Min Misr 

June - July 2018 

[Egypt, Kuwait and Istanbul]

  ‘One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.’

                                                                                Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums.                                                                         

 

10/06/18

I write, sitting crossed legged in the sky with dry eyes and a dehydrated mind; my water has rolled under the seat of a sleeping man. He looks too peaceful to disturb. It’s funny to think that my day began running around the Cemetery in Bow Church and speaking to Judith, my new house mate, about the issues of processed, sugar-injected dates (the fruits of course, not the romantic dates). Even weirder to my taste, than over-sugared dates, was the fact that I was on time for my bus to the airport. Sitting on the bus waiting for the other passengers, with five minutes to spare, I wondered whether I was healthy enough to travel. I was of course, I was just organised for once. An hour later, I was no longer thinking about my health but instead, whether I would be able to survive the chaos of Stansted airport. It was a mess, and the extra charge of £40 for my pathetic excuse of a travel guitar, only numbed any humour I had left for the grossness of the place. As I passed one of the coffee kiosks, I envisioned my 18-year-old self, that had once snoozed by the side of it. Her feet on her backpack, feeling the dusty scraps of tobacco in the pocket of her tie die cottons. I tried to reignite that youthfulness and adventure that I had only three years ago when I first began to travel. To my disappointment, throughout the whole of the security check nonsense, I couldn’t find any reasons to smile let alone laugh.Despite my grumpy face, I was happy that my pot of humous and cow bones managed to get though security despite a full search of my ‘I <3 Hackney’ handbag (yes, one of those crappy hessian things which promote crappy middle-class things, in this case of this bag, gentrification). Although, the bag scan meant I only had ten minutes before my gate opens. Being so, I quickly grabbed a litre bottle of Rum (Audrey’s request), a travel adapter (basic mistake to forget the one I already had), and two pregnancy tests (don’t ask), then hopped on the airport train to the gates where I dipped a squashed cucumber sandwich into a pot of hummus.We had been making eyes at each other since the check in, me and this guy who wearing a car racing kit under an oversized parker jacket that looked enough to keep any person warm in Icelandic winters. I think his mishmash attire, plus the plastic Sainsburys bag he was carrying, was the first reason to take a glance over the shoulders of others. We made a few smiles at each stop, waiting for the terminal bus and at the check in. BLURGH just speak to him, I thought. I made small talk about the queue we were standing in. He couldn’t speak so much English and didn’t really seem to interested in talking. To him, especially with my stupid handbag, I was probably just another one of those white women who look as though they are proud of wear comfortable but ugly sandals. Nevertheless, we spoke as we were walking up the steps of the plane. He said he was traveling to Istanbul to see his family as he quit his job in London. Nothing more was said. However, plenty was said however between myself and the person I sat next to on the plane. His name was Saam. At first, I thought I overheard him talking to the man next to him saying that he worked in a restaurant in London however, when I asked him, he mentioned that he worked for the UN. Hmm, I thought to myself. That’s a bit of a contrast and surely, if he did work for the UN, he would not be sitting on the cheapest flight to Istanbul with two KitKat’s and a packet of prawn cocktail crisps. Although, not to the happiness of my stereotype, my judgement was wrong. Only a few minutes into the conversation he was showing me pictures of him in a graduate gown and later him giving trainings to fellow students. When he told me that he does ethnographic documentaries, my popped eardrum ears pricked. And again, it was true, showing me the pictures of him in a Yazidi village with a film camera, he suited the stories he told. It wasn’t long after this conversation that we were sharing headphones and listening to Leonard Cohen and some X-Factor finalist whose name I thankfully can no longer remember. We chatted enough for me to feel confident enough to pass over my headphones to play a song I had written. It was called ‘sign me up’. It was about giving up on love – Mainly on the love between Louis and I which seemed to be verging on a relationship that I felt was dying. I wasn’t sure if my new friend was listening or enjoying my song but either way, I gained a little confidence just knowing that a headphone stayed in his ear for a while. As we landed we exchange contact details then went our separate ways.  I had two hours to kill in Istanbul airport so I went to do a pregnancy test in the toilet. Something which I would of never of imagined that I would do in an airport. I had the all clear. Alhamdullilah. By this time, with the hassle at Stansted on top of the airless airplane, I was feeling vacant. Vacant enough for me to wonder aimlessly into Starbucks (a place I consciously avoid) and eat the biscuits which someone had left on the table. They looked fine. I guessed they were from an Arab family whose customs tell them not to take unfinished foods from the table. Hearing the multiple announcements to the flight to Kuwait, I was reminded of Ahmed’s longing to see his mother. Tangled in his frustrations, I made my way towards the gate, on the way, I passed two giggling old men bubbling away in massage chairs, their white Abayas shaking over them like a parachute in a tumble dryer. They looked like jolly snowmen but was Arab faces. The sight was enough to reignite any human emotion I had left.  I looked around the airport and tried to tell which people were going where; the women in the red headscarf and plaited hairs, the frizzy haired man with a guitar strapped to his back, the old women wearing a leather jacket over her leathered skin. The answer was to Sharm Ash-Sheik or Gozey, a region in Russia. I thought of the differences between the two places and everything in-between to help me pass the waiting time.  The flight wasn’t as long as I had expected although, with no one up for a chat, it felt much longer. I attempted to chat with the Brazilian guy next to me however, he moved his head away from me as though I had eaten a garlic a day since twelve. I was pretty sure that my breath didn’t smell. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk. Not tired yet, I found a row of seats, crossed my legs and began to write to the sound of some 90’s pop-rock. On arrival to Sharm, I attempted by first shot at speaking. Now I think of it, it was a stupid place to do so; a place where there are probably more English speakers than Egyptian. Probably why I had more lowered eyebrows directed my way. Standing in the que for the Visa, I prayed the last que of the day, a bottle smashed and port began to pour across the hall which was far too oversized for the amount of people in it. He was s small yet stocky man from a Polish or Ukrainian (I couldn’t tell) man and he was very drunk. So drunk that he could barely stand without holding onto the barriers of the railing which were splashing around in the whiskey that was slowly creeping a trail towards the immigration booths. Who knows how he managed to get so drunk on a flight. As the bottle was pouring over the tiled four and spreading its way into the queuing people, he was shouting for help, or for something similar yet no one did anything a part formed make a big enough space around him and the liquid. He was now swaying, standing in a bottle of port and had a crowd of Muslim families around him, covering their children’s eyes from the sight. Eventually the drunk man stumbled under the barriers and towards the chairs only a few metres away. With the whiskey underneath his small plimsoles, he struggled. He danced across the tiled floor arms and legs circling in a comical fashion. So comical that the que of over a hundred people only stood and laughed, and now their children pointing their fingers. Only a couple of arm swinging’s later, he had landed on his back and lay there like a dying beetle waiting for a gust of wind to flip him over. Again, people only stood and laughed. I didn’t find it so funny however (I told you I had lost humour since Stansted), he was alone and more so he couldn’t speak any English let alone Arabic. I wondered what the hell he was doing here and more so whether he would make it back. Either way, unlike the families standing and staring, I couldn’t just stand still or even smile. This guy, whoever he was, needed a had at least onto the chairs. With my silly handbag, silly guitar, and my own litre of Rum, I ducked under the barrier and offered my hand. At this point, seeing me struggle with my skinny arms to lift the man’s body weight, the security guard made his way over to help.

As the Port was being hoovered, the drunk man sat there as I returned back to the que where I received a fair share of dodgy looks. The que was cancelled right before my turn and I was asked whether I knew the man. Of course, I said that I didn’t but nevertheless I asked for a bottle of water to be given to him then returned to the back of the next que. The immigration officer in the next que was a clown. He was wearing a multicoloured shirt and right blue trousers. If only immigration officers in the UK could be like this. He mimed an action of kicking to following passengers through the office and asked people the strangest of questions. Thank god, someone to ignite my hope in humanity I thought. As I made my way past the immigration offices, he walked off in front of me, chest out and bum pronounced, as any clown. Walking as if he had a place to be, he let off a fart loud enough for me to hear and, with the small hop in his step, he then turned to wink at me. After the long journey, I had to check that I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t quite prepared to barter for a taxi, something that I promised myself that I would practice whilst here. Twenty-five dollars for a twenty-minute ride was far beyond my stating price of five. I through in my well phrased ‘I am a student and I work’ phrase however still, I only managed a few pounds off. I gave up eventually and, in a sulk, headed to the taxi of a man who charged me roughly fifteen pounds. In my sulk, I kept quiet for a while until I asked him whether he liked living here. Of course, he didn’t, he hated everything about it, and looking from the car window at the empty hotel rooms and ‘diner’ signs, I wasn’t surprised. Like many that lived here, he was another one who had travelled from the outskirts of Cairo to earn a few more wages for the wife and children. Since Britain and Russia had stopped flights to the area, the money has been less but still more than what he would earn in his city. We passed the security check outside of the hotel. There were three men sleeping in a police car. I then headed through the switched off body scanners just inside the hotel doors. Here it seems like security checks are a compulsory mod-con to advertise your hotel on booking.com. The hotel was full of chairs, but empty, only a small man again named Husaam was waiting behind the reception desk that, like the chairs seemed far too excessive for the quietness of the hotel. This place was a relic, like a sunken ship. A product of its time which was uncertain whether it would ever relive. You could see the remnants of its former life which hosted so many, empty ice-cream coolers, and outdated information maps. I had arrived in the skeleton of a tourist town; a hotel without any guests. After asking for a five-pound tip with a nervous laugh, Husaam showed me to my room and switched on the air conditioning. Like the others I had tried to practice my Arabic upon, Saam too gave me some funny looks. I don’t think anyone speaks fushah here. However, reminding myself that Egyptian pronounce their Jims as Gah’s, I managed to find out that breakfast was at 7am. An hour that I would certainly not be awake for. I organised my things which, as always, I had brought too many of, and then sat on the faux velvet chair of the room. Except the cockroaches, (whom I formally introduced myself too as a fellow roommate), the room reminded me of the caravan, it was groovy and the TV was one of those 70’s style box types. Like the hotel, the room was also telling of its past, there was a no longer working safe, a whirring aircon and packets of ‘Sandy’s beauty soap’ which, like the toilet seat was dusty. I tried to imagine the people who had stayed here over the years and the changes it had seen. I sat and ate an apple, not really knowing what the time was, wondering what I was doing here and when I should make my way back. I wasn’t sure on either but I made a promise to myself to stay positive.  The baby in the room next-door started to cry as, the sun began to glimpse through the patterned curtains. It was time to sleep. With condensation from the aircon dripping on my head, I switched of the lights.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

