habiba hadn't known was there. When we discovered it, we wandered around for a while. She was infinitely patient with me as a flitted from window to window looking for appropriate souvenirs for people. We went in a few places, and I bought a few things, but not much. There are a couple things I think I'd like to go back for, but I need to do some research first.
A couple interesting things happened in the market place that had nothing to do with shopping. First, was the wedding we walked in on. It was what the Egyptian's would call a "sha'bi" wedding, meaning lower class more or less, but with certain other connotations. Habiba has this thing for wanting to see brides though, so we sought it out. I had to put on my scarf to get close to the procession, but they welcomed us in like any other guest, sharing their chocolates and candies with us.
Once we left the wedding, I didn't bother to take off my scarf, so when we walked in to the next shop, the second question out of the shopkeeper's mouth (after where I was from) was if I was Muslim. I politely told him I wasn't, but someone nearby must have heard me because when we left that shop after getting a great deal on some jewelry there was man standing out front with a few books.
After verifying that I do in fact speak English, he put them in my hands saying "gift, gift." Normally I don't take gifts from strangers, but with a little help from Habiba I came to understand that he had just bought them especially for me from a nearby shop. What books, you ask? One about Muhammad, one about the beauty of Islam, and one about Christian Priests who have converted to Islam.
I don't have any intention of converting, but I have been wanting to pick up a book or two on Islam, and I figure these are as good as any. Habiba didn't seem to have a problem with me taking them either, so I thanked the man and we went on our way. It was an odd experience, especially since Islam isn't a missionary religion, but I didn't feel like the man was forcing them on me in the least, and as such it was kind of touching. That he would want to give me a gift like that.
Eventually we did make it into the mosque to look around, just in time for the evening prayer, actually. Once the praying started though, there was no room to leave, so we stood in a back corner by the tomb, watching quietly. The tomb isn't anything more than a glass encased box with prayer mats draped over it, but people have managed to slip money into the glass case through the years through openings in the bottom so that there were pounds and piasters all over the place. This really bothered Habiba, because apparently people put money there as a form of charity. Except if the money's in the box, it's not helping anyone, and therefore not fulfilling the givers' Islamic duty.
Anyway, I was glad I got to see a real Sallat in a real mosque, because while I see the girls in the dorm pray every day, there's certainly something different about seeing people gather in such massive numbers to perform the exact same chants and motions in such organized lines. All in the name of God.
I got a lot of weird looks on the way out of the mosque, and a few women stopped to question me. Are you Egyptian? Are you Muslim? Why do you where your scarf like that and not as a hijab? It was a little disconcerting, but they were only curious, and we got out of there quickly enough.
From that point, we didn't have much of a plan, but Habiba had never spent much time in this part of the city, so we just started to wander. Through market after market, deeper and deeper into the city. We saw a lot of interesting things on the way. A store grand opening complete with an entire streets worth of Christmas lights, ear splitting music, and men in giant mascot costumes. A higher class wedding pouring into the street around a beautiful bride and her new husband. A man selling fresh caught sea urchins off of a trash can lid. A group of police officers confiscating goods and fining those street vendors selling with a license - and there were a lot in this particular area.
It was all wonderful. Well, except for the police thing, that was a little sad. The best part though was that nearly everything was cheap. I got the exact same hookah set another girl got in Cairo for one-hundred and seventy-five pounds for forty. I think I'm going to donate it to the Arabic house, as a cultural group activity.
By this time in the night, we'd done a lot of walking. We were a little lost, and lot tired. Habiba asked some men at a tram station for directions and eventually we made it back to Mahatat Al-Raml, the big market place I first went to with Habiba about a month back. Seeing as it was late, about eleven o'clock, we were starting to get hungry again. Habiba took me to this great little restaurant where we got ful and hummus sandwiches on flat bread. They were amazing, and only a pound and a half. I don't remember what it was called, just that the name was very Arab, but I plan to go back first chance I get.
From Mahatat Al-Raml we took the tram back to the dorms. On the ride I learned that Habiba, despite being a literature major who loves to read, has never read Harry Potter. As horrified as I was to hear that, at least I don't have to fret over what to get her as a good-bye present now. I've already seen a street vendor who sells the entire series in Arabic. Hopefully he'll have two sets the next time I pass by.
