4.12.2006
This is my latest submission to the magazine I write for. Names, and characters have beem changed because thats what you do, none the less, The stories are real and happened to me, and one other @er.I once walked five miles home just to avoid talking to another cab driver. Its not that I didn't have the money or couldn't flag one down, and for once the language barrier wasn't an issue. I was simply mortified by the previous cab driver I had been locked in with two hours earlier.
There comes a time in a man's life when he's forced to put up or shut up. I thought that time had come during the fights and normal child hood hazing we get back in America from our friends, but at 24, it became evident that my education had left me unprepared.The truly torturous confrontation that was about to take place was looming over the horizon.
I got in the cab at half past and asked the cabbie to head towards Zamalek. I've made it a point to always greet every cab driver with a hopeful greeting. "Salaam Alekum," I say, which I'm told, by my Egyptian friends, means peace be with you. I just want to get the point across that I'm trying my best with the language and trying to be polite and un-American. This particular cabbie spoke a little English which he used in a particularly merciless way against me. Started out simple, "Where you from?" he says.
"America!" I like saying that word.
"America, no no… don't say… say Espana or Francia…. No say America. Where you from?"
"America." It sounds even better when you're not supposed to say it.
"Bush BAD!"
That was startling; I've never had a taxi driver who felt so emphatic about shrubbery. I don't like it either, so I said so, and the political conversation went on. I asked him if he had a family, he asked me where in America I was from; and then he was pantomiming what a Chicago Gangster looks like while shooting a Tommy Gun at people.
Zamalek kept getting further away.
"America… yeah… Sex!" It would have been better if he hadn't have been moving his hips and…you know… any way. "Yeah sex! You like sex? You have sex all time in America?"
"It seems that you have me confused with Brad Pitt. I know the resemblance is…"
"Yeah, Sex you like to have sex American!" At this point, he actually started screaming "SEX" at the windshield and was honking the horn in rhythm with the motion of his hips. How is this happening to me in Egypt? Is this, given the opportunity to express themselves, what the average Egyptian thinks is going on in America?
Other than the chair dance… and the screaming… and maybe the honking too, I guess he's right; we certainly do focus a lot on sex. I spent that night walking and thinking about the cab driver and wondering why I was so surprised and taken aback by his behavior. Maybe he just got the opportunity to take advantage of the shinny happy American next to him. And it happens from time to time.
I'm about as big of a target as they come. Very light skinned, straight hair and completely un-Egyptian. I have a tendency towards smiling and usually over pay cab drivers by two or three pounds to avoid hassles. This is why my flat mate usually deals with that brand of craziness, which he finds much less exacerbating. He laughs at their candor and usually has something witty to say in the place of the uncomfortable silence and is ready to argue about any fare, any time.
"American girls, they like sex," says another cab driver. Another cab, different night, same old $hit. He doesn't know it, but this driver is about to make a mistake and apologize for the next twenty minutes.
Looking back, he should have just left off at this point. God bless American girls, I thought. I thought he was going to continue with "ham'du'ala"…
Cab Driver: "American girls have sex all the time… slutty."
Flat Mate: "You know my mother's an American girl, right?"
And we get a free taxi ride.
Since my five mile Cairo hike, I've made my peace with the taxi drivers of the city. I walk a lot, but not because I'm avoiding cab drivers. I walk a lot because I really miss the mountains and hiking in Luxor and back home in America, which the unevenness of Cairo sidewalks reminds me of…
…Hand in hand with my girlfriend, walking down a Luxor street. We are taking in the night air and just enjoying being in Egypt. We just finished Shisha and tea and we are heading back to our boat when an Egyptian in a galabeya walks up and asks me where I'm from.
"America." I like saying that word.
"You want smoke some hashish, some Mary Jane?" he says. I turn him down and he keeps walking with us and offering illicit substances to us. Finally he says…"Sex, you like sex? You want sex?"
I look down at my girl's hand in my own, and take a breath.
"No thanks."
Wednesday, April 12, 2006 :: ::
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mikey :: permalink
2 Comments:
-
it's amazing what good editing can do for your stories...
By BG, at April 13, 2006 3:25 AM
really enjoyed it man... -
That was purely enjoyable. Billy Brison-esque experience in Egypt.
By sakit, at May 01, 2006 2:00 PM
Thanks!
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