Egypt is fickle

Desert dunes in Siwa, Egypt. Photo by C K Galloway.

Egypt is fickle. 

Somedays she embraces you. Somedays you walk down the street and people nod and say good morning and you stop and chat. Somedays the birds chirp and sunshine filters through the trees and just when you think it’s a bit hot a cool breeze sweeps through and cools you and you sigh happily. Sometimes the man dusting the car looks up as you pass and you say sabah el kheer, and you are pleased how it rolls off your tongue and he smiles and dips his head and says sabah ennuur and then his wife echoes the words and you feel accepted. Sometimes you bite into a pepper or a mango from the market and you know vegetables and fruits don't taste this good anywhere else. Somedays you sit on the beach and listen to the waves and let the blue sea fill your vision in waves while your the kids laugh and make sandcastles. Some nights you hear your footfalls in the quiet while coloured lights sway in the breeze.

And then some days, some days you are confounded by a barrage of rapid Arabic words, some days the curving letters swim before your eyes and you can't make sense of them. Some days your small circle of friends seems so so far away and you have to actively fend off the loneliness. Some days the dust invades your eyes and your nose and your pores. Somedays the heat pushes on you and compresses you and makes you bleed sweat. Some days you would give anything for green hills and cool lakes. Some days the cacophony of car horns and dogs barking and people shouting is an assault with no relief. Some days you realise worse things are happening to people you know, people you care for in this country.  Some days you don’t know what to do.

Some days you just wait for the end, for something better.

Some days you never want to leave.

Egypt embraces you and pushes you away. She gives you the heady experiences and sickening doubt. She welcomes you as a friend and accuses you as an invader. She delights and crushes.

Egypt is fickle.