Past - Present-Continuous
The weather is beautiful these days. In the evening there is a sweet chill that calms your senses. I put on my pink blouse and lime-green scarf and went out, right while the sun was getting ready to say goodbye. I walked the streets of Zamalek leisurely, bought a bag of Maltesers…and as I walked around I looked up and there they were, two ladies having afternoon tea in their balcony. I paused, I was once that girl, sitting with her grandmother in the cool afternoon, chatting about those coming and going and reminiscing about the good old days.
I used to be that girl. I used to be too many things.
Then I walked over to church, there is yet another wedding. The surprise was, the groom was my friend. I thought he had already gotten married…I guess they were only engaged. The vibrant young couple came down the stairs, making their way through hundreds of congratulations. I saw so many college friends by the door, it truly was some sort of divine appointment.
and I thought about the years I spent in college in the States...and how I am left with one friend, only one true friend. I wonder if I wasted the best moments, the joys, the laughs, the tears, the exams, the proms, the breakups, the get togethers, the weddings...
I had been at another wedding last weekend...I ran into almost about everyone I've know in Cairo before I left...and I wondered how funny life is... Funny how some things don't work out...and funny how they do! I've seen couples we're known all through teenage and college years, after they've split up, and both seem happily married to other people...and I've seen the bride and groom who've been high school and college sweet hearts and here they are tying the knot!
I enjoyed the wedding and enjoyed seeing all the people I had missed so much...and I wondered if I'd get invited to such a nice wedding anytime soon...Those who were my close friends are already married, and those new friends are not that close, and those I used to care about are not part of my life anymore...
Funny how some things don't work out, and yet some do.
Last Sunday was the second strike, and I went to work as usual. We were having a performance that evening, at the Diplomatic Club in downtown, where Mohamed Ali Pasha used to have all his cabinet meetings. That morning, I must’ve hailed at least 10 cabs in those 5 minutes, and no one would head out to Dokki. The cabby would raise his hand and shake his head No, as though he was asking God forgiveness for even considering going to Dokki. I could hear him in my head going “astakhfor allah, Dokki?!” I called my co-worker: “is Dokki on fire? Are there National Guards and Demonstrations? I mean what in God’s name is going on? We’re talking about a 6 km distance!”
Finally one of those 1970’s Lada came by, two Hollakos were riding in the front, but no matter, I am at point of desperation. Thankfully, the driver said “etfadaly yea fandem”
As soon as I got in I reached for my iPod but something about the ongoing conversation pulled me in. The way the man sitting next to the driver was magical, his pronunciation was music to my ears. I had not heard Arabic spoken with such elegance for a long time. I could care less about the sick wife and the retired neighbor, after all I don’t know these people. But the conversation got really interesting when they starting discussing Metro rails in China, and their “troupe’s “ visit and how it went. My curiosity wagged its tiny tail…give me more. Despite my policy of not engaging with strangers, I decided I must ask. “Sir, what is it that you used to do before you retired.” The man gently turns and says “I was the Maestro for the Reda Dance Troupe, and Mr…(and he points at the driver) was a chareographer.”
My jaw dropped. Reda Dance Troupe! This guy has got to be playin’ me! I love the troupe, I know all their dances and memorize their songs and their moves! I was in state of permanent shock. After expressing my adoration, I invited them to our upcoming concert on May 15th.
A few hours later, I stood in front of many suits, in the presence of over a hundred years of grande history. At first it was amazing, I felt great. Yet as the night progressed, I found that my inspiration came from the waiters, who were dressed the same way waiters were dressed a hundred years ago. Scenes from Roda Kalby kept coming to my mind, and I wondered, if we were standing here 100 years ago, which costume would my closest friends be wearing? And would they have liked it?
Perhaps I do like the revolution after all.
I used to be that girl. I used to be too many things.
Then I walked over to church, there is yet another wedding. The surprise was, the groom was my friend. I thought he had already gotten married…I guess they were only engaged. The vibrant young couple came down the stairs, making their way through hundreds of congratulations. I saw so many college friends by the door, it truly was some sort of divine appointment.
and I thought about the years I spent in college in the States...and how I am left with one friend, only one true friend. I wonder if I wasted the best moments, the joys, the laughs, the tears, the exams, the proms, the breakups, the get togethers, the weddings...
I had been at another wedding last weekend...I ran into almost about everyone I've know in Cairo before I left...and I wondered how funny life is... Funny how some things don't work out...and funny how they do! I've seen couples we're known all through teenage and college years, after they've split up, and both seem happily married to other people...and I've seen the bride and groom who've been high school and college sweet hearts and here they are tying the knot!
I enjoyed the wedding and enjoyed seeing all the people I had missed so much...and I wondered if I'd get invited to such a nice wedding anytime soon...Those who were my close friends are already married, and those new friends are not that close, and those I used to care about are not part of my life anymore...
Funny how some things don't work out, and yet some do.
Last Sunday was the second strike, and I went to work as usual. We were having a performance that evening, at the Diplomatic Club in downtown, where Mohamed Ali Pasha used to have all his cabinet meetings. That morning, I must’ve hailed at least 10 cabs in those 5 minutes, and no one would head out to Dokki. The cabby would raise his hand and shake his head No, as though he was asking God forgiveness for even considering going to Dokki. I could hear him in my head going “astakhfor allah, Dokki?!” I called my co-worker: “is Dokki on fire? Are there National Guards and Demonstrations? I mean what in God’s name is going on? We’re talking about a 6 km distance!”
Finally one of those 1970’s Lada came by, two Hollakos were riding in the front, but no matter, I am at point of desperation. Thankfully, the driver said “etfadaly yea fandem”
As soon as I got in I reached for my iPod but something about the ongoing conversation pulled me in. The way the man sitting next to the driver was magical, his pronunciation was music to my ears. I had not heard Arabic spoken with such elegance for a long time. I could care less about the sick wife and the retired neighbor, after all I don’t know these people. But the conversation got really interesting when they starting discussing Metro rails in China, and their “troupe’s “ visit and how it went. My curiosity wagged its tiny tail…give me more. Despite my policy of not engaging with strangers, I decided I must ask. “Sir, what is it that you used to do before you retired.” The man gently turns and says “I was the Maestro for the Reda Dance Troupe, and Mr…(and he points at the driver) was a chareographer.”
My jaw dropped. Reda Dance Troupe! This guy has got to be playin’ me! I love the troupe, I know all their dances and memorize their songs and their moves! I was in state of permanent shock. After expressing my adoration, I invited them to our upcoming concert on May 15th.
A few hours later, I stood in front of many suits, in the presence of over a hundred years of grande history. At first it was amazing, I felt great. Yet as the night progressed, I found that my inspiration came from the waiters, who were dressed the same way waiters were dressed a hundred years ago. Scenes from Roda Kalby kept coming to my mind, and I wondered, if we were standing here 100 years ago, which costume would my closest friends be wearing? And would they have liked it?
Perhaps I do like the revolution after all.
posted by Critical Dreamer at 4:05 PM
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