When people think of Egypt, most often they imagine some very romantic things. Not “romance” in the sense of love, but romance in the sense of the fanciful, the exotic, the golden ancient Gods and Goddesses, the Pharaohs, Queens, and wonders of the world like the pyramids. I had a chance to spend a month in Egypt, and I discovered the basis of this romance, but the lesson I learned that was most memorable was about life and what it really means.
Landing at the Cairo airport was an experience by itself. In a sense, it lives up to the dream of the exotic place that Egypt is imagined to be, with all its sparkling glass, palm trees, and glittering lights. It does not resemble the pictures in history books, but it certainly promises spectacular things to come, a society that has never let go of the legendary glitz of thousands of years.
I was not there as an ordinary tourist, precisely. My family knew a local Egyptian family who had lived in America for a few years, who invited us for a month. We were to stay in our own apartment near to theirs, for free, which seemed like a great luxury. I didn’t expect to see the pyramids from our apartment, but I expected greatness anyway. I was surprised that as we flew into Cairo International that when I looked outside the window, I actually did see the Giza pyramids, the only remaining wonder of the world. They looked like little toys, and my heart filled with joy at the sight.
The family met us at the airport, and in their little Fiat we all crammed in and drove to the place we were to stay for four weeks. Deep in Cairo, down a dark street and four floors above a bakery, we entered our home for the next month. The cast-iron elevator did not work so we climbed stone stairs that were weathered by hundreds of feet. The first impression I had was of stench. Cat urine, foul fermentation, garbage, and unidentifiable odors. Where was the gold and sparking romance?
This is not to say that the wonders of Egypt are not breathtakingly amazing. Our day trips to Giza, Saqqara, Memphis, the bazaars at the Khan el Kahalily, and the museum did not disappoint, though often surprised. I always wondered what was inside of the great pyramid. Inside is a slender walkway leading down into the area of the small tomb, so tiny in comparison to the gargantuan outside structure. Inside, it reeks of the urine of cats and people, yet it does not fail to amaze in spite of that forced reality of humanity’s disrespect.
The pace of life in Cairo is intense. It was hot, dry, and the music of pop musicians like Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga blasted from nearby apartments. Finding food is not easy since the supermarkets only sell very limited items and shortages of items are frequent. It was so different from the vast variety of choices we were always used to.
I will never forget that trip. I learned to appreciate so much that I take for granted, like fresh and safe tap water, quiet streets, and family dinners together. I learned much about the reality of the difficulty of life for the millions of people who live there, but I also learned to appreciate the monumental history that the society has grown from. As the call from the mosque echoed through the streets in the morning, I learned that for the most part, Islam is a religion of faith like any other. There is pain, there is poverty, there is violence, yet it will never erase the history of a nation that sits at the foot of all civilization.