11/06/18

I awoke still asleep, in confusion of where I was. It usually takes my non-travelling brain around three days to adjust to waking up in another bed. I assumed that I had awoken late however, without a watch or phone I couldn’t tell. I peeped out of my bedroom window to see if I could make any judgement from the sun but of course, I couldn’t. I only burnt my tired eyes. Not really sure what to do, I unzipped my guitar case to find it broken. Broken. Of course, it was broken. It was always going to be broken since I paid an extra forty pound to take it with me. I sulked. I got over the broken guitar neck with a comforting vision of me fluently speaking to an Egyptian carpenter asking him to fix it. I stopped the sulking until then the kid next door started crying, until the pool DJ started playing, until my shower wouldn’t turn off. AH. A mess although, after a cup of tea and the last of the malt loaf that had flown over with me, I retained some sort of clarity. It was time to leave this place, besides my guide book was outdated and I wanted to see the place even if it was empty of people. The day was hot, so hot that even the wind seemed to burn you. I strolled towards the supermarket in which I didn’t really need anything apart from sun cream. I brought some for tourist prices. Everything was expensive here unless you were Egyptian, even the SIM cards which had cost me around ten pence in Cairo were eight pounds. I walked to the local super market in the old town to search for something cheaper. There were plenty of things, at Egyptian prices. I kept the place in mind for next time and got chatting to a friendly person who said if I had any worries he would help (I have to stop falling for these promises). I continued walking to the old market, every taxi shouting at me as I passed. The old town was in the least sense old, instead it was a seedy looking place with an oversized mosque which looked like something out of an Aladdin film set. Every part of the town suited the tackiness of the souvenir shops.  On the way to the town.To make my visit to seedy Sharm worthwhile I thought I’d keep an eye for a carpenter to help fix my guitar. I had a hope in one shop that I passed however there was no one in there. I tried the next. Sitting in there was a young boy, looking at the hair on his lip, he looked around fifteen. He wasn’t listening to a word that I was saying. Before leaving he asked me for a photo. Being young and looking bored alone in the shop I thought I’d entertain him. Although, as he moved the camera towards our faces he tried to kiss me on the cheek. Oh, here we go I thought. ‘Halas!’ I said and now thinking about it I should have left it at that. However, he apologised, the next picture he did the same whilst also forcefully groping me from behind. I shouted Halas then walked off. Now thinking about it, I really should have shouted it louder, or even hit him. I felt angry in myself for being so naïve once again however tried to dwell on it and promised myself not to get into similar situations. In a brisk stride I walked towards the beach, hoping that the sound of the weaves would wash away my worries. I was happy to see the Liquor store there too. The beach was nice, and it seemed only local and tourist Egyptians occupied it. Without thinking I laid on the sand and watched the waves and the children playing in the water. At last some quietness. It was really quiet too, in fact, like the rest of the town, the beach was surrounded by towering derelict beach resorts and green swimming pools. The sight of the empty rooms and the broken kids’ corners were becoming eerie and the horrors of what was experienced in 2005 came into my mind. I wondered what this place would be like if it never happened. I laid there for a while and dipped my legs into the sea. With this many local around and security guards I didn’t think it would be appropriate for me the to get into my cozzy. I then strolled back with Bob Dylan in my ears to watch the final glimpses of sunlight over the mountains that gave some beauty to this emptied tourist toy town.  I arrived to my room to find the shower still running, still no one had fixed it. As the tap that was broken was hot, my room had become as humid as a jungle – the big box TV didn’t work so healthily in it. I sat in my room for a while and reflected on the day, listening to the sound of running water. I began to imagine the town as a surreal Jack Kerouac setting, one with less Jazz bars and more plastic bags. It was a strange place. I headed down to the buffet for dinner. There are so many people here. People that must escape to the beaches in the day time instead of wonder around the crappy tourist shops like me. The buffet area was full, plates were smashing, dishes swinging out of the kitchen doors and children with jelly everywhere. It reminded me of the holiday places I used to go on as a kid. I sat in the corner and nibbled some salad with my book. Any one would think that I was like the souvenir shops – a relic of the town. I returned to my room to find the shower fixed then I went for a walk around the place. I headed over to see the views over the city and tried to spot the evil boy in the carpenters’ shop. Whilst standing there I felt a presence behind me and heard the shuffling sounds of flipflops. I turned to see no one but then looked down. There not just one pair of eyes looking back at me but ten. Ten wide brown eyes that were reflecting the green neon lights behind me. Children, lots of them. They were all staring at me like I had dropped from the sky. Well, come to think of it, I guess I had. I started to waffle some Arabic. I think they understood, but all of them were laughing like I was speaking gobbledygook. Either way, I felt a little more confident speaking with children, especially girls!    Foundoq Aida on the Horizon They were cool and of course, they wanted pictures. I was a white women novelty. They were all a part of the same family, all ten of them, and all here to celebrate the holidays. Some of their mothers came over and spoke to me, I found out that they were Coptic Christians form Alexandria. Instead of celebrating Eid, they came to party in a hotel resort. We chatted for a while and I tried to make them laugh but all I got was a giggle – most of them were at that age when laughing too hard ruins your creds. We headed towards the music and they boogied whilst, like an old lady, I got my bottle of water and puffed up my pillows ready for tomorrows solid day of writing and sleeping. I heard a knock on my door and wasn’t surprised to see the same sets of eyes standing there. They came to tell me that I had left my key in the door. Come in I said but with their parents standing near, I think they were too nervous too. Too right too, I looked like an alien in this place. Instead I decided to show them by bones and broken guitar; that was enough to scare them off for the night. They shut my bedroom door and said goodnight. Tomorrow they had a busy day at the beach. I had a busy day ahead too. Realising that there’s not so much to see in this town, I reminded myself of the reasons I decided to lock myself away in this cockroach creeping room. To write. To wrote about me and Ahmed. To finally get it out, whatever needs getting out. So, that’s the plans for tomorrow. No shopping or carpenter finding, just writing. On that note, now the showers finally been fixed, I will shut my dried-out eyes. Goodnight.                                                                                                                                               

 

12/06/18

So yesterday was a little more adventurous than planned, I am beginning to learn that the best of writing is when you get the days balance right between writing and doing. I began the day with half a plate of ful (Egyptian beans) and two slices of flat bread. Then, after some writing, I wondered towards reception to wait for the hotel bus to the beach. There were too many people to fit on one bus, especially with the children’s rubber rings. Even so, somehow, I managed to squeeze on.  I had no clue which beach I was being taken to or how I would get back, I just thought I would make use of the hotel free-bee. We only went down the road, a bit further up towards the beach that I went to yesterday expect this time, we had to pay. Nothing is for free ay. It was nicer though I must admit. I strolled along looking for a seat when I was invited to sit with a family. They were really cool, really chilled and I was happy to be with people that spoke to you like you were not a foreigner. They were a group of mainly people my own age, all cousins and the oldest was their aunt. They were from Giza. They offered me cake and some lib, I took it kindly. We got to know each other and before I knew it I was laying down with them reading my book beside their aunt and lifted onto their shoulders in the sea. It was a cool day (not weather wise of course). They had two young children with them Jan and Joyce who initially didn’t seem so keen on my presence although, only a few hours later we were drawing pictures of each other and they were calling my name. We stayed in the water for a long time and played games such as holding our breaths and swimming races. It was fun.    On the beach with the family We headed back to the hotel around three where I got into my room and turned on the aircon ready to write. After the fresh air of the sea it was a good writing session, stopping half way in between to take a look at the setting sun. It was hardly a break, like on the beach, every child wanted a picture with me and everyone wanted to know where I was from. I think next time I will lie and tell them I am Israeli or Russian, either that or wear a burka. After another short writing spurt I headed to dinner. Again, everyone was looking at me and, just because of my skin I was handed a special set of cutleries. It made me laugh. I sat with another family from Giza and tried to make conversation but, I think a couple of the young daughters were deaf and mute. I sat quietly and ate spicy carrots. I headed out to join the family from the beach. I had promised to dance with them. There was a DJ with some cheesy music. We dance around the place for a while with plenty of people watching. The kids joined and again were asking for photos. As more people crowded around us dancing I was beginning to feel a little awkward and my dancing no longer became natural. Feeling like I was being fought over, like a new toy, by multiple families and children, I decided to join Joyce to play cards. With my back to the crowds I thought I was in good hiding however, It wasn’t long however until another crowd had gathered around the table and the cards were taken away from Joyce. There were three men trying to show me magic tricks. I sat there trying to look as enthusiastic as possible. Some more pictures were taken until eventually I needed to stop. I tried to remind people that I wasn’t famous nor was I really as white as my skin was on the outside. I didn’t like pop music or fast cars. Eventually, I found myself sitting on the floor with the family I had spent the day with literally hiding from children with cameras. By this time Jan and Joyce, the children, were holding my hands and wanting me to run around with them. To be honest, with my lack of Arabic skills, I couldn’t communicate the best with them. In other words, my Arabic skills are lower than seven-year olds. For the night they invited me to Na’ama bay – the holiday resort up the coast that attracted the most tourists throughout the year although, of course, things were much quieter since the bombings. The place was even seedier than the town near to the hotel, it was one big ‘corniche’ filled with absolute tat. Mickey mouse people, KFC’s, ‘Asda’ off-licences and ‘cheap as chips’ souvenir shops; it was an ugly place. Nevertheless, it was cool just to chill with the people I had met and laugh at the craziness of the place. Leaving the children with the aunt in one of the cafes, we took a beer from the shop and tried to find a disco. There was a place open, but no people inside. We left. After another little stroll and realising that there were no people around, we strolled back to the café where OmLeila (the aunt) was sitting and brought some drinks. I had only one beer but it was enough to finish me off for the day, I was so tired, especially in the heat. I laid on the floor of the café with them and watched the dancers, stilt men, and puppet performers, do their things on the stage.  Now I think of it, the whole thing was nuts. Laying there with a family that adopted me for the day, drinking a beer with a dog farm owner and watching an old man kiss a puppet of a belly dancer. As is life ay. We went back to the hotel in a taxi, the wind was blowing through the window, enough for it to hurt my eyes. I watched as Joyce sat on her grandmother’s lap in the front and put her hand out of the window watching her arm being pushed back as she moved her arm. Something I used to do as a child. It was a nice moment. I should have really gone to bed when we got back to the hotel however, I decided to join them in their rooms to play cards. I could hardly think let alone work out how to play a new game. I failed at the games they were trying to teach me however, we later played a game of ‘ashook’ – or, as I call it Bullshit. We had a few good games and I broke my will and took a cigarette (why is it always at the very last moment?) so I decided to leave it at that.  At 3am the day was definitely done.                                                                                                                                                                           

