Cairo, the 6th September, 2009

“Just another regular day…”

7.30h a.m.– I woke up too early in such a state of excitement that it seemed someone had injected my veins with ecstasy during my sleep. What happened?!

The Best good morning kissing – Check
Evian water drinking before I can even take the first breath of the morning – Check
Breakfast doing justice to my fame of being a true “gourmandise” (fruit, yoghurt and dry fruits of the season, courtesy of Ramadan plus honey with sprinkled cinnamon and mint) – Check
Fast shower and taking care of my babies (more kisses, kisses, kisses and tummies rubbing) – Check

9.00h a.m.– In order to move faster – and spare some much needed money, may I add – I caught the subway till downtown Cairo and handled the already customary staring from all the ladies in my carriage. Better from the ladies than from the gentlemen, may I also add.
I dig my head into the book I’m reading and pretend no one is observing me or making cute remarks on me. Thanks God I also brought my new AMAZING Gucci sun glasses. They cover my eyes and the fascination that they cause in both women and men.
I am a fan of the ladies carriage (the subway is segregated until a certain time at night: women and men travel in separate sections of the subway). Never in my life did I think I could enjoy segregation.
Until I moved to Egypt!

I pass by my favourite “used magazine” stand near from the American University. They always get me some goodies I cannot get anywhere else: old VOGUES and Vanity Fairs with incredible fashion photography, Oprah’s (my not so secret addiction) and even some incredible books already vanished from regular bookshops.
My Oprah’s didn’t come. I am pissed and cranky. It’s too early in the morning for me to be contradicted or for my wills not to be attended plus I resist the craving for my “chai latte” not to receive the Ramadan reproach remarks I’ve been receiving all the times I was caught sipping on something in public during fasting time.
Grrrrrrrrrrrr…

10.00h – Taking care of bank issues – boring, boring, boring…
There’s a guy – Lebanese from his looks and fancy dressing – “trying” to hit on me right by the cashier by my side. I say “trying!” because I am not the easiest pick up choice. In fact, I am a real challenge to all Arabic Don Juans who are used to blink an eye and get any girl at their feet.
I’ve seen it all, sweet pies. I’ve done it all and I am well satisfied with what I got, thank you.
Not easy to impress me, guys! You gotta do much better than the winking and stalking…L

I turn my face around, I make funny, ugly faces and the guy is still smitten…
”what a nerd”…and yet, he’s kind of cute! He is! (disagreeing with yet another female role model widely spread in the Middle East, I – moi, a woman, as far as I know – love to see a handsome man. Women are supposed to be beautiful and young but men presume they can get away looking like Frankenstein and this chauvinist society supports them in this illusion).

No, it is not enough to carry a huge belly and a fat wallet exhibiting the man’s riches. Sorry, guys, you have to get more assets than those, for God’s sake.
I do LOVE and appreciate a HANDSOME MAN, thank you very much!
Women only accept less than that due to lack of choice, for money or to a rare disease called love. Brains, a clean heart, character and courage are also treats that can compensate – for me – when the physical beauty is not particular of a man but still…I love to see a handsome, well groomed man.

Otherwise, believe me…women – as much as men – love to look at a handsome man, love to feel a great perfume on a man when he passes by and so on…please don’t fool yourselves or us!

Back to reality:
Oh, noooo… even if he’s kind of cute, forget about it. I am not the flirting type and it puts me off that a guy is so obviously hitting on me while cashing his checks and talking on the phone (talk about a real multi-tasker!).

I leave the bank and the guy follows me. I literally run away from him and escape into Egyptair office where I happily receive my plain ticket to Portugal!
Oh, God…I miss Portugal, my family and my friends…some piece of PEACE and normality.

I receive a total “star treatment” at Egyptair. Everybody knows my name and congratulate me for my work, even the “mohagabas” who giggle and act like Tamer Hosny just landed on their office. What a wonderful surprise!
How do they know me???Does this crowd go out and watch Oriental Dance?!
I wouldn’t imagine so…
Well, it feels GREAT and embarrassing, at the same time.

11.30h a.m. – Back to the subway where I am, then again, stared upon. The usual.
Should I stick a rubber booger to my nose and let the crowds go crazy over me for a REASON?! Sometimes, I cannot take the pressure of being observed and scrutinized ALL THE TIME. I just feel like doing something obnoxious that justifies all the staring. A huge plastic booger (but looking real, yeah!!!) would do the trick, I guess.
Where do they sell them?

12.30h a.m. – Torture time at Mobinil, the mobile enterprise that handles my internet and telephone lines. I have been robbed by Mobinil and the return of the money – more than 7000 pounds illegally taken from my personal account without my knowledge or authorization– has been delayed for more than one month.
It’s scaring how a credible (???) enterprise like Mobinil can steal money from a client’s account and there’s no one responsible who can rectify the crime.
I go crazy and torture the poor employee that attends me for two hours.
Yes, two hours! He tells me to relax, calm down and sit down. No, thanks. I prefer to put up an Opera Show in order to get my hardly earned money back.

On tonight:
“Aida” (for some Egyptian flair) or “La Traviatta” ( for drama and romance).
At your choice.
“I am not leaving this place until I have my money back. Be sure of that.” – I yell at the already tired ears of the employee. I ask for the manager but he’s hiding like a dog in his office. “Let the poor employee face the crowds while the manager is hiding in his office like a mouse” seems to be the company’s motto.

