Egypt was not the Egypt of my dreams.

 As a kid I imagined that ancient country of pyramids and sand to be…just that—pyramids and sand.  Never once did I consider Egypt to be a home to millions; never once did I consider the residents, the traffic, the businesses…the everyday routine of the Egyptians. But Egypt is very much a home…though a bone chilling one of over populated cities, high-rise freeways that snake through tall rectangular buildings of peeling paint dulled beneath layers of orange dust.  Bright underwear waves at you from apartment balconies, dirty scoundrels roam streets in dizzying circles, and the sky hangs unusually low, it’s thick blackness sliding like a milkshake onto the people below---leaving you wet, slimy and somewhat stoned all at the same time.

 Egypt is complicated and chaotic.  Dramatic and devilish. Gorgeous and ghoulish. Everything about it is so cultured, so costumed, so creative!  With its stunning Islamic robes, pretty cracks that web rotten buildings, the cone shaped masques that cast funky shadows on the sky at dusk,  the color or lack of color suggestive of Van Goh, and the dark eyes of the Egyptians enslaved in black kohl, wide and wild they stare from their cage with exotic eroticism..

 One night…I swear the stars glimmered not their usual white, …but red and blue like the precious jewels of an Ancient Egyptian Funeral Mask.

 I was smitten. Egypt, oh Egypt…where have you been all my life?

 Though I was obviously preoccupied with the sights, I arrived in Cairo cautious.  I had read Lonely Planet’s book on Egypt, so I was well informed that Egypt was known for cunning thieves, horny men, demanding beggars, and more thieves.  There was even a warning particularly for woman:  beware!  You will be grabbed in places you would rather not be. Just scream!  Foreigners should come to your aid!

 Well, it went something like that. 

 But I found the Egyptians non-intrusive, exciting …and I enjoyed playing the game with them. Maybe I was so patient with their boisterous nature and sails man mentality because I was coming from Sudan, a place where everyone had a proposition, an underlying motive for giving of their kindness.  So I had mastered their game, my tactic being (offered to you free of charge):  it’s all about what you don’t do.  In other words: ignore them.   Don’t bat and eye when they bargain with your profile, don’t raise a finger when they curse your health and trust me…with no fuel to feed their fire, they leave you quickly and painlessly.  Not nuclear physics huh?

 Besides, the Egyptians were definitely not the Sudanese. They had energy…passion…life.  They were full of mysticism and magic.  Like I said, I was smitten.  Somehow they had managed to amuse me with their jittery strut, hypnotize me by the way they always looked you directly in the eyes when they told you a lie, I was deaf from their sly and mocking laughter that popped like a witches cackle from the wells of their gut, blinded by the conceit that penetrated from their mischievous eyes …and left completely wasted from the confidence that reflected in everything that they did.

 And if you think the adults sound dangerous…the children are far worse.  From the young ages of 6,7 and 8 you can find them steering carts of jer jer, ducking in and out of side doors to run errands for store clerks, shoving miniatures of the pyramids in your hand for a few Egyptians pounds---goodness gracious, who are these children working for and why are they not in school?  They pestered more often then their grown competition, with pouty lips, demanding words, and fierce disgust when they were not paid for their cuteness. They dressed in sloppy robes, globs of black goop made a mess of their chocolate hair and cappuccino colored skin and always, always, did it seem that there was a cop following closely behind them.

 I had barely made a footprint in the sands of Giza and already I had witnessed the game of cat and mouse take place between two different sets of children and the military men of President Mubarak.  They ran in their smart charcoal suits with gold buttons and black berates and shouted something that I couldn’t quite make out, so I pretended it was:  this Sphinx is not a toy and the pyramids are not your playground!  But whatever it was the children just laughed, their escape flawless, their voices taunting in Arabic:  what’s the matter fat man?  Can’t you run?

 I liked the children.  I liked them for their boldness, their savvy devilish nature that turned everything into a game…again for their confidence.

 Finally, I made it…there in the distance stood the pyramids of Giza—three unimpressive triangles in an ugly grayish haze.  I looked out at one of the most coveted tourist destination in the world in ignorant shock: a small wire fence was all that protected these ancient artifacts from the crazies of this city?  And goodness why was the city so close?  The pyramids were suppose to be hidden in a dramatic desert, camels were suppose to be the only way of transportation…what do you mean that there is a Mc Donald’s less than half a football field away from King Kafra’s head and his father’s tomb?  

 I was deeply disturbed that my Egypt was at the center of all of this… nonsense. 

 Once inside the gates, I could forget the city—as long as I didn’t look back.  The Sphinx was the first to greet me, its powerful perch reminding me of my recently deceased cat, Butterscotch:  strong, confident and orange, with its head held high, its gaze forward, un amused with its surroundings.  It was smaller than I imagined, but magical in a way that words cannot explain.  I starred and starred and starred…wanting to rub my eyes in order to brush away the toxins that pollute ones  mind when you’ve experienced something for the first time through a television set. But no matter how hard I tried the Sphinx sat before me, feeling not a couple of yards but light years away.

 The pyramids were next.  I walked up the hill to where they stood and saw tourists climbing smaller ones that obviously were considered unimportant if they were allowed to be stomped on.   I looked out at the Great Pyramid in awe…my eyes calculating the years it must have taken for all 2.6 billion stones to be resting where they are now.  I walked up to it, my hands on its sandpaper surface, the rock blocks smaller than I’d imagine, the pyramids too…smaller in person.  I had only a few short minutes with the pyramids before word was that the site was closing.  I sighed deeply, my eyes lingering on its magnificent structure.  My heart longing to explore the narrow passageways that would lead to King Khufu’s antechamber –a small room that once housed treasure belonging to the deceased Pharaoh.

 But there wasn’t time for that.

 As I walked back towards the Sphinx, it’s back to me, the city now in full view, I regretted not being able to sit with this half lion half man statue of stone and do some more starring…get to know, or understand, in some unspoken way, the mysteries that hid beneath its ancient curves.  But Mubarak’s militia was motioning that it was time to leave and as I descended down the slippery slopes I was easily distracted.  I had watched groups of children playing on the smooth cement earlier and I was inspired to do the same.  The cement was slick, the sand perfect for ironing out the tread…I got a head start and OOOPH! I slid a good five feet before stopping.  Then ran and slid, ran and slid –dust, not police men, chasing after me as the pyramids were forgotten in a moment of childishness and lost in clouds of sun kissed dust. 

 I was happy. I had a plane to Athens to catch.

 To be continued…