13/06/18  

Unsurprisingly I woke late, late enough to miss breakfast. With puffy eyes, I strolled out into the burning sun in search of tea. I spent most of the morning just waking up and saying goodbye to the wonderful family. I will miss them already, I enjoyed my time with them. I said that I would visit them in Giza when I go. After a slow and lazy morning, really wishing that I hadn’t taken that cigarette last night, I strolled to the beach with my book. Again, I passed by the creepy derelict building.  I slept on the beach, I don’t know how long. Not caring about time is a nice contrast to London life. I awoke in a daze and my book still open. I strolled back to the hotel hoping to get in the writing mood that I definitely wasn’t in. Just about to start typing, I heard a knock on my door – two tiflahs! They invited me to go to sit and watch the sunset. How can you say no to young faces that want to see the sunset?... I was so tired though and feeling a little bit rubbish in myself for some reason, I keep wondering what the hell I am doing here, trying to type away in this cockcroachy room with crappy Arabic drum and bass banging away outside ALL DAY (it is doing my head in!). I really need to get out of this place. Either way, if nothing, I have made some friends and practiced some Arabic, even if they are all seven years old! I AM A WRITER, GET ME OUT OF HERE.  The road out                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

14/06/18

Meshi (OK)… for some reason I am still here. Taking pictures with people and running around the hotel reception with the kids. Just when I about to leave I seem to enjoy the place. Typical me. I have made many friends, many of whom I have been invited to stay with in Alexandria and Cairo – This would be nice to do, especially to see my younger friends again. I spent the good part of the day in my room, tapping away on my laptop, imagining that I am Dervla Murphy after getting back off her travels. Either way, the good news is that I have finished the writing. For the mean time it may be a bit crap but either way, I think that that rough skeleton is done. I feel kind of happy with it too. I celebrated with a swim in the pool just before the sun set. It was a magical moment actually, it was just before 7am. The sun was setting and the Muezzin’s of the mosques were calling, all three of them that surrounded the hotel. I was in peace before the children came along. By this time, the word had spread around and every child in the hotel knew my name ‘Emy, Emy, Emy, Emy, Emy!’ Every second I left my room. I was starting to feel like the hotel should pay me for child entertainment or something. So there I was, in total bliss watching the sunset and hearing the calls across the mountains when one of the children saw that I was in the pool. ‘Emy!’ That was it, like seagulls around a fresh bag of chips the children surrounded the side of the pool waiting for me to reach the side. Despite my headache I couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone was asking questions, none of which I could understand, so in the end I just said yes if they looked over ten years old or pulled a funny face if they seemed young. It was one of the best moments I had so far, some of the adults in there were chatting to me in Arabic and surprisingly some of the sentences I began to understand. It felt good and had a moment of realising where I had been the last few days – in a hotel with NO ONE BUT EGYPTIAN PEOPLE – surely not something everyone had done, get me. I swam out of the pool and headed to my room to get changed – I needed to make my way to a place called ‘East Delta’ a bus station I was told. I thumbed a taxi and gave him a twenty before I got in, he didn’t seem happy with it and probably why he dropped me off at the wrong place. He dropped me off at a big fancy hotel, one that seemed like the rest of Sharm but it wasn’t shut down. The security guard called me as I went in ‘what’s your room number?’ ‘Is this the bus station?’ I replied. He must have thought I was some crazy women, in fact, looking at the chandelier in the hallway even I thought I was a crazy woman for a change. Why did I let that taxi driver drop me off at this place? The security guard gave me directions in Arabic (I could tell from the responses that people were giving me that my language skills were improving), and kind of understanding them I followed the way that his hand had moved. Left then 3la tool, he said and that’s the way I went and to my surprise I ended up at not one bus station but three. I asked to book a bus to Dahab. ‘There is one at 8am he said but you can’t book now’. Damn it, all this way just for that news. Oh well, I jumped back in the taxi and headed back to the hotel. The taxi I jumped in didn’t have his metre on, apparently it was broken, and asked me for fifty pounds. I gave him a response in Arabic and grudgingly he switched the metre on. I spoke to him in Arabic with little slip ups this time. I found out he lives in Sharm and had done for a while. It was nice to meet someone who had seen the change I guess instead of migrated from the cities. I wish I could have spoken to him more, found out what the place was like before the attacks had happened, whether there were more British people, whether the traffic police were just as bad. I guess I will have to learn more Arabic for that. He dropped me off at the hotel and his metre only said 30, I said goodbye and happily gave him 35. Arriving back to the hotel I said thankyou to the man at reception who had given me directions. He was a cool guy. He then asked me why I was alone all the time. Good question I told him, I often asked the same thing to myself. I do have friend though I reassured him, but they live in Cairo and Dahab. This week I had to work in my room and I thought that I would chill out. He seemed a little more relaxed around me and told me that I would always be welcome back here. I thanked him for the kindness and said farewell. I went to the restaurant to eat the buffet, salad, rice, and jelly again. I tried my best to contain my excitement. I scoffed down more spicy carrots and noticed that one of the children had caught my eye, they ran inside the restaurant with a bunch of flowers with three others and they all said hi. With a mouthful of beetroots, I found it difficult to reply but I tried my best, I gave them a wave and a smile. They got me too plates of jelly and leaned around the table all wide eyed, expecting me to do something magnificent, expecting me to do something wild. I thought of something to do… hmm the jelly was melting and now there were seven kids. Things could get messy I thought. I comically slurped a spoon of the jelly and pretended that it was the worst thing I had ever tasted, I puffed out my mouth and crossed my eyes. They were in hysterics, once of them even had tears of laughter. I must admit I was having fun too, spending the day in my room, it was nice to have some kind of release from the computer screen. I rang Ahmed after and told him that I missed him. I really did, especially with all of this Arabic around, I kept on having flashbacks of our memories and the fun we had. He sounded sad, he sounded tired, he told me he had just woke up because he spent the day before worrying about the sign-on at the home office. Each day the home office refuses him and keep him waiting, the more I hate the country that I live in and the more I love him. It’s a strange correlation, one that I thought would never exist and one that I can’t imagine being healthy for either or us. My phone died so I went back inside. I saw the group of children waiting for me, all of them seemed bored. I decided to hide. I hid around the back of the wall and pretended to be a spy, I put my hands to my face like binoculars and crept my head around the wall. Again, they were all wide eyed. They came creeping around the corner I was standing in, as any child would, but again I would run and hide away from them, like I was a cat, like I was like them, five-years-old. They followed me again, of course they would. This time I scared them, I jumped up and I ran. They ran away screaming like all kids should, like I was a monster (or just a scary white ghost!). It made me laugh. They were looking up at me waiting for my next show. I gestured for one of them to close their eyes and they did, and the game of hide and seek began. I reminded them that I was having fun too. As each of them ran around on the hunt, one of them fell over twice but none of them cried (in fact I have not yet seen one child cry when they fall over here, only stand up in a state of shock, maybe it’s something to do with their parents, maybe it is because they are used to being hot). After being invited to another home in Alexandria, I kindly accepted and we swapped addresses, then headed to my room. Like a tired child, I very quickly fell asleep suddenly on the bed of my room. Halas, another day in Fundoq Aida was done.

 

15/06/18 (Eid) 

The day began with two plastic cups of sugary shay. After a nine-hour sleep, it was needed. Running a little late I jumped in a cab to East delta to get the bus for 9am. I felt sad not to have the time to say goodbye to my friends that I had made in the hotel, especially the money man behind the kitchen (who reminded me of an Egyptian version of Rory!). Somehow, I made it to the bus on time, with only three minutes to spare. I jumped on. It was a local bus, one that was going all the way to Cairo. It only cost me thirty E£. It was hardly full either, as expected I was the only ajnabee (foreigner) on there, everyone looked Egyptian and only one other person was a woman. Two hours and four checkpoints later, I had arrived in Dahab. Dahab is a funny place, one where you can buy every colour of tie die pants but no practical underwear; one where you can meet someone from your hometown in the water where you swim but forget that you’re a tourist in the Red Sea; one where you can smoke hashish with a Bedouin over a shay listening to him tell you that he loves Justin Bieber and psytrance. It’s a place of hedonisms and hypocrisies. Despite its snaky undergrowth’s however, you can’t deny that it is a beautiful place. The water is calm, the reefs are blue, and the mountains behind you are majestic. Even Saudi looks beautiful in the distance.  Outside of Annie’s apartment I walked along the main strip of Dahab in the morning, looking for Annie. I felt stupid with all of my stuff; my broken guitar, my paints, my bones, too many clothes. Why didn’t I think that I could get all of these hippy things here in Dahab? I was sweating so much. After finding out the right directions, I headed towards the quitter end of the town, beyond the lighthouse. I passed many cafes on the way. One Café on the way invited me in, well actually kind of dragged me in. He told me to relax and listen to him. He was a cinematographer from Palestine, hoping to film some stuff in Dahab, hoping to find something I guess. Like the rest of the lost souls who have stayed here. His T-shirt that read ‘FREE PALISTINE’ and jiggled as he waffled on about how he saw his home in my eyes, how I looked like an Arab at heart, how I inspired him with my art (he thought that I had a violin in my case and I told him that I was a writer (it was the first time I had ever told anyone this)). I think he was really stoned although, I must admit, some of the things he said to me did feel like he was saying them with some truth. Some of the things he suggested that we do together whilst we were here I was up for. He suggested that we filmed some music by the beach. However, the other things he told me just made me laugh– like when he told me he would only read the message (that he asked me to write to him in his book) when his life took him to sit in the mountains. I told him that what I wrote to him wasn’t any revaluation, I wasn’t really the most profound writer, and instead he is more than welcome to read it one the toilet. He was very intense and he knew it. He even admitted that after most people meet him they need a sleep. In some ways he reminded me of Roger. I just needed to leave him and meet Annie. I walked along the road and he followed me after he gave me a Hollywood tea coaster, a crew pass keyring, a post card, and a few buds to make a joint (I knew he smoked). I kindly thanked him for these random mishmashes of junk and in return told him I would be back to play the violin for him in his bar – even though by then I had already told him three time that in the case there was no violin, there was a small guitar. 
I continued walking to the beach to find Annie. This end of the beach was the most beautiful part of Dahab I had seen. There were great mountains beyond a crystal and still sea. They watched over you like lifeguards. I heard Annie calling my name but I couldn’t see her face. Eventually I found her waving from Mahmoud’s boat – an amazing looking boat too! I dropped my stuff behind one of the market stools and walked through the water to see her, we hugged in the water.  Mahmoud’s Boat The boat was really cool. All decked with carpets, cushions and a tea making stove. Exactly what anyone would need in Dahab. They had yet to name it. I jumped on and looked at the place from the shore. We chatted for a while before heading to the town to watch the football (it was Uruguay v Egypt). The bar wasn’t as round as if it was an English match and in fact the game was a little boring. Instead Annie and I decided to go for a walk to get something to eat and a drink. We found a falafel wrap stand. After we went to meet her friend, Luka, who makes jewellery in one of the nearby shops .Annie getting the boat preparedLuka too wanted to watch the football which, by this time, only had half an hour left. We joined him, and his family in their front room to see it through to the end. Annie told me that this amount of nationalist support was the peak for Bedouins in Sinai (who are often racially abused by Egyptians). The game ended 0-1 to Uruguay with them getting the goal with only one minute to spare. Oh well, they all said. They didn’t seem to care about Egyptian nationalism so much.  I stayed with them for a while, watching them make jewellery and watching the crowds pass (which there were many as it was Eid). It was funny to be sat behind these stools instead of being the one who would walk past them saying no to the offers made. Once I had enough with spending time with them, I walked back towards the town, passing a few shops on the route – shops which had guitars! I had been dying to play a guitar!                             

