To world, love - andrew
RE:(none)
12/23
Here is the unedited version of that story. Everything I wrote had to be
carefully edited before I sent it out, considering my parents, among others,
were on the e-mail list.
Thursday came before I realized it. I had had a relatively tough week of work,
but it went by surprisingly fast. Unfortunately, I wasn’t expecting to fully
enjoy the weekend as my professor for my international politics class scheduled
our midterm for Saturday. I ran a few errands and came home to relax on the
couch as my roommates drifted in from school. Jake had spoken with his friend
Kareem and planned to have him and a few friends over later that night. This
was perfect. I could have a chill night at home and get a good night’s sleep
before spending Friday studying.
Kareem arrived at around 8 with three other friends. One was named Islam;
another Yasser; and the final guy’s name eluded me. The hash was immediately
broken out and we got to work. Jake and Islam rolled joints while Yasser rolled
a double-cup: one cup on top of another. Yasser gave all of us Americans the
first hits, which began the smoke fest. Once rolled, we had two joints
circulating in addition to the double-cup. It was a light atmosphere, with
everyone laughing and talking. Kareem spoke the best English but was mostly
effective in translating what we said. Us Americans tried our Arabic on the
other guys, sometimes with success, other times without. My Arabic was
specifically horrid as I can’t speak Arabic when I’m high. The language barrier
didn’t seem to matter much. It couldn’t keep us from enjoying each other’s
company.
As we sat Islam, crowning himself DJ, played music from his phone. This is
a very prominent phenomenon here in Cairo. Everyone loves their cell phones and
uses them to their fullest extent. Walking down the street you will constantly
pass people with music blaring from their phones. On the bus or while riding
microbuses, people will bump music from their phones, not caring if the person
sitting next to them does or doesn’t like the music.
The other prized feature of the cell phone is the camera. I always see
Egyptians taking pictures of things, their friends and themselves with their
camera phones. There is no shame in posing in the middle of the mall, giving
the phone their best smile or gazing into the distance, with their coolest
model-stance.
A phone is never used simply as a phone here, allowing Islam to play the finest
of his collection for us. Unfortunately, the finest of his collection consisted
of the Backstreet Boys, Linkin Park, 50 Cent and Fergie’s “My Humps”. Though it
was painful, no one objected.
As the joints dwindled, we broke out the tricks. I blew smoke across my
fist into Islam’s nose. I got a hit from Yasser’s cupped hands. People took
turns going around the circle, giving people tricks. It was all quite
entertaining. We then went out to the balcony where there was a sheshah that we
all squeezed around. We passed around more joints and cups. We smoked to the
point where smoking more didn’t get me any higher.
Dan had now taken hold of the DJ position with our speakers placed
strategically on the balcony. He played The Roots and Rage Against the Machine,
showing them some good American music. We talked some more and sat enjoying the
night looking over the weekend Cairo street. It came up that the last guy,
who’s name I didn’t get, is getting married in January. He invited Dan to the
wedding but he had to explain that I would be the only one here. He didn’t
officially invite me, but hopefully I can go if I hang out with them some more.
It turns out that the munchies are a universal phenomenon, because everyone
seemed to simultaneously become starving. Jake and Kareem agreed to go across
the street to a restaurant called Abu Qassim and pick us up some food. I got a
half-pound of chicken on a bed of yellow rice, which seemed to be what everyone
else got. Once everyone had gotten their food, a blanket of silence covered the
room. Every soul in the room was focused on one thing: packing in the food.
The Egyptians finished their food before any of us did. I barely got half-way
through mine before I had to put it in the fridge. At the end, we were all
fully satisfied and sat back to consolidate the feast previously devoured.
After recovering from the massacre of chicken, we decided to go out. There
is a place in the city called Moqatum Hills where you can look over the entire
city. This was the determined destination, so we went out to the street to wait
for a bus. One came and we all piled on and took it to the end of the street.
There we got off, got on another bus, took it a ways and got off. From there,
we took two microbuses until we were at the hills. Moqatum is located in a very
wealthy part of the city, as evidenced by the walls around the houses, the gates
guarding the driveways and the expensive cars (which are even more expensive
here). We walked through the neighborhood until we got to an overlook where
there were a number of tables and chairs.
