Missing my fellow bread-carrying judger

Walking to school, the Abu Houl intersection.

   The art of bread carrying. I always admire the stacks of bread being transported from point A to point B while on my way to school. Bread is a staple of the Egyptian diet. The flat, round pita-type bread is eaten with everything, often times used as the utensil instead of a fork or spoon. And in a city of over twenty million people, that means a lot of bread has to make it from the oven to the home.

   The most common way I see is on a large, woven tray carried on top of the head, but there are apparently other methods to get that bread safely through the busy streets. Sharon, my walking buddy, and I used to rate the levels of expertise exhibited by these bread transporters.

   The bigger the tray, more points. The higher the stacks, more points. No hands, more points. Sometimes the tray has multiple levels, so more points. My favorite are the women who navigate the traffic, tray balanced precariously on top of their head, while talking on their cellphone. Or the kids swerving around cars on their bikes, bread tied in front or behind them. Bikes equal more points.

   Sharon and I couldn't believe it one morning when a car passed us with bread laid out on the hood. We had to create a special bonus round for that level of skill!

   Sharon was an awesome walking buddy to school every day, and I'm going to miss her while she goes back home to the states for a few months! Even though I have so many great friends from other countries, sometimes there is a special connection that can only be found in someone from the same place, same background as you.

   Sharon is a solid, down to Earth woman who understands my lingo, my accent, my mannerisms, how I see the world, everything. She lived in the room next to me at the hostel, having hung out in Egypt for a few years after marrying a sweet, shy Egyptian man. I definitely took advantage of her advice and experiences from living here, from how to get to the grocery store to how to have the best “don't mess with me face” while walking through the street.

   Sharon, I am going to miss walking into the flat every day after school and calling out, “Sharon, my Sharon!” And hearing you answer, “Liza, my Liza!” Then immediately sitting outside on the patio with your LM Whites, you listening so attentively to all my adventures with the three-year olds that day, and taking my side on anything that might have gone wrong.

   I might even miss you feeding the street cats that you spoiled so much now one doesn't even run away from me. And who is going to make me chicken soup? Because I know you said it's simple, and explained the process to me, but cooking an entire chicken is still intimidating.

   Don't worry, though. I will send you any updates about new ways I see to carry bread through the streets on my way to school!

The Thrill of the Microbus

   Moving to Cairo, I thought the most important language I would need to learn was Egyptian Arabic. Nope. It was the language of the road. The roads here are a crazy, hot mess. Looking both ways before crossing the street is a must, right? Yeah, but here, even for one way streets, look both ways twice. Or maybe three times.

A really bad picture of crossing the street.
Not exactly going to stop mid-crossing to try to
capture the craziness, but at least there's some
microbuses in the background to see.

   Crossing the street is like a game of Frogger, except the stakes are a bit higher. Like, no extra lives for one. You know the phrase, “walk like an Egyptian”? Yeah, I'm convinced that's not a funky dance. That's crossing the street like a boss; knowing how to perfectly time between those two cars, microbus, tour bus, and the motorcycle delivering McDonalds without dying. Whenever I am unsure about a road, I just find an Egyptian crossing the street and match their steps just a little upstream of them, so they can make the break in the flow of traffic for me. They are at the expert level, I am not. Works every time.

   Crazy traffic. Cars, big trucks, taxis, buses, tuk tuks, motorcycles, vegetable carts and donkeys, all trying to push ahead to get to where they are going. This is simply the result of so many people being stacked on top of each other in the same city after a rapid period of urbanization. There's at least 20 million people in Cairo, which always blows my small-town mind. It's weird to think that more people attend one mosque on Friday for prayer than live in all of Kalkaska county. For some popular mosques, maybe twenty times as many. It's a big thought to wrap my head around.

   And then there's the microbuses. White, crowded, box van looking things (they have the big sliding doors on the side, which sometimes appear to be optional) zipping through the streets of the city; connecting intersections, neighborhoods, districts, cities, basically whatever is economically profitable to connect. They are each privately owned, and an incredible example of supply, demand, and the “invisible hand” of economics. If a route is popular, there will be microbuses to pick you up.

   They are so intimidating to use, because they move so fast and there's no schedule or sign to tell me where they are going. So I stand on the side of the street, flag them down, and yell out a name of a location to see if they are going there or not. If they're not, they shake their head and keep going. If they are, I pile in on top of the other passengers and hope that I said the right place and they heard the right place before I end up on the other side of Cairo.

   I usually flag them down by just sticking out my hand to grab their attention, but if I was really cool, I would use all the really cool hand signals that correlate with specific locations. But they feel too much like gang symbols to me, what if I do one wrong? Like to go to Giza, you do an upside down “hang loose” sign. Total gang material.

   I don't bother flagging down the ones that already have a person hanging out of the bus where the door is supposed to be. Obviously, that one is already full, because that person doesn't have a seat. Sometimes I don't have to flag them down, they pull over because someone is getting off. A couple people get off, a couple people get on, from where I am standing it looks full so I don't even bother asking. Then two more people will get in, somehow, somewhere, and I get really confused wondering where they fit! Then I get upset because I could have taken that bus!

   Also I always hope I know exactly where to get off, so I don't pass it. Everything's so fast-paced, and everything looks the same. Walls with graffiti, restaurants, clothes stores, fruit vendors. It's like a reel of film that keeps looping. There's not exactly signs or anything. And it gets really old to keep asking the people sitting next to me, looking like the foreigner who has no idea where she is going, even though that's exactly what's happening most of the time. I just always feel stupid, because everyone else looks like they know exactly where they are going, so I feel like I should be cool like them and just know. I want to be part of the in crowd already! But it's nice when I sit next to a nice lady who helps me figure out where to get off. It's an extra bonus when she is getting off at the same place and I can just get off with her.

   The seats on the buses are bench style, no seat belts to be found. We just rock with the sway of the bus, as it zips around the road, dodging traffic and pedestrians, to the rhythm of the Arabic music on the radio. Since it is all privately economically driven, there is a strong incentive to get through the route as fast as possible so the driver can pick up passengers going the other way. I just try to ignore all the near misses we have, and all the accidents that could be but haven't been yet.

   The buses that have the sliding door permanently open have an extra thrill factor. I avoid the seat next to the door if I can, since one time we swerved and I wasn't prepared for it. I know in reality I probably only leaned out the open door maybe ten inches, but at the moment it felt like I was hanging perpendicular out the door, my head over the pavement. My friend Sharon though prefers that seat. She says it's because it's easier to get out when she's at her spot, but I know it's because she likes the added danger and thrill of it.

   The next trick is getting out. I have to tell the bus driver where I am getting off, he'll pull over and if I'm in an inside seat, it may require crawling over people to make it out. Sometimes they are nice enough to get out and let me out, or are at least skinny enough for me to squeeze by. Sometimes not. If I am in the front seat, I have to pretend to be smooth and open the door like a pro. This can be tricky because sometimes the inner handle doesn't work, and I have to stick my hand out the window and open it from the outside. Look smooth. Look smooth. Try to look as little like the blatant foreigner that I am.

   I know with time, I will become more and more confident using this “system” of transportation, but until then, it's a pretty entertaining adventure every time. Actually, it will probably always be an entertaining adventure for me.