The first shop was a music shop and a music shop only – it sold instruments like drums and ouds and guitars of course (a few of which I was sad to see cheaper than they ones I had brought in the UK). The shop owner Ahmed, was from Aswan and he looked much more Sudanese than the other people I had met – you could also tell it from his laugh. He made me a cup of tea, as I played the guitar and he talked to me about his shop. He told me that the shop used to sell CDs when he first opened it around 10 years ago. CDs from Sudan and Egypt. Although, when the internet came and the attacks happened, a lot had changed. His business fell and he changed is shop to sell instruments. I asked him about his family which were still in Aswan, he mentioned his two-year-old child and wife, for some reason, he seemed to understand my Arabic the best. Feeling like a little bit of a knob playing over the same song again, I asked him if he plays anything too. He told me he played the drums and gave me a short introduction. He was a cool guy and with his Sudanese laugh, I felt like I was at home for some reasons (oh god I am turning into our intense friend in the café!). He asked me why I didn’t dress like the other foreigners and whether I smoked or drank, I told him that I wanted to keep a little bit modest these days, I couldn’t think of a better reply. Saying goodbye, I told him that I would see him again tomorrow. Another café I passed was the el Tiempo café, only because again I saw that they had a guitar. He took it down from behind the bar and handed it to me. He told me that I could come and use it whenever I liked – I was happy to hear him say this. He then showed me his wall of famous people, the stars, he told me – an idea he had one night after smoking a joint. There were pictures of various singers and actors from the westerns and Arabic world. Of course, Om Kalthom was up there with her microphone. I walked back to the boat, Annie and I had planned to meet a 6. I sat there waiting for her watching the dogs play in the gravel. There was an American woman there trying to control one on a thin yellow lead. It would never leave I thought to myself. We jumped on the boat and headed south. Dahab was much bigger than I had imagined, the city stretched far beyond the bend that I saw. I could also see a glimpse of the coral below too, then the fall of it into the deep blue. It was an amazing slight, Annie and I with her boyfriend Mahmoud and his friend Eid. We stopped to fish not so far from the main town area of Dahab shore but caught nothing. I didn’t join thinking of my vegetarian morals.  Sunset before the fishing tripEither way, with or without my help, nothing was caught. Only coral. We continued along the shores to a place called the Lagoona. By this time they sun had set and the dusk began to draw, you could no longer make out the horizon of the ocean with that of the Saudi shoreline (I love it when his blur of colours happen). Annie and I had some great chats as Mahmoud was steering the boat along the coast, about family and friend and life in Dahab. Annie is really cool, and seriously she has done so much, a lifetime worth in fact, and still not 21. I asked her if she wrote stuff down and she only had a tiny notebook to show – I wondered whether and why these days I feel the need to record so much and feel the need not to let things past but to write them down.  Mahmoud, Annie and Eid on the boat Passing the sight of a giant artificial palm tree on the shores (that is apparently a CCTV watch tower over the city ((why else would there be a giant palm tree)), we reached the Lagoona and it was another beautiful sight. This time, now the sun had set the stars had come out. So many stars too – a galaxy worth. And there were stars in the water too – the phosphorescence plankton – that would light up every time you moved the water. It was other worldly and I had to jump in. As the three of them stood over the boat waiting for their line to pull I got my swim suit on and dived. All of a sudden the silence became real. I was in it. I looked up to the stars and floated… My ears, all they could hear was the grinding of stones below and all my eyes could see was endlessness. I returned my head from the water to hear that they had caught their first fish. I Looked below to my feet and arms, like the stars, they were glowing all around. Like some kind of mermaid, I would imagine as a child I had glittering dust around me every time I moved my limbs. It was surreal and I couldn’t stop looking. A million stars above me and below me. I saw the silhouette of my three friends fishing beside me. If there isn’t a God on earth, then I am dreaming I said to myself. After enough waving around in the glittering waters, I jumped onto the paddle board beside the boat to dry out. I was still staring out into the horizon which had now changed into small dots of lights. I watched as the waves slowly drag the reflections of the galaxy above towards. Unspoken and without thought, I knew that this experience would be one of the best in my life.  View from the Boat We headed back to the shore, with four fish in the boat. Annie, Eid and I all sat on the top deck chatting about languages and other funny words in life. He was a cool guy, Annie was a cool girl, I felt so lucky to be with them and the circumstances that had brought me here.  We grabbed the stuff from the boat and headed inside. Munched some fruits, had a shower and a whiskey and chilled on the floor. I should have really left it at that. At that whiskey and coke and realised that no other experience for the day would out do that one in the sea. But it was the first day of Eid of course and Annie said that there was a party on the beach, big lights and music. Not wanting to say no and thinking that she was probably tired too, I joined them to the party walking very tiredly yet blissfully behind. The party was horrible of course, shitty psytrance music and crazy women dancing. Although, good to see from above I guess. People talked to me and Annie introduced me, but I was a little too tried to be my best. No long after, after finishing the last bottle of coke and whiskey, we strolled back to the house and trying to chat to more friends. Annie’s place is cool, a one-bedroom place with seating on the floor and multicoloured lights (A funny yet impractical choice from the last renter). And this is where I know find myself, in Annie’s bed beneath a yellow, blue and green lights, hearing the cockerels outside crow. I am definitely ready to sleep, my dream will take me back to floating underneath the stars I hope, Insha’Allah, I dream.

 