The coffee shop across the street provided sheshah and drinks as we sat
looking at the city. Cars were parked with shesha hoses leading into the
windows, like some sort of Egyptian drive-in movie. Between the pollution and
the vast expanse that is Cairo, I could not see past the city. There was no
end. It extended for miles in every direction, with no boundary. We sparked up
another joint and passed it around. It was a surreal sight. We were able to
watch the planes fly low over our heads on their way to the airport. After we’d
had our fill of the view, we decided it was time to head home. We began to walk
down another street running along the hill’s ridge.
The night was winding down and we’d had a good time. As we walked, we began
to hear some Egyptian-pop type of music and honking cars, getting louder and
louder with every block we passed. After a few more blocks, we came upon the
source of the noise. In the middle of the street were 30-40 Egyptian yuppies
dancing their asses off. They were all between 20 and 30 years of age. Many
were wearing button-down shirts and ties as if they had come straight from work.
The music was blaring and everyone was doing his own dance, which was odd as
none of them could dance at all. Among them, there was not a single woman.
This didn’t seem to matter, as they all seemed to be having a better time
without worrying themselves with the opposite sex.
We approached slowly, clapping as we watched this bizarre boogie-down. Dan
began to dance a bit on the outskirts of the group and, after warming up to the
idea, so did I. I am usually vehemently opposed to the idea of dancing, but it
seemed like a unique enough experience to warrant some moves being busted. I
pulled out all of the best moves from my people. The shopping cart, the
sprinkler and, yes, even the dice roll.
Somehow, the yuppies learned my name and before I knew what was going on, I
was surrounded by a bunch of Egyptians chanting, “AN-JREW! AN-JREW!” to the
beat. They had their camera phones out and were videotaping me and taking
pictures. By now, this was way too much attention. I had to get out, but only
with a lot of effort and resistance from the other guys.
After the song ended, they broke out the tabla (a type of drum) and began to
play. They sang a song in which they took turns singing different verses with a
call and response. This was equally festive. By now it was 3 in the morning
and the party showed no signs of ending. It was, however, about time that we
had gotten home as we were all tired and burnt out. It was a good end to the
week. I had seen a lot, had a lot of fun, and I even learned some very useful
words. Badon and istaboh. The former is balls and the latter, wake and bake.
I guess the idea of starting your day off by getting high as hell is a universal
concept.
RE:(none)
12/23
Here is the unedited version of that story. Everything I wrote had to be
carefully edited before I sent it out, considering my parents, among others,
were on the e-mail list.
Thursday came before I realized it. I had had a relatively tough week of work,
but it went by surprisingly fast. Unfortunately, I wasn’t expecting to fully
enjoy the weekend as my professor for my international politics class scheduled
our midterm for Saturday. I ran a few errands and came home to relax on the
couch as my roommates drifted in from school. Jake had spoken with his friend
Kareem and planned to have him and a few friends over later that night. This
was perfect. I could have a chill night at home and get a good night’s sleep
before spending Friday studying.
Kareem arrived at around 8 with three other friends. One was named Islam;
another Yasser; and the final guy’s name eluded me. The hash was immediately
broken out and we got to work. Jake and Islam rolled joints while Yasser rolled
a double-cup: one cup on top of another. Yasser gave all of us Americans the
first hits, which began the smoke fest. Once rolled, we had two joints
circulating in addition to the double-cup. It was a light atmosphere, with
everyone laughing and talking. Kareem spoke the best English but was mostly
effective in translating what we said. Us Americans tried our Arabic on the
other guys, sometimes with success, other times without. My Arabic was
specifically horrid as I can’t speak Arabic when I’m high. The language barrier
didn’t seem to matter much. It couldn’t keep us from enjoying each other’s
company.
As we sat Islam, crowning himself DJ, played music from his phone. This is
a very prominent phenomenon here in Cairo. Everyone loves their cell phones and
uses them to their fullest extent. Walking down the street you will constantly
pass people with music blaring from their phones. On the bus or while riding
microbuses, people will bump music from their phones, not caring if the person
sitting next to them does or doesn’t like the music.
The other prized feature of the cell phone is the camera. I always see
Egyptians taking pictures of things, their friends and themselves with their
camera phones. There is no shame in posing in the middle of the mall, giving
the phone their best smile or gazing into the distance, with their coolest
model-stance.
A phone is never used simply as a phone here, allowing Islam to play the finest
of his collection for us. Unfortunately, the finest of his collection consisted
of the Backstreet Boys, Linkin Park, 50 Cent and Fergie’s “My Humps”. Though it
was painful, no one objected.