When we got back to the dorms, Habiba had drink and food orders from some of the girls who were signed in for the night, so we stopped at a shop or two to buy water and chips and biscuits. The juice guy that I like so much was open, but they were performing construction on his building so he didn't have any electricity and the shop was lit by candles. I love me some late night juice, but the shadowy, narrow shop freaked me out a little, so I waited on the street while Habiba made her purchases.
Finally, we made it back inside the dorms. As mentioned previously, I'm exhausted. The combination of the early morning and the long day has my head spinning. There's a trip to the catacombs tomorrow that I signed up for, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm really willing to wake up and go. Besides, I still have a lot of homework. I've seen catacombs before, and these are Roman too, so they can't be that different from the catacombs in Italy.
Still, Moutaz would be a great guide, and I hate missing out on oppourtunities to see things in Alex. But if I were to go, I don't know where we're meeting. And if we're meeting at the catacombs, I don't know how to get there. And I don't have anyone's number who would know. I've pretty much made up my mind not to go, but I'm still disappointed. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to see the catacombs later, even if I don't have my own private walking, talking, Arabic Encyclopedia.
Well, that's it for today. I'm going to go pass out now. Happy weekend everyone!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Day 40: Party in the U.S.A.... in Egypt
It had become nearly impossible for me to wake up on time on exam days. It might just be because I stay up so late studying the night before, but this is the second exam day in a row that I've woken up too late to take a shower. I still made it to class on time, but I was not as fresh as I would have liked to be.
Regardless, the exam wasn't bad. I'm actually fairly confident about this one. Much more confident than I was about the last one at any rate.
In the early evening, I had a second Egyptian class to make up for the one we missed on Monday. The class was rescheduled so we could sleep in after getting back from Sinai. I'm starting to love Ustaaz Immad. He's very sweet, and he teaches us a lot of interesting things. Today's second class focused on the difference between every day expenses in Egypt versus in America. It was very useful. Then after class, he invited me out for tea tomorrow if I'm not busy. I'm going to the beach with Habiba in the morning, and I know Tamar wanted to go to the Jewish temple at some point. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to call Immad, but I'd like to utilize all my resources while here, and he's definitely an important one.
After class, I headed back to the dorms to get some work done, but later in the evening a bunch of us went out to Mermaid, the only American style bar in the city. It's all hard wood and nautically themed decorations and they play American music, by which I mean half the songs actually say America or U.S.A. in them. We listened to Miley Cyrus' Party in the U.S.A. at least three times. It was a lot of fun, just being able to dance and let loose, and it gave me a look at the less proper members of Egyptian society. None of my Egyptian friends would be caught dead within five feet of alcohol, and yet there were men (and a woman) there drinking it. It was a novel experience at the very least.
Half way into the night a lot of the Flagship students left to go to the one gay bar in Alexandria. It's only gay on Thursdays, so they were taking advantage. I stayed at Mermaid with Megan, Tamar, and a bunch of the students from Utah and Middlebury. The Middlebury students are leaving tomorrow, and while I'm not close with any of them, we've shared a lot of nice meals together, so I wanted to say goodbye.
Once the party at Mermaid started to die down we all took a Microbus back to the beach by the dorms. Some people went into the ocean in their clothes, but I sat on the beach chatting with the sane people. The beach in Alexandria isn't the cleanest and I was wearing a skirt that wouldn't have functioned well in the water.
When the swimmers had gotten their fill the girls left the remaining guys to walk back to the dorms. I took a shower and am now sitting in bed writing to you. Going out probably wasn't a great idea as far as staying well rested goes, but it was nice to relax in a familiar environment where I didn't have to worry about what I was wearing or what I was saying.
Tomorrow Habiba's taking Charlie and me with a bunch of other girls to the women's beach to swim. I'm not exactly psyched about the swimming, but I plan to wear shorts and take a book to lay out, sun my legs, and hopefully get some work done. It should be fun. I do have to get up relatively early for that though, so I'm going to go to bed now. Best wishes to all of you!
Regardless, the exam wasn't bad. I'm actually fairly confident about this one. Much more confident than I was about the last one at any rate.