16/06/18

I woke up late and the morning began slow. Over a cup of black sugary tea and biscuits Annie and I chatted about her and Mahmoud’s relationship – how she doesn’t really get on with his mum, what it was like for her mum to visit him and his mother (who is apparently a really strong and feisty Bedouin women who has her own embroidery shop, travels around the world, and dons a full burqa), how he doesn’t really want to travel, (even if he had a passport), who his mother wants him to marry, how she can’t drive out of Dahab with him (because they are not officially married and she is a tourist) and how she feels it would change their relationship if they were to ‘marry’, how she thinks the relationship needs to be tried in another country before he would visit Europe, how only he would be arrested if the police found them living together in the flat without marriage papers. The chat was interesting and reminded me how life changing, and political, it is for two people to fall in love across borders and not just for those in the relationship, but also for the rest of those in the family. Annie concluded the conversation by saying that usually, most women that she knows who had lived in Dahab either stay in Dahab forever, get married, have children, then turn into depressed alcoholics, or they split up with their partners because their partner are unwilling to travel. She then shunned of the futures plans and reminded me that she is not even 21 yet and whatever happened, she was enjoying the present. It was a good point.After this long chat we cooled off in the sea (stupidly I didn’t put on any sun-cream). We swam then looked at the rocks in the rock pools. There were so many starfish and crabs. The more I looked the more appeared, it reminded me of that time I tripped on acid and saw ten thousand slugs and goats instead of one (louis if you are reading this you will understand). After the swim we can back and ate a tin of cold beans with bread with another tea.  Just like the dogs of Dahab, nearly every morning we would start the day by cooling of in the sea. Annie took me to a farm, the first place she went to when she first arrived in Dahab three years ago. It was a cool place, more like a garden than a farm though. We stopped on the way though to see a fancy hotel and speak to a man who was making a good business from middle class wives of business men. He was a wonderful man with huge beautiful eyes and angelic cheekbones. We spoke about the wonderful village of el-Tunis, a place we had both been to. Arriving to the farm, Annie introduced me to a gentle, dread-locked man and his younger daughter Jenna. She was cool too. Annie told me that, this man had looked after Jenna since his previous German wife had left him, become an alcoholic, and purposefully took Jenna to Cairo and handed Jenna over to a Bedouin woman (who already had had ten children to care for). He found Jenna breast feeding of the Bedouin women when he walked in to the room to find her. The garden was now run by him and his new Swedish wife who had the most beautiful tattoos. They looked like water paintings. Together, they took over the farm when the last women (Olivia) died because a monkey they had on the farm had got bitten and infected (there are a lot of strange and absurd deaths like this in Dahab, it’s quite eerie). We sat there for a while, talking to Jenna and watching his wife pick lemon basil apart ready for the Friday market. David Bowie was playing in the background. It was almost surreal.We walked back from the farm and met Mahmoud at his café, Sheik Salam – what used to be the old abandoned hotel where Annie and Mahmoud had met. Waiting for him, we sat with the Irish man who had taken over the hotel Sheik Salem. After he had got hold of the hotel, the place had turned into somewhere where everyone was welcome (regardless of money) to a place where there was a minimum charge of 100EL to even use the café. With fancy windows blocking the breezes from the ocean, it didn’t feel like a welcoming place at all. I sat there, waiting for Annie and Mahmoud, watching the Irish man (Annie called him Trump) smoke a cigar and drink beer in the sun. His wrinkled and flabby belly was curling as he laughed to his more wrinkled wife who was wearing a neon green bikini and talking about the three dogs that were biting each other. As I watched him order a juice from one of the bar staff, without saying please, I wondered whether this scene described 21st century colonialism. Eventually, as they were still talking about the dogs even after 20 minutes, I had to get out of there. Annie left with Mahmoud to fix the house. I walked with my broken guitar back to the jewellery shop where I sat yesterday. The jewellery shop which told me a carpenter was coming. As I arrived, there was no carpenter and of course, there was never going to be. For one it was still Eid and secondly, there was nothing in the shop that needed fixing, there was just a wooden board behind a desk. I opened my guitar case and the next thing I knew, the top half of it had disappeared. Luka had taken it from me to the shop next door. A minutes later, it arrived back with PVA glue plastered upon it.  He smeared the glue with his fingers around the head to stick it to the other side. It was a mess. I tried to take it off them but it was too late. Before I knew it, it was wrapped up in a bandage and string and stuck in a corner somewhere. The neck was setting wonky, it was obvious to see. Trying to be polite as possible, I took the guitar to Ahmed, the music man in the shop from Aswan. I asked him what he thought. He said that maybe 20% it will work and the other 80% not. ‘1 mm out and it sounds wrong’. Basically, it was ruined, and I knew it from the start. Damn it. He handed me another guitar which I gratefully took and handed me the end of his joint, which I didn’t so gratefully took. For some reason I don’t want to smoke in Dahab (even though it is so easy too), I think it is because I fear that if I do, I will never leave this creepy place, I will just stay here and die, like the others, in some absurd way. I sat and played some Bob Dylan with him and Bob Markey as Ahmed played his drum. I would play louder every time he would walk out form the shop to serve a customer. I left the shop to get another falafel sandwich which, because I said I was English, was overcharged by four times the price. But, really, it was still only £1 and I didn’t mind. I walked to the beach with my food and a Guava juice and watched as a dog sat in the middle of the sea for at least an hour. It was a funny sight. The dog, with nothing around apart from Saudi on the other side. It was so hot today, and all the dogs seemed dead, the side was out too apparently so far that the rest of the town hadn’t seen for years. The pressure was low and so too could you feel it in everyone’s moods. The sun began to set and the wind picked up, people walked a bit faster and more smiles were had. I walked back to Annie’s. The man at el-Tiempo bar stopped me and offered me a job – he said if you play at the bar I will offer you a free meal and some food – that would be great I told him and moved on. Now I think of it, it is something that I would really like to do. Maybe this will be my mission before I leave Dahab – who knows how well Bob Dylan would go down there…. I walked back to Annie’s and stopped at the bar which Eid worked at. He said yes and gave me the key. I asked him if I can get Wi-Fi (plus a free juice which I was very happy about). I made a few phone calls to Ahmed and the rest of the family. It was weird to be sitting on that beach, watching my nan squint down the screen and my dad try to hold the phone up to get better Wi-Fi. It really made me think about things, where I was, what I was doing, and how much I had changed since my last travelling days – This time I felt as though I had taken home with me. I wasn’t smoking like a chimney and I still kept my cool, I made sure that I wrote before I went to bed and today, I even found some grapefruits for the morning too.  Knowing that I could really make a home anywhere, without feeling like I was lost, even in a sea of drunken scuba divers and raving Israelis was a good feeling. These days I feel more grounded – it feels like I am beginning to realise the line between me and the you, the adventure and the reflection. I can now tell when the day has reached enough. After the calls, which really tired me out actually, I met with Eid again and he brought over a handful of ten hermit crabs. I had never seen hermit crabs that big, it was nuts. We picked them up, turned our phone lights on, then watched as they came alive one by one, when they thought that no one was watching them. I like Eid, I think he really cool – he doesn’t smoke and goes to the gym. He has a funny smile, he told me that I was a little bit weird, but aren’t we all?  Eid helped me to make Grace a birthday messageWe walked together back to Annie’s. I wasn’t really sure what the plan was to be honest. As we arrived she was cleaning the flat. Eid was hungry so we walked to Asila square to get a falafel wrap. They are only 10p each and so good. We then went to the shop to buy some fruit (this is where I found the grapefruits!). In that shop, that sold fruit and veg, I thought about Ahmed a lot. I thought about his life in Kuwait, selling the fruit and veg out of the back of that car and then getting moved on by the police. I thought about how much I would like to visit his family one day, see his house on the streets of Jahrha. We walked back to the beach and waited for Mahmoud. The wind had picked up so much by now, so much that I felt as though I had a layer of dust on my skin. All of the plastic from the streets were spinning around my feet. I loved the wind and sang to Fairouz’s song ‘Nassam Alayna El-Hawa’ as it hit me; 


nassam 3alayna el-hawamen mafra2 el-wadiya hawa dakhl el-hawakhedny 3ala blady
ya hawa ya hawayally tayer bel-hawafe mantoura ta2a w sourakhedny la 3endon ya hawa
fez3ane ya albyekbar be hal-ghorbew ma te3refny bladykhedny, khednykhedny 3ala bladynassam 3alayna el-hawamen mafra2 el-wadiya hawa dakhl el-hawakhedny 3ala blady
shu bena? shu bena?ya 7abiby shu bena?kento w kenna tdallo 3ennaw eftara2na shu bena?
w ba3da esh-shams btebky3al-bab w ma te7kyw ye7ky hawa bladykhedny, khednykhedny 3ala bladynassam 3alayna el-hawamen mafra2 el-wadiya hawa dakhl el-hawakhedny 3ala blady the air breezed upon usfrom the split of the valleyoh breeze, for love's saketake me home

oh love, oh love, that is flying in the breeze there's a mantoura (type of flower) with energy and imagetake me to them, breeze
I'm scared, my heart to grow up in this estrangement any my home wouldn't recognize metake me,

take me take me homethe air breezed upon us from the split of the valleyoh breeze, for love's sake take me home
what's with us? what's with us?oh my love, what's with us?we and you used to stay with usand now we've separated, what's with us?
and the sun is still crying on the door and doesn't talkand the love of home is talkingtake me, take metake me homethe air breezed upon usfrom the split of the valleyoh breeze, for love's saketake me home

When we got to the beach we heard people shouting across the sea. We thought they were shouting Annie, we thought it was Mahmoud on the boat but it couldn’t be the noise was too far from the shore. A white dot was getting closer and closer, so much that you could begin to make out moving arms. There were four people in a sinking boat. I thought they needed help so I rushed to the shore but the people around me just laughed at me and told me that they were fine.The wind was great, it reminded me of home, I felt the power of the sea and it was making my falafel sandwich taste extra salty. I was enjoying my time there. Annie had to go to visit her friend Ruby at the station. I started to walk with her but then realised that I had done far too much for one day and instead it would be better to rest in the house for a while. Write some stuff and look at chords on the guitar. I walked back and thought about the day. I arrived in peace but they arrived only 10 minutes later. I joined them with a beer and heard about Ruby’s stories from Ethiopia. I ate an apple and wrote down the things for the day.  The night ended watching a giant ant climb up the yellow lit wall of Annie’s bedroom as Ruby laid by the side of me sleeping. The whole of Annie’s apartment was lit by multicoloured lights, it was like being in a 70’s style fish-tank.                                                                                                                                                              

 

