Trying to Find the Good in It

Egypt is to you a land of camels, pyramids, walking like an
Egyptian?so that would make me a camel-riding, Egyptian-walking pyramid
dweller? Oh and then of course, my neighbour is a typical Arab
terrorist equipped with beard and all, and enough explosive devices to
blow up a small island. It is buried in the sand behind his house. (Or
should I call it a pyramid?) He will obviously use these bombs on a
bunch of unsuspecting tourists. Not to mention the way we dress.
Apparently we're stuck back in God knows what century. That's how you
see it. That's all you have been shown. So I guess you couldn't even
begin to imagine the reality. Sabah, a little girl who spends her days
pacing up and down a pavement sometimes begging for money, sometimes
demanding it. Or what about the spirit of the people? We're not all
terrorists. Honest. Some of us can be very nice sometimes. If you're in
trouble - you always find a helping hand held out to you - supporting
you - even if you don't know them. True, sometimes there is one hand
too many, and true, sometimes they try just a little bit too hard to
support you. But at least they try. And there's that perpetual mood of
"God willing tomorrow will be better". The future always holds better
things. But most beautiful of all is the Egyptian faith in God. The
faith that, no matter how bad it gets, God will always be there. "God
willing". "God forgive me". God. On the minds and the tongues of the
Egyptian nation. Sometimes it happens just a little bit too often.
"Will that be take away sir? Yes inshallah". God is everywhere. So if
you were to ask me about Egypt, rather than hearing stories about
deserts, oases, and mysterious Arab women, I would tell you instead of
the little things that every day, remind you that you are in Egypt. The
black and white taxis in Cairo, and their sometimes-friendly drivers.
The crowded buses, with people sometimes hanging out of the door. I
would tell you about the old couple living directly above us in the
building, and how every now and then I take up a shirt, or pair of
trousers that has fallen off their clothes line and into our balcony. I
would tell you about the buildings, so close to each other, that you
can look straight into your neighbour's living room. I would tell you
that some days I wish I didn't live here. That a lot of days I wish I
could leave. But then I would miss the people and their friendliness. I
would miss the smell of the fresh coffee that finds its way into our
apartment, wafting up from the little shop on the corner of the street
where they ground coffee beans. I would miss the noisy, crowded
streets, and the traffic that seems to be governed by no laws, because
no matter what, it is one of the things that gives Cairo its unique
character. I would miss waking up each morning to my mother speaking to
her sister on the phone about what this cousin had done, and what that
brother had said. I would miss this sense of family. I would miss the
Egyptianness of Egypt.