Leaving Egypt, Part III: Making the call

It was 4:30 in the morning, and my two classmates and I had one hour to catch this plane. We were no longer with our Egypt-specific program director, all but a few of our remaining classmates had picked up their tickets and proceeded to customs, we didn’t have cell phones, and it was 9:30 p.m. on the east coast of the U.S. What the HELL were we to do?

The three of us without tickets spun in circles and blinked frantically between the digital clock that counted on toward 5 a.m. and our last classmates clearing ticketing.

Okay. First. We needed to call the scholarship overseer in D.C. She had explicitly instructed us to call her on her cell phone 24 hours a day with problems. I hope she was ready for us to take up her advice…

Okay. Next. How to call her?

I walked up to an employee, one of about six men standing nearby wearing lanyards around their neck and watching us sweat. Where could I make a phone call? He shrugged. Okay. My 3amiyya stretched a little more. We lost our plane tickets. We need new ones. I need to call America. We need a phone right now. He looked to his friend, as if for support, and then offered us his cell phone. But he didn’t have any money loaded on it. This man obviously did not sense the URGENCY behind my sleep-starved, anxious trembles.

Okay. Need to get some money loaded on his phone. Where can I buy phone cards? He tells us: Outside security, downstairs, down the hall and through the cafeteria.

Okay. Need to get down there. The Tourism and Antiquity Police stopped me at the checkpoint – why was I leaving? they asked bemusedly. As my anxiety increased, my Arabic buckled and sputtered. Hand gestures and a look of impending supernova in my eyes conveyed most of my message. They were amused, and offered their laziest (and therefore, most unoccupied) coworker to go get my phone card.

Okay. I turned to him – I need an etisalat brand phone card RIGHT NOW. Alright, he says, for what balance? I don’t care. Twenty pounds. Thirty – I don’t want to have to go through this again. He agrees.
We stare at each other. Dilwa'tee, I say – RIGHT NOW. Okay, he says.

Why isn’t he… argh…bisur3a, QUICKLY. Okay, he says. And continues to look at me.

Finally I asked “can you please go now?!” and it’s then he conveys to me that he wants me to give him the money for the card first.

*Sighhhhhhh*

I do, and he takes off at a gentle lope. When he thinks he’s out of eyesight, he slows to a walk. I think I’m going to melt down.

Okay. I think ahead – once I DO get that phone, what information will I need to provide? The airline wants copies of this plane ticket, and they’re going to need them faxed. I’m going to need a fax number. I head back to the ticket counter and approach the sharp, small woman who had originally informed the three of us that we would need to buy new tickets. Where can I fax copies of our tickets?

She ignored me.

Excuse me, to what number should I send the fax? She tells me to wait one moment, and continues chatting with another woman at the ticket counter. I give her five seconds, and ask again. One moment, she tells me, and walks off slowly. A few minutes later she returns and continues her conversation with her friend.

EXCUSE ME, WHAT THE [BLOODY HELL] IS THE [^&$%&$] FAX NUMBER HERE?

“One moment,” she responds, and finally points to the screen and reads off a number. Thank. You.

I return to wait for the man with the phone card. Five agonizing minutes later, I see him scurrying down the long terminal hallway, with a 20 Le phone card and eight pounds in change. I collect these, and hand him back five pounds as a tip, although, judging by the amount of change I was given, it looked as though he’d taken a tip already.

Okay. I get that phone. Time to make this phone call.

The screen doesn’t illuminate.

*One more hair goes gray.*

The phone owner’s friend woos it, and now I can see the screen. I load the balance. I call the coordinator in the U.S. And she answers. Al hamdulileh.

Ten seconds of explanation, and she’s got a grasp of the situation. At this point, I do love Arabic. BUT I LOVE ENGLISH MORE. I gave her the fax number. Next: she needed to call the travel agent several states away, who had ALSO offered herself to be contacted by cell phone 24 hours a day. We end the call, that sweet, momentous call, and my classmates C and E and I wait.


Photo courtesty E.