17/06/18

I woke up before everyone else after hearing Mahmoud get up for work. I really fancied doing some writing. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my laptop, I had a plan to sit on the beach. Although, five minutes after just as I was putting on my sandals, Annie and Ruby awoke. I joined them for a tea and a chatter then finished my book instead. We headed for our morning swim then for some biscuits and grapefruit – it was lush. Annie and Ruby went for a walk whilst I stayed in the house and wrote. Things are looking good for the writing and I am excited for the days alone to really get into the swing of it. They came back only twenty minutes later. We talked together about our families and how we deal with them when they are not so lefty (which my family seemed to be the only ones that weren’t, Ruby and Annie’s parents all had lefty and radical lefty backgrounds – in a strange way I felt kind of proud to have grown up in a town with the highest Brexit voters. We helped Annie take some stuff to the other flat where I would move in tomorrow and then we headed to a place called Lagoona. Yes, it is a lagoon. It was beautiful too – really beautiful. The light blue shallow waters blissfully contrasted the majestic dusty mountains and yellow skies. Mahmoud got out his kite surf and went off into the water as Annie, Ruby and I stayed on the beach and chatted about what it was like to have sex with Mahmoud – (I will keep this confidential for Annie’s sake). I laid down beside the car and watched the other families having lunch on the seaside together – it was like some scene from chitty-chitty-bang-bang – all fitted, except the cars were Toyota pick-up trucks instead of old motors and the 1920’s dresses were replaced with burqas.  Chitty-Chitty Da-hab 1
   Chitty-Chitty Da-hab 2We stayed for while chatting until the desert winds had dried us out. We then ran into the water. The water was wonderful as always, clear and warm. We swam for a while. I swam off a little tired of all of the talking without the politics. As I bobbed off I heard a noise, it sounded like a giant wave behind me coming closer and closer at an unnatural speed – I didn’t dare turn. A big splash of water came over my head – it was Mahmoud with his kite surf scaring me. I would get him back if I could. We found the most amazing thing in the water too – Annie told me that it was dead but I am sure that it was still alive, I felt its spikes move under my hand.  Water Flower, starfish thing In the distance we could see Eid, he had bright neon swimming shorts on, he was in Lagoona too. We stayed for another hour, eating and apple and chilling in the shade behind the car. I stayed reading as Annie and ruby continued chatting.   Chilling in LagoonaOn the way back, I asked Mahmoud to drop me off at the top of town – I had to pick up my guitar and see my friends of course. I stopped by for a falafel wrap first though. This time I made sure that I only paid £E5 and I got it in a bowl not a plastic thing (there is far too much plastic around here). After eating I topped up in sun cream and walked back to the main strip. I first said hello to the guys in the jewellery shop and then I went next door to see Ahmed. He looked very bored today, I guessed that there were less customers than last time because Eid had ended. We spoke for a long time, about his family and his children, about his work, about Aswan, about music. I played him a song, he told me that he really enjoys my company. We drank a shay, jammed a bit more and then he showed me an instrument from Aswan, it looks a little like a kora but hand held – I had seen it in some Sudanese films sometimes. I wanted it! He charged me £E500 – about £30. Hmm... maybe tomorrow. Walking back I spoke to the other friendly face that Annie introduced me to – it’s amazing how many more you can me when you speak a little bit of Arabic, somehow it seems that people find it a little easier to communicate with you – I was in a really good spirit. 
On the way back, as usual, I stopped in the coral coast where Eid works. I ordered a lime juice then found a chair on the beach (I needed to use the Wi-Fi for a while to say happy Father’s Day to dad). I sat there, looking out towards the sea with the wind still blowing and the sun setting behind me. It was another lush moment. A few minutes later, Annie and Ruby joined me at Coral Coast, we sat there for a while, and the chairs and then beside the fire, before walking back. The mood got a little strange after that – Annie and Mahmoud seemed a little stressed and everyone was a little tired. We all had to go to the house of the other place for some reason just to see the hard work they had put into it I guess. It did look really cool considering it was empty before.  We sat there in silence as Mahmoud got us tea. I felt like there was something a little tense between Annie and Mahmoud, I think with all of these guests they were a little stressed. I was getting a little bored of two things, sitting in silence with awkward faces or chatting about boring things like delayed flights or plans for the next day. As the next silence fell and Annie made another complaint, I decided it was time to go to get back to fixing the last of my guitar and chilling out alone. Most people decided to join me. We walked past the shop and grabbed two tins of beans for dinner.Then, just before turning onto Annie’s street I noticed something – a old dusty guitar, a 60’s style coat and some JUNK…. It was an ANTIQUE SHOP! JACKPOT. I told the other two that I was going in, I it had to be done. They told me it was crazy and that the shop was just full of a pile of shit stuff. I Told them that that was exactly why I wanted to go in. I walked around, it was amazing. Seriously, the dream junk shop. Stuff from everywhere, old clothes, old things, old photos, old music, old instruments, old jewellery, old things!!!! I scrammed through stuff, he told me that he would like to tidy it up one day but I reassured him that shops like these aren’t supposed to be tidied, they are supposed to be kept a mess – like a treasure box. His face lit up as he said ‘really?’. Flicking through the photos the guy sitting behind the counter, sitting behind is retro laptop with a joint, asked me if I was an artist – no but I can play some music I replied. He handed me the guitar and I tuned it up. Then some other people walked in and asked to see an old mobile phone. He had one of course. I played my favourite song sitting on the floor between them – lonesome valley. (I really have to start making a note book of more songs to play). Simba the dog joined me on the floor and dribbled all over my legs. I sat in the man’s shop for a while as he talked about his old wife from London. The man who owned the junk shop had pain in his eyes and he wasn’t afraid of hiding it, the way he looked at you was deep and dark, you could see the lovers he had lost and the people he had watched die. I asked him why he had moved to Dahab from Cairo. It wasn’t until we were sitting outside of the shop, once the people had gone, when he told me the story…. Although he is from Aswan, his dad was an antiques shop owner in Cairo. When he died, he took on his stuff and began selling it in the streets. Although he was selling somethings, he also continued to collect. He showed me pictures of him on the street with guitars, boots, old watched and with other people. Then, as he was in the city, he got involved with the revolution. He didn’t go into detail about the things he saw but he asked me to imagine what it would be like to see your own country kills its people and know the people that they killed. I tried but really, I couldn’t imagine. He then said that the friends that he had known before the revolution, families of them, had gone missing – unsure whether they are dead or alive. I could feel his concern. I asked him about the revolution a little more.  Even through it was my second time in Egypt, I have never come across another person who mentioned the event let alone experiences it. I guess it was a taboo topic. ‘What was It like in the 11 days of freedom?’ I asked. I guess it would be another thing that I couldn’t imagine. ‘it really brought out people’s talents’ there were street performers, musicians, artists, puppet shows, all in one square. It was a square of hope, the people were united, whether politically minded or not. It changed my life.’ I smiled in hope and honour that he had experienced such a thing. I played another song as Simba dribbled on my shoulder. He continued talking… ‘although it is still not good here in Egypt, the system, it is really a blessing to be here. Look, the children on the streets are happy and full of energy. They still have spirit and that keeps me going. I also think of all the amazing and beautifully strong women that I have had in my life. I am happy.’ He was a bit all over the place, maybe because of the joint, but I think I got what he was trying to say. He asked me what I studied, and why I also had pain in my eyes (he told me that I could see it). I told him the answers. He nodded his head and told me that I was also a dreamer, just like him. I shook his hand, placed his guitars back on the stands, then headed back towards Annie’s place – I forgot that I was the one who had the with the tins of beans (tonight’s dinner) in my bag.                                                                                                                                                          

 

18/06/18

I woke up slowly again – I am enjoying these slow wake ups. Then after the huge sugary shay I got writing, I had some energies. Annie came around earlier than expected and said that we were having breakfast at the other house. We went to Asalah square and got some fatiahs (like Slovenian burkes) and fruit – we had a nice breakfast together with her friends that had arrived to Dahab the night before, Cat and Finabar. Although I was excited to meet her friends, for some reason, I was very moody. – I think it was because I wanted to be alone or maybe I was tired or just too hot. I felt like a sulky school child whose parents had forced them to the family dinner. All day too.After that we headed out for a swim, it was still really windy so the waves were big. After a few trial dips we found a good spot by the lighthouse to spend the afternoon. We swam, drunk coffee and chatted and I even had a go on one of the guys kitesurfs (didn’t get very far though). I was still in a grumpy mood and for some reason wanted to be alone. I sat silently, writing down songs I knew and humming along. Eventually, after they started the fifth conversation about the lives and lovers of some people I don’t know, I decided that it was time to go. Basically, I think I was tired and bored and had enough of noise. I walked back to the flat saying hello to people that I had met over the last few days. I arrived back to the flat, had a shower then chopped a cucumber. Not smoking I realised that my appetite was a little bigger than there’s. I felt happy in the quiet and had a nice plan to fix up my guitar. Then, a minute later everyone arrived back, I smiled and offered them the stuff I had chopped. We sat around and chatted as I wound up the strings to my guitar. Again, I was silent. They left eventually to the other house and I walked with them but not the entire way, I stopped to chat to the man in the antique shop again and at a café to write some postcards. (Maybe with all of this writing, I have become a bit of a postcard perfectionist and feel like I need to write out the letter in my note book before I write it on the letter, therefore on average three postcards now take me around two houses to complete!). Anyway, the plan was to meet at the house for seven pm because we were all heading in the truck to the mountains – a place called wadi garrum. We loaded up the truck with vegetables and beers and off we went. Three of us sat in the back, Eid, Ruby and myself. I played the guitar as we bounced along, As I laid down and looked around me I felt that I was in some parallel universe in which I had always bounced along in the back of a truck. We talked about how people are buried in Egypt, Eid told us that you buy a small house for your body when you get old – like an underground tomb – if not, or you have no money ‘the government put you into one hole’ (that was his own words). We thought that was weird. I told him that in England people burn bodies then put them under a stone. He told us that he thought that was weird. The car suddenly turned off road and we were bouncing around over the desert. All three of us in the back had our heads over the car looking out to the front – we were laughing, I said that it was like being in the back of a mystery van. We pulled up to a spot – an opening which had mountain all around. There was no wind, it was silent. Annie gave us a beer each and helped Mahmoud start a fire. We sat there watching the tin foiled vegetables slowly cook. Annie asked if I would play a song, so that’s what I did. I did a funny little version of ‘lonesome valley’ changing lonesome valley into ‘wadi-garrum’;
‘You’ve gotta walk to Wadi-Gurrum You’ve gotta go there by yourselfAin’t nobody else gonna walk it for you You gotta go there by yourself’(Then changing the name to everyone in the circle…)‘Cat’s gotta walk through Wadi-Garrum…’ and so on.  I then did a little song for Eid, my favourite person who I had met on the trip who, at the time I was singing, was walking around the rocks surrounding us placing candles on each of the hills. We all commented on how his addition looked like some kind of spooky sacrifice. We all laughed. It did look creepy but I think he just wanted the place to look nice. Eid was a little bit dippy and doppy, like me. We sat there listening to the eagles cry in the distance.After some out of tune guitar playing around the fire, we got the food ready. It was vegetables, bread and tahini. We finished the beers, drank a whiskey, and I joined Eid for a little puff of his joint. The stars were amazing, the more you laid there the more you could see. As the moon sunk behind the mountains that surrounded us, we could see the milky way. I saw a few shooting stars as everyone was talking about what music to put on. Eid stroked my hand, just in a friendly way, it was like he felt the amazement too. I could have laid there for hours, watching the stars pop out as the sky became darker, hours and hours. The sight of it, with the mountain around, was enough to make you feel like you would be ok forever and always. We played some music, Tinariwen, Alifaka Toure and some Bob Marley, (then some other stuff that didn’t quite fit the scene). People tapped their feet as I tapped by bones. As the air around us began to cool, we could feel the ground getting hotter. It was like we were laying on a radiator watching the cool darkness of the night from afar. It was enough to make me want to roll around on the floor like a happy cat. I wanted to get twigs stuck in my hair. As the air cooled, we felt like the ground was becoming hotter. It was like we were being cooked like the vegetables. Before we began to sweat, we decided to go for a swim at Annie’s favourite spot – a quiet beach not far away. On the drive there we passed two solitary, free walking camels who, when we stopped, only continued to munch their chu and stare back. One of them looked at me like I was as crazy as I thought. When we arrived to the beach, I went a little nuts. Maybe it was the sight of all those stars, maybe it was too much fresh air. I ran in to the sea with all of my clothes and dived in. I didn’t want to get my hair wet although I really needed to get rid of the noise from the others, appreciate the stars at least one more time. Getting out of the sea I cartwheeled for every did handstands and flips, I felt as wild as the roaming camels, it was like a piece of star dust had landed in me, I became inspired by the beauty around me. Of course, being in all my clothes I was dripping wet so on the way back I decided to sit in the back of the truck again and dry off. Unlike the others who were sitting tightly inside of the truck, I was holding on with my hands to the metal above, sitting on the side of the truck which was only two inches big. Of course, there was no reason for it to be done, and yes, I could have fallen off and died in three minutes, but I wanted to do it and something in my gut told me I would be ok. The wind was epic and it dried my clothes completely, as well as gave me a layer of dust to my skin very white skin. I caught from the corner of my eye that the other people in the back thought I was a little mad, I could tell by the way that they would stare at me and then move their eyes as I turned my head. With my grumpy mood in the day, then this wild women stuff by night, they probably did think that I suffered from bi-polar. But I didn’t care, I was too occupied with the sights and smells of the air around, I was like an excited dog. Maybe I am a werewolf?After zooming on highroad and finding off the beat tracks to the next one, we eventually arrived home. Unsurprisingly, I was as dry as a bone. We grabbed the last of the foods, said goodnight and then strolled home. My eyes are now very ready to close – I hope to see the stars again in my dreams…                                                                                                                                                