In the early evening, I had a second Egyptian class to make up for the one we missed on Monday. The class was rescheduled so we could sleep in after getting back from Sinai. I'm starting to love Ustaaz Immad. He's very sweet, and he teaches us a lot of interesting things. Today's second class focused on the difference between every day expenses in Egypt versus in America. It was very useful. Then after class, he invited me out for tea tomorrow if I'm not busy. I'm going to the beach with Habiba in the morning, and I know Tamar wanted to go to the Jewish temple at some point. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to call Immad, but I'd like to utilize all my resources while here, and he's definitely an important one.
After class, I headed back to the dorms to get some work done, but later in the evening a bunch of us went out to Mermaid, the only American style bar in the city. It's all hard wood and nautically themed decorations and they play American music, by which I mean half the songs actually say America or U.S.A. in them. We listened to Miley Cyrus' Party in the U.S.A. at least three times. It was a lot of fun, just being able to dance and let loose, and it gave me a look at the less proper members of Egyptian society. None of my Egyptian friends would be caught dead within five feet of alcohol, and yet there were men (and a woman) there drinking it. It was a novel experience at the very least.
Half way into the night a lot of the Flagship students left to go to the one gay bar in Alexandria. It's only gay on Thursdays, so they were taking advantage. I stayed at Mermaid with Megan, Tamar, and a bunch of the students from Utah and Middlebury. The Middlebury students are leaving tomorrow, and while I'm not close with any of them, we've shared a lot of nice meals together, so I wanted to say goodbye.
Once the party at Mermaid started to die down we all took a Microbus back to the beach by the dorms. Some people went into the ocean in their clothes, but I sat on the beach chatting with the sane people. The beach in Alexandria isn't the cleanest and I was wearing a skirt that wouldn't have functioned well in the water.
When the swimmers had gotten their fill the girls left the remaining guys to walk back to the dorms. I took a shower and am now sitting in bed writing to you. Going out probably wasn't a great idea as far as staying well rested goes, but it was nice to relax in a familiar environment where I didn't have to worry about what I was wearing or what I was saying.
Tomorrow Habiba's taking Charlie and me with a bunch of other girls to the women's beach to swim. I'm not exactly psyched about the swimming, but I plan to wear shorts and take a book to lay out, sun my legs, and hopefully get some work done. It should be fun. I do have to get up relatively early for that though, so I'm going to go to bed now. Best wishes to all of you!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Day 39: In What World Could Funnel Cake Ever Equal Baklava?
This morning was pretty uneventful, so I'm not going to waste time telling you how uneventful classes were and will instead skip to the afternoon.
After lunch we had our weekly Flagship meeting in the dar. There wasn't much new news. The food in the dorms isn't going to change. Some people had complained, and so Robyn spoke with the Vice President of the dorms who pretty much told us to deal with it. Honestly, the food isn't that bad. There's a lot of rice, and not much meat, but the way the world's economy is right now that's really all the dorms can afford. And there's always enough of it, so I figure we should shut up and eat. Besides, it's not like we can't go out if we really can't stand whatever the meal is that day.
Robyn also presented some interesting opportunities to us at the meeting. One of the girls who works for Flagship is close with a Sheikh who happens to be in Alexandria at the moment. She's offered to set up a few meetings for us with him and I put my name down. So, if any of you have any burning questions about Islam, let me know. I'll be in a position to ask an authority.
Also, I signed up for a tour of the catacombs this weekend with Moutaz the ancient history major. I'd planned on visiting the catacombs anyway, and if I go with someone who knows everything there is to know about the history surrounding them, that's even better, right? Habiba may or may not go with me. She's been a lot of times before, but she's been invited, so we'll see.
The big surprise of today came at the end of the meeting. Robyn will no longer be staying in Alexandria as director of the year long program. Her family needs her in Washington so she'll be returning shortly after the summer program ends. It doesn't affect me directly, but I hope her family's alright. She seemed a little emotional when she told us, but it was masked very well. It will be harder for the year long students without her, but I expect they'll get by just fine.
After the meeting I went back to the dorms for a nap before dinner. I was exhausted. Ridiculously so considering I got halfway decent sleep last night. After dinner, I had a meeting with Habiba. I thought we were hanging around the dorms, until she showed up and told me to get dressed anyway. Not that I minded. I enjoy going out and seeing new places with her. When you have an Egyptian with you, you know you're not getting ripped off.
