Egypt in Stages

I have a test today. A big test. On last three chapters in Al-Kitab II. And judging by my (and most of my class’) performance earlier this week (we had a predatory “quiz”), it ain’t gonna be fun and it ain’t gonna be pretty. So I’m blogging to avoid the studying that comes before the test, which is similarly unfun and ugly. (Speaking of which I think that the word for Zebra might actually be “Hemar Wahish” or “Ugly Donkey” and not “Ugly Horse” as was previously posted. Please accept my retraction and apologies.)
But what WAS fun was yesterday. I have three stories. They come in chronological order:

~Mahalat Alef (stage one)::: Before Class~
I was walking to class. It was 8:35am. I had forgotten any food I might have had for the day at the hotel that is my dwelling place, and I wanted to buy some fruit. So I stopped at the little corner store (the Egyptian equivalent of a mini-mart or Makolet, if you will) to purchase a couple bananas or something. I step up to the fruit display and I see a cigarette butt hanging out - still smoking - in the grapes. Disgusted, and happy I had never intended to buy any grapes, I put lifted the bunch of grapes, dropped the smoldering piece of trash to the ground, and stomped it out. The owner of the store comes over to me, chuckling (“You foolish American child,” he’s thinking). He waves for me to look at the rest of the fruit, which I suddenly realize is ALSO smoking. Using mostly hand motions he explains that what I thought was a cigarette butt is actually incense and that it’s supposed to be there and that I just stomped out his fruit-freshener and fly-keeper-away-er of the morning. Mortified, I look around, but the three lady customers are chuckling, and the store owner is still grinning.

~ Mahalat Ba (stage two)::: During Class ~
So Muhammad Sayeed designated half an hour for conversation in class yesterday. We were supposed to discuss our “family problems”. So, of course, Andy and I had to discuss OUR marital issues. So Andy announced that the problem is that I take drugs. I responded: Of COURSE I take drugs, because YOU’RE so difficult to deal with (Esther: I don't actually take drugs. This is a joke). But what happened next was what was funny. Muhammad Sayeed -- this wonderful, portly, mustachioed, case-ending-speaking, galabia-at-home wearing, devout Muslim, fiercely nationalistic man -- proceeds to demonstrate someone to take drugs. First he takes heroine. Ties himself off and shoots up. Then coke. Complete with the eyes-rolling-into-the-back of his head and convulsing part. It was so shocking all we could do was explode with laughter. The running class joke and Muhammad Sayeed’s mad acting skills had struck again. The class was on the floor. I really do like my Fusha teacher.
{Later that day...or, actually, very early the next day:}

~ Mahalat Jim/Gim (depending on your location)::: After Class ~
I went to the gym. Then I went to Carrefour (a sort of mall/supermarket/foodcourt) and studied in a coffee shop for a couple hours with a friend. But by 7:30ish I was ready to go back to the hotel and she was staying. So I got in a cab by myself. The conversation began when he asked an outrageous price and I negotiated him back to normal. The conversation immediately progressed to the “so are you married?” conversation -- typical.
“No,” I say. “I’m not married”. Bad idea.
“Why not,” says he. “Marriage is wonderful. I myself am engaged.”
“Congratulations!” I exclaim. WHEW.
“I’m only 21. I have lots of time.”
“You’re old! The time is now!” O dear. “I have a friend,” he continues.
“Oh…?” Uh oh.
“He might like to be your husband.” Indeed...?!
“How about if we're just friends?” I use two synonyms for friend to make it clear I really have no desire for an engagement party tomorrow.
“That might work. His name is Muhammad.” Of course it is. What’s your phone number, I’ll give it to him and he’ll call you.”
“I forget my phone number.” Lies. “How about you give me yours? That would be easier…” So he gives me his number and I think I’m safe because the power is in my hands. Even though he knows where I live (he was a cabbie, after all). How wrong I was.
He called me today. Twice. Once while I hung up on him in class and once whenI have a test today. A big test. On last three chapters in Al-Kitab II. And judging by my (and most of my class’) performance earlier this week (we had a predatory “quiz”), it ain’t gonna be fun and it ain’t gonna be pretty. So I’m blogging to avoid the studying that comes before the test, which is similarly unfun and ugly. (Speaking of which I think that the word for Zebra might actually be “Hemar Wahish” or “Ugly Donkey” and not “Ugly Horse” as was previously posted. Please accept my retraction and apologies.)

So I took my test today. It was awful. Really awful. But now its 2:32 am, I have class at 8:45am, and am getting on a bus to get on a plane (I think) to Aswan tomorrow night. Tired and hot will be the two most munasib (appropriate) adjectives to describe what I expect to feel this weekend. As for music, today's is Rufus Wainwright's version of Halleluja. Because if I had a mood ring it would be white. And if I had some coffee it would be black. And if I had a piano, I'd be playing this song.