19/06/18

A lay in was needed after the crazy night, yet still I woke to the rest of the house asleep. I did some much-needed writing. After a few hours Cat, Ruby and Finbarr came around with a falafel breakfast. We ate it and chatted. After that we headed to Asalah square to get a taxi to three pools, a good place to snorkel and relax for the days. On arrival. Five children, hopped into the back of the van with us with bracelets to sell, it was a wonderful sight to see. The rest of the group dove into the sea as I sat and chatted to the children around me who were trying to sell me bracelets. I certainly didn’t want any but I did want to spend time with them and I wanted to practice my Arabic. I counted numbers with them and exchanged the names of fruits and foods. Then I asked them if they would like a drink. Annie told me I should not do so and instead give them money however, I didn’t want to. I wanted to buy them a drink. Besides, want would 5EL get them anyway, a mango juice is better. We sat around waiting for the drinks and the rest of the children surrounded me. I stuck to my word and turned down their offers for bracelets. I continued to chat with them. After a while they put down their bracelets and decided to show me some tricks with their hands; bending their fingers over their thumbs and splitting their fingers in two, into alien waves. I showed them a trick of my own (the one where you cross your middle fingers and twist your hands) and they were puzzled for a while. I watched them as they tried to work out how to do it. Only one of the two friends managed in the end. I them asked them if they wrote in Arabic, of course they said yes, so I showed them my bones. They seemed kind of impressed if not a little freaked out. Then the drinks came along – they hand one to share, I offered them a sip but at first, they were too shy to take it. After trying to do the hand gesture again they asked if it was there’s to drink. I said, in Arabic, go ahead. I watched them share it between the two of them. They took a few sips each. Then the other children came along. They asked me if it was for them too, I said that we must share it between us all, they looked confused yet passed it around between them. In Arabic I told them ‘shuwaya kul nas’, ‘a little for everybody’. Those who didn’t get as much as others were angry with me but I pointed to the person who drank the most. Altogether, with their bunches of bracelets in hand, they ran off. It was like the mango juice had gave them some magical team work spirit for the day ahead. I sat and smiled at the empty glasses and wondered whether that experience gave them more than 5EL could. I sat wondering what I would prefer as a kid. I sat and watched the sea then one of the children came running back to me with bracelets. I thought that she was about to try ang get me to buy another bracelet (and shatter my hopes that these kids enjoyed the entertainment instead of money). Instead, looking around, checking that her friends and mother weren’t looking at her, she crouched down beside me where I was sitting and tied a bracelet on my wrist ‘present, present’ she said to me. I told her she was very generous and then she ran off to join the rest of her friends. She answered my question, and reminded me that it is better to teach children than give them pennies. Mahmoud and I played a game of black gammon, I had never played it before. It was good fun and each of us won a game. Then as the rest of the gang went off to ride a camel, I sat and learnt a song for Annie – unknown legend – and played it too her. She showed me the song beeswing in return, it’s a nice song. 

‘I was nineteen when I came to town, they called it the Summer of LoveThey were burning babies, burning flags. The hawks against the dovesI took a job in the steamie down on Cauldrum StreetAnd I fell in love with a laundry girl who was working next to me
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingSo fine a breath of wind might blow her awayShe was a lost child, oh she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"
Brown hair zig-zag around her face and a look of half-surpriseLike a fox caught in the headlights, there was animal in her eyesShe said "Young man, oh can't you see I'm not the factory kindIf you don't take me out of here I'll surely lose my mind.
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingSo fine that I might crush her where she layShe was a lost child, she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We busked around the market towns and picked fruit down in KentAnd we could tinker lamps and pots and knives wherever we wentAnd I said that we might settle down, get a few acres dugFire burning in the hearth and babies on the rugShe said "Oh man, you foolish man, it surely sounds like hell.You might be lord of half the world, you'll not own me as well"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing So fine a breath of wind might blow her awayShe was a lost child, oh she was running wildShe said "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay.And you wouldn't want me any other way"
We was camping down the Gower one time, the work was pretty goodShe thought we shouldn't wait for the frost and I thought maybe we shouldWe was drinking more in those days and tempers reached a pitchAnd like a fool I let her run with the rambling itch
Oh the last I heard she's sleeping rough back on the Derby beatWhite Horse in her hip pocket and a wolfhound at her feetAnd they say she even married once, a man named Romany BrownBut even a gypsy caravan was too much settling downAnd they say her flower is faded now, hard weather and hard boozeBut maybe that's just the price you pay for the chains you refuse

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wingAnd I miss her more than ever words could sayIf I could just taste all of her wildness nowIf I could hold her in my arms todayWell I wouldn't want her any other way’

After that I went for a swim and snorkel, I looked like an absolute nutter going into the sea, walking with my flippers on frontwards. I was purposefully embarrassing myself but strangely enjoying it. In fact, thinking about it, there have been many moments on this trip that I have felt like a clown, but I have enjoyed it – everyone else is pretending to be far too cool for my liking, with their cigarettes and tattoos – even though the only song they know is Bob Dylan like a rolling stone – I’m bored of pretending to be cool.  The Gang on the CamelsI eventually made it into the water as a man helped me to put on my goggles, he asked me if I needed help and for some reason I said yes. Now thinking about it, if he had seen me walk in, he might of felt that I needed help because I had some sort of disability. The way I have acted on this holiday, I am wondering if I do!What I saw in the corals, that looked like brains, were amazing – lionfish (poisonous but my favourite to see), stone fish, eels, needle fish, clown fish, Dories, small for big fish, and NO plastic. Really it was wonderful, and another thing I hope I dream of tonight. I did get a little carried away though in the waves and the beauties and ended up the other side of the reef – I was disorientated and needed to return to the passageway I came from that I could no longer see. Annie told me that we were leaving soon and I told her I was stuck. I thought that maybe, with my lips becoming swollen from the hour of wearing a snorkel, that, they would leave without me and I would turn into a fish. Eventually I found my way back to shore (besides, I am a mermaid of course). I quickly dried off, then jumped in the back of the van to head back to the house. We showered off then ate the last of the falafel wraps. We had a really interesting chat about Ahmed and I and then idealised our perfect societies – a society without racism or sexism. I really felt that I was becoming more confident in these discussions and could tell the people who had really looked into a better world or followed the left liberal sheep that have a certain general discourse on everything. I really felt control of the conversation and able to respond – I realised, in pride, how much I have learnt over the last two years and how it has made be a better, more confident being. We grabbed our stuff and headed for the boat. To watch the sunset and go fishing. Eid was there waiting for us (I think he loves me as I do him a little). We shared a sip of vodka and sailed out of the coral. Once again, people fished (but didn’t catch anything) as I looked to the stars and played my guitar. It was another beautiful night. I tried to play songs but they weren’t too great and people weren’t too happy about singing. Instead I decided to freestyle – make up a little story together – it turned into a funny one too – Cat and I sang of buying slippery shoes and thrush cream in the shop and then having to rub shoes on my private parts – a little immature I know but it seemed to make people laugh. Finally I realised then why I brought my guitar. I tried to strum a few songs but nothing really happened so I continued to make up little tunes under the stars – I wasn’t wearing any pants either – everything felt so good, I was hanging loose. We could hear the audiences who were watching the world cup off the shore so we decided to head back, even though we had not caught any fish (maybe my singing scared them away). I stayed don the top deck talking to Eid, we talked about work and the waves and what it was like for him to live in Dahab. He gave me a necklace as a gift. We arrived back to shore to catch the last of the match, Egypt 1 Russia 3, a shame although considering Egypt had not been in the game for at least 27 years, it was a big thing. We stayed outside of the pub for a while before going to a local, cheap restaurant to find food. We ate a lot of food, rice, salad and beans. It was good and so cheap - £5 for all of us. We sat for a while and stroked (and I secretly fed) the cats. We headed back to the flat with big bellies and salty skin. Today was a day I received many gifts, tomorrow I will ensure I give more away. Yalla beena, I sleep… 

 

20/06/18

The day began with a not so nice water melon and a lot of waiting around. Everyone one was sleeping and anyway, there was nothing else to do. We went to the other flat, chilled out, listened to music and rolled around on the floor. Like yesterday, today was hot. The plan for the day was to go to Lagoona however, with the sun in peak heat (Pete, we called it) and without a car, Annie decided to take us there later. We had a few hours to kill so I chilled with the pigeons for a while on the roof and then headed into town. In town I had a few thin gs I wanted to do – see my friend in the Tiamo bar, see Ahmed in the music shop, buy him a mug, and send my postcards. Eventually after a few hours I got these things done. I had a good chat with Eman from the Tiamo bar, he told me about his wife who he had been with for six years, but who eventually left him because he didn’t want to leave Dahab. She asked him to move to London with him but he explained that he heard about how much you have to work in London and how it takes such a long time to make true friends. I wasn’t so sure that what he was saying was true and besides, how could he make such judgements without going there. Either way, I did admit that London, and England in general of course, still functions on myths of race.  Eman from the El Tiamo bar After wrapping up conversation, I had a good jam with Ahmed from the music shop. This time we played outside of his shop – we went live to the public. My favourite song to sing these days is Neil Young’s unknown legend. A couple of people passing recorded us. We laughed. Mahmoud eventually picked me up from the side of the road in a taxi. (It was really nice of them to wait for me.) and we made our way to Lagoona.  The water was as beautiful as ever – crystal clear then gradually falling into deep blue. Unimaginable stuff (No wonder people find it hard to leave this place).  Lagoona in the afternoonFinbar and I tried our hand at kite surfing but it was a bit too windy to keep the equipment safe – I fell off a few times despite the good balance – it looked really fun though and was thinking of doing it back home. After we headed back and got some falafel sandwiches (Again) and played the card game of hearts.  We were becoming regulars at the falafel shops. This time, they gave us a discount. Maybe it was because they liked us or maybe it was because we were like their late-night entertainment. In all honesty, we did look like clowns in the shop, taking up all the space with our silly tote bags and big sandals.We ate our sandwiches as everyone showered then headed out to watch the football. We missed the game but had a good chat with our friends that were running a stool. We then ended the night with a few beers at the yalla bar and many giggles, I told some funny stores and Annie showed off her weird nose and shoulder bones that stick out like bat wings.We were about to head home before Finbar read my palm. He told me I would die at 50 years old, have a long love affair (that somehow doesn’t affect my love life) and give birth to three children, both boys and girls. I told him that I would be happy with that then ordered another beer…                                                                                                                                                    