As the joints dwindled, we broke out the tricks. I blew smoke across my
fist into Islam’s nose. I got a hit from Yasser’s cupped hands. People took
turns going around the circle, giving people tricks. It was all quite
entertaining. We then went out to the balcony where there was a sheshah that we
all squeezed around. We passed around more joints and cups. We smoked to the
point where smoking more didn’t get me any higher.
Dan had now taken hold of the DJ position with our speakers placed
strategically on the balcony. He played The Roots and Rage Against the Machine,
showing them some good American music. We talked some more and sat enjoying the
night looking over the weekend Cairo street. It came up that the last guy,
who’s name I didn’t get, is getting married in January. He invited Dan to the
wedding but he had to explain that I would be the only one here. He didn’t
officially invite me, but hopefully I can go if I hang out with them some more.
It turns out that the munchies are a universal phenomenon, because everyone
seemed to simultaneously become starving. Jake and Kareem agreed to go across
the street to a restaurant called Abu Qassim and pick us up some food. I got a
half-pound of chicken on a bed of yellow rice, which seemed to be what everyone
else got. Once everyone had gotten their food, a blanket of silence covered the
room. Every soul in the room was focused on one thing: packing in the food.
The Egyptians finished their food before any of us did. I barely got half-way
through mine before I had to put it in the fridge. At the end, we were all
fully satisfied and sat back to consolidate the feast previously devoured.
After recovering from the massacre of chicken, we decided to go out. There
is a place in the city called Moqatum Hills where you can look over the entire
city. This was the determined destination, so we went out to the street to wait
for a bus. One came and we all piled on and took it to the end of the street.
There we got off, got on another bus, took it a ways and got off. From there,
we took two microbuses until we were at the hills. Moqatum is located in a very
wealthy part of the city, as evidenced by the walls around the houses, the gates
guarding the driveways and the expensive cars (which are even more expensive
here). We walked through the neighborhood until we got to an overlook where
there were a number of tables and chairs.
The coffee shop across the street provided sheshah and drinks as we sat
looking at the city. Cars were parked with shesha hoses leading into the
windows, like some sort of Egyptian drive-in movie. Between the pollution and
the vast expanse that is Cairo, I could not see past the city. There was no
end. It extended for miles in every direction, with no boundary. We sparked up
another joint and passed it around. It was a surreal sight. We were able to
watch the planes fly low over our heads on their way to the airport. After we’d
had our fill of the view, we decided it was time to head home. We began to walk
down another street running along the hill’s ridge.
The night was winding down and we’d had a good time. As we walked, we began
to hear some Egyptian-pop type of music and honking cars, getting louder and
louder with every block we passed. After a few more blocks, we came upon the
source of the noise. In the middle of the street were 30-40 Egyptian yuppies
dancing their asses off. They were all between 20 and 30 years of age. Many
were wearing button-down shirts and ties as if they had come straight from work.
The music was blaring and everyone was doing his own dance, which was odd as
none of them could dance at all. Among them, there was not a single woman.
This didn’t seem to matter, as they all seemed to be having a better time
without worrying themselves with the opposite sex.
We approached slowly, clapping as we watched this bizarre boogie-down. Dan
began to dance a bit on the outskirts of the group and, after warming up to the
idea, so did I. I am usually vehemently opposed to the idea of dancing, but it
seemed like a unique enough experience to warrant some moves being busted. I
pulled out all of the best moves from my people. The shopping cart, the
sprinkler and, yes, even the dice roll.
Somehow, the yuppies learned my name and before I knew what was going on, I
was surrounded by a bunch of Egyptians chanting, “AN-JREW! AN-JREW!” to the
beat. They had their camera phones out and were videotaping me and taking
pictures. By now, this was way too much attention. I had to get out, but only
with a lot of effort and resistance from the other guys.
After the song ended, they broke out the tabla (a type of drum) and began to
play. They sang a song in which they took turns singing different verses with a
call and response. This was equally festive. By now it was 3 in the morning
and the party showed no signs of ending. It was, however, about time that we
had gotten home as we were all tired and burnt out. It was a good end to the
week. I had seen a lot, had a lot of fun, and I even learned some very useful
words. Badon and istaboh. The former is balls and the latter, wake and bake.
I guess the idea of starting your day off by getting high as hell is a universal
concept.