We went to a bazaar of sorts down the street from the dorm. It's a giant tent filled with little vendors selling clothes and jewelry and knick knacks and the like. Kind of like a flea market, but a little bit nicer than most flea markets I've seen. It even had a theater and kiddie park at the back, complete with cotton candy and a ferris wheel. We didn't go in, but we could hear the loud music.
We stopped at the Avon lady first, at which point Habiba was ecstatic to hear we have Avon in the states too, and then spent most of our time wandering and chatting. I didn't buy anything, though there were a lot of pretty options. I keep having to stop myself from buying clothes because the dresses here are gorgeous, but far too fancy to wear in America on a daily basis. Egyptian fashion tends to be a bit dressier than American. I enjoy it, but it's not conducive to cultural translation. If I had bought anything, it would have been this gorgeous gold and cubic zirconium ring in the shape of an eye. It wasn't terribly expensive, but it was just the tiniest bit too small. I kind of want to go on a city wide search for one in my size. I liked it that much.
Despite not buying anything, I'll probably be returning at some point for souvenirs at the very least. Habiba says the market is there year round, so I don't have to worry about it picking up and leaving.
Apart from the shops in the market, there were quite a few food stands interspersed: ice cream, pizza, rice pudding, juice. One stand particularly close to the kiddie park caught my eye as we were passing and I had to do a double take. Sitting out on display was a tray of little dough balls that looked suspiciously fried. So I asked Habiba what it was.
Baklava she says.
Baklava? I know baklava, and that was not baklava. And if there's one thing I know better than baklava, it's fried dough. After all, I did work in close proximity to the funnel cake stand at Six Flags.
Disturbed by this claim, I had to buy a tray. It gave me a chance to cash my fifty pound note at any rate. When we finally got the tray, full of balls fresh out of the oil and covered in powdered sugar mind you, my triumph was complete. They're fried dough balls. But apparently anything sweet and slightly pastry like in Egypt is considered baklava. Go figure.
That launched a long conversation about why no one in America has ever thought to make fried dough balls instead of funnel cakes. I mean, I know funnel cakes are an American past time, but the balls are so much easier to eat. And all the messiness of funnel cakes usually detracts from the taste anyway.
Having solved the food mystery, Habiba and I wandered down to the beach to eat out fried dough and walk back to the dorms. She told me about a famous Egyptian who died in a car accident a few days ago, and his friend who is still in intensive care (useful word). I told her about the gay marriage debate in America. And so on and so forth.
When we got back to the dorms she helped me with a few questions I had about some expressions that are going to be on my exam tomorrow, and then we went our separate ways. The plan is for us to go to the beach on Friday with Charlie, her second language partner. It sounds like fun, but I'm wondering if I might run into some of the same problems I faced in Sharm Al-Sheikh. My bathing suit is definitely too big, but I don't want to buy a new one in Egypt with only three weeks left. Oh well, I'll figure something out.
Anyway, that's about it for today. Now I'm in my room, studying far later than I should for that exam that's coming up. I didn't do very well on the last one. Not that anyone did. And though no amount of studying could have helped any of us, I still feel the need to over study. I suppose it's just me.
Hadir isn't back yet. I think she might be staying with her aunt for another night, which is nice. It gives me a chance to study without distraction. I'm really going to have to work on finding a new study space now that she's back because I've gotten far too used to the silence...
After lunch we had our weekly Flagship meeting in the dar. There wasn't much new news. The food in the dorms isn't going to change. Some people had complained, and so Robyn spoke with the Vice President of the dorms who pretty much told us to deal with it. Honestly, the food isn't that bad. There's a lot of rice, and not much meat, but the way the world's economy is right now that's really all the dorms can afford. And there's always enough of it, so I figure we should shut up and eat. Besides, it's not like we can't go out if we really can't stand whatever the meal is that day.
Robyn also presented some interesting opportunities to us at the meeting. One of the girls who works for Flagship is close with a Sheikh who happens to be in Alexandria at the moment. She's offered to set up a few meetings for us with him and I put my name down. So, if any of you have any burning questions about Islam, let me know. I'll be in a position to ask an authority.
