I’m happy, but I’m also just getting to know this place. I know to toss “tsks” at overzealous young (and old) men on the streets and in a keshk (كشك), or storefront kiosks. When one is particularly egregious, I now know two phrases that will stop them in their tracks: “Respect yourself,” and “Haram to you.”
The approximate translation, as provided by my brother: “Boy, you best chiggity-check yo’self before you wreck yo’self.”
I know to precede every sentence with “MUMKIN,” which can translate as “maybe,” “yes” or “is it/it is possible,” as well as “YA3NI,” which translates to “I mean…”, and “so I says to Mabel I says…”
Our last day of class also encompassed a presentation in our Media class, and our written 3amiyya exam. Which is somewhat of an oxymoron. More ironically, this written exam testing our ability to understand colloquial Arabic encompassed listening to a recorded biography of the pilot who dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. Not exactly café and shisha conversation. After class, my roommate and I retired to the hotel for an epic nap, and then proceeded to visit two highly-lauded cafes in town that I had never been to. We had a lovely evening with the classmates whose company we knew we only had days left to enjoy.
Friday evening I met with my language partner for the last time. As usual, my nervousness arose from a particular mix of social anxiety, cultural buffoonery and inadequate language ability. This time it was also nuanced by those sweet, familiar Egyptian stomach cramps that three times now have crippled my ability to exist peacefully. So M, her mother, my roommate and I met at 9:00, walked for about ten minutes, and paused while I considered whether to throw up right then or back at the hotel. M walked me back, and we parted ways for the last time.
Saturday was a doozy. Our FusHa final was cut short for a listening portion, which I wrote about on this blog immediately afterward. However, thanks to the hard work and creativity of some of my classmates, we all relaxed before our oral 3amiyya exam over a 25-minute slideshow. I went into the 3amiyya exam not nearly as infuriated and indignant as I had been coming out of the FusHa exams.
From the language center, my roommate and I met up with our bicultural friends from Café R. She waddled up and gave us a grumpy hug, then apologized for being grumpy and informed us that the doctors moved up her due date to about two weeks from now. After lunch, we invited the two of them back to our hotel, where the staff had organized a lovely party and ordered what we have determined to be Egypt’s standard Celebratory Cake.
An hour later, when the party dispersed and our throats were sore from talking, they drove us to the Manshaya Souq, known for its twisting, narrow walkways lined with nothing but jewelry shops.
I had heard about this souq (market) from classmates, but hadn’t visited until this, the day before leaving Alexandria and Egypt. Er, the supposed day before leaving.
We walked the length of Alexandria's shopping district on the way back to the hotel that night. Visited the 20-story shopping center that I had walked by dozens of times but never before entered, and supported the healthy black market and purchased handfuls of scarves off a street vendor loudly advertising them for 3ashara giney wa nus, or 10.5Le. We returned to our home-not-home and packed two months’ worth of sweat-stained shirts, classroom notes and handouts, and Egypt swag.
My roommate noted to herself where she was packing her plane ticket. I noted that I seemed to not have said plane ticket. Good thing airports will reissue tickets – I’m sure I hadn’t seen that sucker since the day we arrived in Cairo!
And then came Sunday.
By noon, the remaining classmates were knocking at our door, for ours was one of three rooms set aside for storing luggage for the day. We officially checked out of Hotel E.
I accompanied my sweet kosher classmate to the train station, where she departed for Cairo and ultimately a 24-hour journey by train, bus and probably taxi for the country north of this one. On the way home, walked past Alexandria’s greatest ruins, the Roman Amphitheater. I explained to a classmate my reason for not having gone out of my way to see it sooner: I spent four months in the global capital of ancient societal ruins, and grew accustomed to the prevalent excavations that sprung up any time a new building had been contracted and groundbreaking lead to new archeological discoveries.
That night, I had my last meal of kosharee,
visited our favorite keshke for a bottle of water,
bought my last book of hilarious Engrish,
and waited in the hotel for our departure.
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