If You Can't Beat Them

The story of my life (in Egypt): I can't find anything to eat.

I think if I eat much more fast food I am going to die of a heart attack -- have sworn myself off of falafel, schwarma makes me sick everytime, and how much pasta and hard boiled egg-whites can a girl eat? The remainder of things I can eat fall into a few categories; carbohydrates, pizza (which is also kind of a carb), and juice (isn't fruit full of carbs as well?).

Tonight, restless as always I went 'exploring' to see if I could find anything suitable for my stomach.

And really, let's be honest - I really just wanted to get out and wander on my own.

After about an hour of only ending up at McDonalds (where I did not eat) and then wandering down the Cornish towards San Stefano I found a lovely little road which offered me a few choices of food items: schwarma, falafel, and french fries.

I was getting pretty proud of myself for mastering the 'don't you even hiss at me' body language - arms cross, angry mouth, looking straight forward and walking fast when I settled on a thirty-five cent ice cream cone. Chocolate. It melted fast, but it was good -- so I crossed under the Cornish and to take a slightly different route back (yes, walking on the other side of the street is different).

Of course, trying to consume my ice cream cone means I have given up my 'leave me alone' walk and I was quite content so it only took half a minute of walking before two lanky 20-something guys walking infront of me turned around and said "wow." I took a cue from Julie and Sam and replied back sarcastically "WOW," and they laughed and mumbled something about the pyramids (wtf?) in Arabic. Then I was asked where I was from (ana Amrekea) and if I had see the pyramids (why yes, of course).

Of course, after they found out I was American, the conversation was half in broken English and partially in broken Arabic. "you are very beautiful," one of them said. Apparently when I am looking disgusting (and yes, I really did look gross), I sweat aphrodisiac because this is a reoccurring theme in my life.

They were pleasant enough. The conversation switched between English and Arabic when one of us didn't know the right word. Where were you going? (home) What are you doing in Alex? (I teach) Where is your boyfriend? (In America.) How long are you here? (One week. Seven days.) Do you live alone? (No, I live with my cousin. My father's sister's son.) What is your name? (Diane.) Can we walk you home? (No.) We are so happy that we talk to you now.

One of their names was Ahkram and I didn't catch the other's. It doesn't matter because I will never see them again (ahumdilallah). There wasn't really a way of me getting out of walking with them for those few blocks, so I just gave in to it.

I also really need to learn how to say "I am Christian" in Arabic, because they asked me if I was Muslim and none of the words I could conjure up seemed to explain my religious affiliation: Christian, Jesus, Bible...

The funny part is how I got out of the situation. Ahkram turns to his friend and they have a few seconds of noncomprehendable Arabic and then turn back to me,

Ahkram: "Ehna - "
his friend: "we."
Ahkram: "Yani, We love hashish. We like it a lot. We go smoke hashesh now. You love hashesh?"
me: la. no. la la la. la ihab, I don't like hashish at all. la.
Ahkram: So you not come with us.
me: mish ayza - I hate hashish.

and with that, they slowed down (I didn't look back to see if they were turning or just letting me continue on) and I continued on my own.

Whoever thought my ardent hatred for marijuana would leave me thankful (if just once) for cannabis?