“Aren’t there any REAL MEN around here?! So much chauvinism and bragging and yet…no REAL MEN!”

For some long moments, I swear I can see tears of despair in his eyes.
The weird think about the Opera show I had to put up at Mobinil is that I am not even the “yelling” type. I usually am very assertive and even aggressive when dealing with professional or any external business with men around here but never yell. No need for that.
When I say NO, everybody who knows me can be sure that there is no turning back. I mean “NO” and no one can change my mind. I’m soft and yet tough and impose authority by giving the right example.
No need to be hysterical (I even openly dislike hysterical type but…)

Except in this hard Mobinil case. Being calm and assertive would only get my ass gently and effectively kicked. The fact that I went alone – meaning: no man by my side – also played against me as men usually see women as silly and weak.
Well, they did see who was fragile and how many decibels my voice could reach…that’s for sure!

Surprise of the “Medieval Torture” episode: the punished employee must have thought all my yelling and stomping was sexy so he too hit on me and ask me if he could call me outside work, risking an even bigger scandal and being fired (although I don’t think any Egyptian boss would fire an employee for trying to pick up a female client).
I could not believe what my ears listened. I was dumbstruck and fastly travelling to the edge of an eminent collapse.

The guy didn’t get permission to call me (duh!) but I finally got my stolen money back. Yelling hysterically in the middle of Mobinil staff and clients proved to be much more efficient than any civilized approach I ever tried before. I guess we have to revue our social codes and their consequences. Human societies are, indeed, strange, dark places to be living in.
By the way, the audience chose “La Traviatta” for the Opera session (we’re all romantic freaks deep inside).

How will I perform tonight after all this stress?!

15.00h – Moroccan bath – “Hamman magrhebi”. What should have been a relaxing time became another medieval torture, only this time I was the victim and not the offender.
The Moroccan lady who baths me must have had some episode with Mobinil or worse and I was her scapegoat. Yes!
She rubbed me with the “loofah” with such might and aggressive manners that I feared I might had been chosen to roast as a chicken for “iftar”. Will she take me directly to the barbecue spot after my skin no longer exists?!
I had to plead with her to stop hurting me several times and I spent the whole time in a fetus position, fearing for my skin and for my life.

I often find that most Arabic women have a strange relation with their own body and the body of other women. Due to the demands of beauty – the biggest asset for women in the Middle East, besides being sweet, submissive, domestic/family oriented and weak brained- women around here seem to be prone to endure self inflicted pain even more than their western counterparts. They know, by instinct and education, that women are born to suffer and that it’s worth to support any physical pain in order to look their best and attract or maintain the attention of men .
Plastic surgery never was so successful as in the Middle East (Lebanese win this battle having been transformed into authentic plastic dolls!) and I’ve observed the way women touch themselves and others is aggressive and harsh. No consideration, sensibility or sweetness for their own skin. Strange…
They handle their own body as if it was a marble chair. No sensibility, no pleasure or love for their own skin. That might also be one of the reasons why the “hamman” lady dealt so insensitive towards my own body which I happen to love and cherish like the treasure it really is.

LITTLE RULE to REMEMBER: Stressed women – like me!- should not be allowed to bath another women. Outch!
It’s still hurting.
At least someone will enjoy a damned soft, sweet – almost inexistent – skin tonight. Point taken. It was worth the suffering.

16.00h – Fast lunch with a poor friend who heard me complain about my tiring morning and the murder attempt at the Moroccan Bath place.
Risotto with mushrooms – delicious – tomato soup and other entries and…a fabulous tiramisu that left me with water in my mouth (I want more of that, please……..) and a company so sweet that I remembered not everybody is plain crazy in this fascinating town. Thanks, sweetie! You saved my day.

How am I going to perform tonight?! HOW???????????

18.00h – Dressing up in a hurry, hair, make-up, perfume. All check.
My assistant is arriving with her home made food (bless you, Nagle!) and my driver is waiting downstairs to take me to work (fancy, fancy).
I feel exhausted and try to convince myself that I dance the best when I am overtly tired. No tension, no thoughts, no wanting to please or insecurities simply because…I am too tired for that. And the result is, usually, great! Let’s hope this is one of those nights.

19.00h – I fall asleep in the car on my way to work.
Arriving, landing on my back-stage room and on my favourite long armed chair with my hot tea held in one hand and my exhaustion held in the other hand. Tea and exhaustion go great together!
The chief of the orchestra wants to know what’s on the menu today (program of the show that I change every day) and I am so over the top tired that I whisper some Om Kolthoum song and “the usual”.
- What usual?! There’s no usual. You change it constantly! – He reminded me, forcing me to think (why? why? why?).
I make an effort to concentrate and come up with songs we haven’t done in a while. I don’t even ask for a rehearsal before the stage.
My guard is down, clearly.

23.00h – I can’t believe how amazing work was tonight! My theory – when tired, relaxed and, therefore, amazing in dancing – has worked perfectly tonight, thanks God.
Audiences were AMAZING and I danced for myself and between worlds – conscious and unconscious due to my extreme sleepiness – curiously reaching people much better than when I am making efforts and “really trying”. Life has these surprises.
My tonight tabla solo was the best, so far…(Thanks, Mobinil!)
After stealing from me, driving me crazy and putting me in the best/worst mood for work, Mobinil should sponsor me, now there’s a thought.

24.00h – I am at home eating dinner and thinking: Am I going crazy too?!

Just another ordinary day.