The packing is finished.
The boxes have been taken away – to be air freighted to the US in time to meet us there. The pick-up was at 5:30 this morning. Nineteen boxes, 603 kilos – our life in Cairo.
We are out of our flat – paranoid fear of getting locked in again has pushed us to “couch surf” our last few days in Cairo.
Attempting to tie up the last few loose ends and then….
GONE.
This is it? Really? I made it a year (more or less) in Amman working for the UN, and that was enough for me. Enough of the endless bureaucracy, sandbagging and political infighting over minuscule things; worse even than governmental quicksand in India and the PI. Enough of getting hassled for extra fees for my monthly phone service, and enough of getting a few dozen dollars stolen from every last paycheck. Enough days of getting handed the last chicken on the roaster and spending the night crawling across the toilet floor to tip my colon to the bowl and pour. Enough of watching the few competent people flee as fast as their resumes could carry them, off to Copenhagen, Geneva, Mumbai and Rome as soon as their first year was over. Blowhards with fake degrees, executives afraid of their own shadows, funding always just out of reach, contracts and promises that were freely broken when the chips were down. I’d had enough with one go-round in a Middle Eastern bureaucracy, not three.
Still, as much as I bitch about the neighborhood, there are places, things, smells, sights and people I miss. Most of all, the people. I know, I know, trench mentality friendships and all, but I miss looking out over the minarets sharing a cigarette with the French policy specialist, and reading Robert Service poems to her kids when they asked about American lit and the feel of the PNW. I miss the German deputy director with his terribly stereotypical 80’s hair and thin ties; tinkering with the red Mini he’d driven from Germany, across Turkey and Syria to get to Amman, only to find he couldn’t register it until we rigged a couple of Nissan Sunny headrests to meet the Jordanian “safety standards.” The Croatian guy who started every difficult topic with “My therapist says it’s ok to talk about this now…”
I miss the canteen guys — every last one an illegal Egyptian — who brought coffee and lunch throughout the main JO compound; they laughed and helped me with my pathetic Arabic, probably because I didn’t treat them as poorly as the local Arabs. The couriers who smuggled good beer in diplomatic pouches from Syria and Israel. The network guys in Gaza who held up the facade of a normal IT operation even as militant fuckery was launched from their yards and rained back down on them; with a pc on a desk and internet access, you can pretend you’re anywhere. More than my old apartment balcony, I miss the people I saw when I peered over, talked, waved, or just watched. The 20-something barber who have me the flat-out best haircut ever, every three weeks. The first time I saw a kid on a skateboard, using the only patch of asphalt smooth enough; the first time I spied a Jordanian Scout uniform on the fat kid up the block.
I even miss the bastards who fucked with me every day and fouled up entire projects just so they would have another year of funding for their nepotistic thievery. I realize now they’re just part of the only extant system, just living how they can in a culture I largely couldn’t and wouldn’t accept. I came back from that corner of the world feeling like I’d thrown away a year of my life, and now part of me wishes I had another year’s perspective to see more of the positive. In that, I’m damn jealous of you both. I also felt the loss of genuine friends, and I’m not sure I could handle three times that pain. Not so jealous of that. In any case, you have my congratulations and hell of a lot of respect. And any beer you care to drink.
Jon –
I understand all the things that you talk about – we had them here too. Our saving grace, in my opinion, was that we were only tied to a university, not a political organization. You and Jack will have lots to talk about – hopefully over good beer and perhaps charred flesh. See you when we get back.
since our phoone link is gone, I’ll wish you a wonderful trip this way. having a grey beach week this year, suppose to clear tomorrow and get hot…whatever, it is still great to slow to a snail’s pace at the beach! Will be looking forward to tales of SE Asia! Love, Mom