A Day in Cairo, Part V

It was right around two-thirty when Emad and I parted ways, he to his home, and me back toward the Citadel. The main gate would just be re-opening after midday prayer. My water supply was restocked, which was good because I was really starting to feel the heat. I hadn't put any sunscreen on my arms, and I was now starting to wonder if that was a huge mistake. I was wearing a wide-brim hat and jeans, so only my arms had been open to the sun all day. But now my exposed skin was hot to the touch and quite red in color. I was mystified because my arms don't typically sunburn very badly and only at the beginning of the summer; of course, it was now almost the end of July. But Egypt is much closer to the equator (and hence the sun) than America, and the sun's heat much more intense.

I was starting to get tired as well, not just because of the heat, but because I had been carrying my very heavy backpack all day long. I figured I had probably walked a few miles already, plus I hadn't gotten any quality sleep in over two days. I climbed the hill up to the Citadel the second time and began walking the direction Emad had earlier indicated was toward the main gate. I had no earthly idea how large the Citadel actually was. I estimate it was another mile to reach the gate. I was so hot and so tired. I stopped to rest along the way, sitting down in a shady spot under a tree.

I was sitting by a busy street alongside a small neighborhood nestled beneath the bulwarks of the Citadel. As I was resting, several children came by, saying little but making it very clear that they wanted things. Surprisingly, the first boy asked for a pen instead of money. I didn't give him one. This is an all-too-familiar scenario to anyone who has traveled in the developing world, but this time something happened that I didn't expect. A man walked by, saw him pestering me, and in a chiding manner told him to leave me alone. What a remarkable gesture of cultural self-respect, I thought.

A few minutes later, two girls approached me, probably nine or ten years old. I was taken aback by their forwardness, as they simply walked up and, with any word of greeting, simply held out their hands with an impatient look on their faces. Clearly, they were accustomed to being given things by rich-looking white foreigners. I offered a greeting only. They were unmoved.

"Pen," said the more outspoken of the two.

"I do not have," I said. Well, that wasn't technically true, I did have some in my backpack, but I didn't want to fish them out. [For those who are untraveled, there are many reasons why succumbing to these kind of requests is a bad idea. For one, it enables behavior in children like what I've just described, but as I intimated earlier, it also undermines their own sense of cultural self-respect.]

The same girl spoke again. "Money." It was almost a demand.

I repeated myself, "I do not have."

This was a flat out lie, and she knew it. She gave me this look of scornful incredulity that really cut me to the quick. I couldn't believe myself. I've been in this very same scenario in my life many, many times. It's not like I don't know what to do. There are literally dozens of ways to handle this kind of situation with cultural sensitivity without resorting to actual lying. I was ashamed. Realizing they weren't going to get anything from me, the two girls ran off. But as they did, the second girl took a swing at the bottle of water I was holding. She didn't knock it out of my hands, but she was trying to. "I deserved that," I thought to myself.

Moments like these are one reason why I love cross-cultural experiences so much. When we are uncomfortable, we tend to do things we don't normally do. We are less pretentious, more honest, and behave in ways that more closely portray what's really going on inside us. In this case, I was shocked by these children who seemed to have no shame and just felt too tired and self-important to actually deal with them. So I dismissed them out-of-hand by escaping from the truth, and I got caught. With one swift motion of a hand, a young Egyptian girl had preached a sermon more piercing than any I had heard in church that whole year.

After this episode, I stood up and continued walking. By the time I reached the main gate to the Citadel, I was utterly exhausted and starting to get light-headed from the heat, the physical exertion, and the lack of sleep. Besides, it was three o'clock already, and I only had one hour left before I had to return to the airport. The Citadel has stood for 800 years, I figured it would wait a few more until I can return again. So I drank the rest of my water and flagged down a taxi.


Two hours later, after changing clothes in a tiny restroom stall at the end of the airport terminal, I sat down to wait for my flight and opened my laptop computer. It had been quite a day, the cultural highlight of the entire summer, and I wanted to capture as much of it as I could while the memories -- the people, the conversations -- were still fresh. As I sat, typing furiously, I noticed a curious thing. My arms were NOT sunburned! I couldn't believe it. They had simply felt like it earlier in the day because that's how hot my skin was from the direct sunlight. Then it dawned on me -- this was why Egyptians had been telling me all day long that most tourists come in January!

What a day! I hope to have many more like it, both in this life and in the life to come.

I'm sure I will.