Also, I signed up for a tour of the catacombs this weekend with Moutaz the ancient history major. I'd planned on visiting the catacombs anyway, and if I go with someone who knows everything there is to know about the history surrounding them, that's even better, right? Habiba may or may not go with me. She's been a lot of times before, but she's been invited, so we'll see.
The big surprise of today came at the end of the meeting. Robyn will no longer be staying in Alexandria as director of the year long program. Her family needs her in Washington so she'll be returning shortly after the summer program ends. It doesn't affect me directly, but I hope her family's alright. She seemed a little emotional when she told us, but it was masked very well. It will be harder for the year long students without her, but I expect they'll get by just fine.
After the meeting I went back to the dorms for a nap before dinner. I was exhausted. Ridiculously so considering I got halfway decent sleep last night. After dinner, I had a meeting with Habiba. I thought we were hanging around the dorms, until she showed up and told me to get dressed anyway. Not that I minded. I enjoy going out and seeing new places with her. When you have an Egyptian with you, you know you're not getting ripped off.
We went to a bazaar of sorts down the street from the dorm. It's a giant tent filled with little vendors selling clothes and jewelry and knick knacks and the like. Kind of like a flea market, but a little bit nicer than most flea markets I've seen. It even had a theater and kiddie park at the back, complete with cotton candy and a ferris wheel. We didn't go in, but we could hear the loud music.
We stopped at the Avon lady first, at which point Habiba was ecstatic to hear we have Avon in the states too, and then spent most of our time wandering and chatting. I didn't buy anything, though there were a lot of pretty options. I keep having to stop myself from buying clothes because the dresses here are gorgeous, but far too fancy to wear in America on a daily basis. Egyptian fashion tends to be a bit dressier than American. I enjoy it, but it's not conducive to cultural translation. If I had bought anything, it would have been this gorgeous gold and cubic zirconium ring in the shape of an eye. It wasn't terribly expensive, but it was just the tiniest bit too small. I kind of want to go on a city wide search for one in my size. I liked it that much.
Despite not buying anything, I'll probably be returning at some point for souvenirs at the very least. Habiba says the market is there year round, so I don't have to worry about it picking up and leaving.
Apart from the shops in the market, there were quite a few food stands interspersed: ice cream, pizza, rice pudding, juice. One stand particularly close to the kiddie park caught my eye as we were passing and I had to do a double take. Sitting out on display was a tray of little dough balls that looked suspiciously fried. So I asked Habiba what it was.
Baklava she says.
Baklava? I know baklava, and that was not baklava. And if there's one thing I know better than baklava, it's fried dough. After all, I did work in close proximity to the funnel cake stand at Six Flags.
Disturbed by this claim, I had to buy a tray. It gave me a chance to cash my fifty pound note at any rate. When we finally got the tray, full of balls fresh out of the oil and covered in powdered sugar mind you, my triumph was complete. They're fried dough balls. But apparently anything sweet and slightly pastry like in Egypt is considered baklava. Go figure.
That launched a long conversation about why no one in America has ever thought to make fried dough balls instead of funnel cakes. I mean, I know funnel cakes are an American past time, but the balls are so much easier to eat. And all the messiness of funnel cakes usually detracts from the taste anyway.
Having solved the food mystery, Habiba and I wandered down to the beach to eat out fried dough and walk back to the dorms. She told me about a famous Egyptian who died in a car accident a few days ago, and his friend who is still in intensive care (useful word). I told her about the gay marriage debate in America. And so on and so forth.
When we got back to the dorms she helped me with a few questions I had about some expressions that are going to be on my exam tomorrow, and then we went our separate ways. The plan is for us to go to the beach on Friday with Charlie, her second language partner. It sounds like fun, but I'm wondering if I might run into some of the same problems I faced in Sharm Al-Sheikh. My bathing suit is definitely too big, but I don't want to buy a new one in Egypt with only three weeks left. Oh well, I'll figure something out.
Anyway, that's about it for today. Now I'm in my room, studying far later than I should for that exam that's coming up. I didn't do very well on the last one. Not that anyone did. And though no amount of studying could have helped any of us, I still feel the need to over study. I suppose it's just me.
Hadir isn't back yet. I think she might be staying with her aunt for another night, which is nice. It gives me a chance to study without distraction. I'm really going to have to work on finding a new study space now that she's back because I've gotten far too used to the silence...
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