 

21/06/18

Another late start (I am starting to wonder if I will ever wake up early again) to a full Egyptian breakfast – full beans, fried veg, bread, eggs and tea – really good stuff. On a full stomach, we jumped into a taxi to blue hole – it was a beautiful drive all along the coast. We arrived to see a small village type place with many tourists – especially Egyptians with big life jackets on. We chilled there for a while, had a guava juice, and tea then went for a snorkel. Annie met her friend there, Ibrahim. He was a nice guy although as he left, Annie told us that he was he kind of person who runs away from any form of attachment, be that friendships or relationships; one of those ‘free spirits’ who never settles or homes. For Annie, she told us that building strong, meaningful and lifelong friendships was one of the most beautiful things in this life. I agreed with her, although also wondered whether I too was like Ibrahim, running away from anything that is too good – home and the people who love me.    On the way to Blue Hole Blue hole was what it said on the road signs – a big blue hole. Apparently caused by a meteor, it is a famous diving spot where people can dive down to the depths of the hole to find a tunnel which makes its way up to the other side. Many people have died there pushing their limits or not being a prepared enough. In fact, so many deaths that around the edge of the blue hole there is a cemetery wall donning plaque of the names of the people who dies there. Annie told me about one death of a Bedouin man who died trying to save an Older English man who dived with an already existing heart condition. A sad story. As snorkelers however, we kept around the edges where the corals are – it was beautiful again – clown fish and big shoals of fish this time. I swam around the entire hole trying to avoid the Sharks (Egyptian men with under water cameras). Coming out of the sea I felt very dizzy and sick, it was motion sickness and too much sea water I think. I went for a shower and laid in shade. We then went for a walk to a small mountain and saw the sights, including the crazy sand man. I knew I had over done it for the day so as soon as we returned to Annie’s apartment, I went for a snooze and a rest before starting again. I woke up and went to find Wi-Fi (I had a few hellos to share and send on my phone). After I spoke with Eid about many things – we are definitely flirting – I can’t help it but think he is really cool when really, Annie and everyone told us directly, that we were not cool. He walked me back before going to Asalah square. Find she had cooked me pasta – Annie is really amazing (not just because she cooks pasta but because she is really cool). We sat there for a while, chatted and shared a whiskey. Finbar was feeling ill (he had the Egypt stomach bugs) and was in bed. Together we planned to go to Lagoona for beers and to drink whiskey. I was a little tired but knew that after a few sips I would be feeling up for it. 




The view from the Top of Blue Hole We headed up to the spit of Lagoona and made a fire. It was really nice spot. We shared a few whiskeys and had a chat and it wasn’t long before I was asked to make some music. I sang the usual songs on the guitar before making up some crazy ones together – el assalaam lama kul was my favourite that we improvised. It went something like this; ‘Asalaaam wa lay kum Lamma kul Wa lay kum asalaaamKulu Nas asalaaam’ I sang a song for Mahmood too, I couldn’t see his face behind the lights of the city but I hoped that he was smiling. I sang of how kind he was. I had a weird moment during the times that I was playing, I thought of all of the moments that I was jealous of the people that I had watched, the people who, like I once did, now sat and listened to me playing as if I was some musician. It is crazy how, with just a little bit of self-motivation, you can become anything you want to be. I jiggled around a little and laughed like a mad person when I realised. Moments like these are moments that can’t be relived, or planned, or in fact, even explained. During that night, Annie also introduced me to a song called the ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’. As she sang it I wondered whether we had already arrived there.  ‘One evening as the sun went downAnd the jungle fire was burning,Down the track came a hobo hiking,And he said, "Boys, I'm not turningI'm headed for a land that's far awayBesides the crystal fountainsSo come with me, we'll go and seeThe Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains,There's a land that's fair and bright,Where the handouts grow on bushesAnd you sleep out every nightWhere the boxcars all are emptyAnd the sun shines every dayOn the birds and the beesAnd the cigarette treesThe lemonade springsWhere the bluebird singsIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsAll the cops have wooden legsAnd the bulldogs all have rubber teethAnd the hens lay soft-boiled eggsThe farmers' trees are full of fruitAnd the barns are full of hayOh I'm bound to goWhere there ain't no snowWhere the rain don't fallThe wind don't blowIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsYou never change your socksAnd the little streams of alcoholCome trickling down the rocksThe brakemen have to tip their hatsAnd the railroad bulls are blindThere's a lake of stewAnd of whiskey, tooYou can paddle all around 'emIn a big canoeIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains,The jails are made of tinAnd you can walk right out again,As soon as you are inThere ain't no short-handled shovels,No axes, saws or picks,I'ma goin' to stayWhere you sleep all day,Where they hung the TurkThat invented workIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsI'll see you all this coming FallIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains’ 
The night was really fun, we spoke, sang, ate a potato from the fire, listened to the wind, drank (Salem, they guy who had initiated the whole thing, drank one too many for sure) and Eid and I held hands. It was a night which I was so glad that I found the energy for – one that I know that we won’t forget. As usual, we headed back in a pick-up truck, laying down watching the stars spin as the truck turned. Ruby and I giggled a lot about how, laying in the back of the truck was like living a cheesy rom-com, I agreed, especially considering how Eid was holding my hand at the time. *Just a note about the last few days of writing; I guess that I am feeling less of a need to write about my experiences because, I am starting to feel a part of the gang and that these experiences are being shared with the people I am with as they are being lived. Besides, in the long run, who else cares about the minor details of these experiences apart from the people you are the with. The people who made them… Goodnight to all. I sleep with giggles. 

 

22/06/18

It was my turn to buy the breakfast today – I went to the shop to buy fattias, yoghurt, jam and fruit. I met Annie on the way back – we had a swim together, washed and cleaned the flat and then waited for the guys to come around. After breakfast we had a big chat about politics, how to change the system and all the rest of it – cool stuff. After that, Annie and I headed to her ‘friends’ house called Francesca – she was nuts apparently. We walked for a long time in the sun, we got sweaty. We arrived and I said hello to her, she was definitely a bit nuts – she had a crazy mad laugh, one which almost sounded a little Witch like. She guessed a few things too – about me and Annie. The was something different about her, something the average person couldn’t figure out. She had moved to Dahab after being destitute and in Italy and then running away from her last husband in Israel. She had a son and a dog and lived there for a few years. She had no money and didn’t care too much about whether her son was going to school or not. She was ironing when we came in. We sat on her bed drinking a juice and stroking her dog (that had fleas everywhere). It was a very surreal moment, one of them moments where I thought who am I and what am I doing here. We chatted for a while before her son came back. He was called Jacomore and he was the reason why I came around to visit her – he had pigeons – in fact, like me, he loved pigeons.   Jacomore’s pigeons including the most recently bornHe was a cool kid and took us up to see them. He had made the cage himself, there were nice bred pigeons and looked very healthy. We sat there for a while as he showed us the newly born pigeons and the most expensive ones.      Jacomore’s cages and his most expensive PigeonAfter visiting him he headed back to the market. Annie sat on the boat with Mahmoud as I sat with the children and played guitar and showed them my bones (it was a stupid mistake to make as later they stole them out of my bag – tomorrow I will hunt them down).  The moment when Annie threw her shoe off the boat when fighting on the board with Jacomore. 
After I went and sat on the boat with Annie, Mahmoud and Jacomore (who kindly came to find me to return my phone). We then sat in Annie’s place and talked about funny things – about what it means to be a crusty-hippy or a hippy-hippy, it made me laugh so much. Here are the rough conclusions of our conversations; Youth subcultures in the 21st centuryCrusty – van dwellers, soul, east turkey, hungry, anti-materialist, eat crust, hand eaters, slackliners, cheap beer, drum smokers, climb trees, passionate political talker, conscious of their crustiness but happy with it, soas, middleclass-ish, vans or canal boat, sustainable, rock and roll, not spiritual or philosophical in fact a little bit anti spiritual, travellers, volunteers, Calais, refugee crusty lands, definitely do not go to Starbucks, workers. Sour-dough crusty – bougie crusty Gentrified crusty – a crusty but likes nice things every now and then like nice coffeePunk crusty – punk crusty, usually Italian Wholemeal crusty – good strong soul of the earth, rooted Hybrid crusty – a bit of a crustyHippy – drugs, acid, weed, philosophical, fairy, fluffy, talk a lot of shit, clique, don’t do much, fashionable but refuse to admit it, a-political, moral high-ground, snoozes, lazy. Wasteman– middle class, north face, tracksuit trainers, pouch, middle class road man, wanna be roadman’s (joseph willet)Roadman – working class, white socks and trainers, regional, chav, shit house music, grim, finger pointing guns, Skepta.  White girl does urban – female versions of waste mans, cultured and pretend to be rough. Lads – oi oi – points of glasses in hand, jocks come under lads. 
 Watching the local Camel having his daily wash in the Sea.The plan for the evening was to make another fire by the sea. We did that although I was no longer feeling in the mood to relax – I wanted to work for some reason. I felt anxious and finding out my bones had been stolen at the Friday market only made me feel worse. I decided that the only remedy was to go a little bit crazy to get it out my system. With that in mind I played my guitar wildly (that Mahmoud had kindly brought along), sang like a nutter and rolled around in the sand after a swim, for some reason I just couldn’t sit still. After we sat around the fire and talked. I talked to ruby about the kids in Calais and how fucked up this world is and how emotional we get and I talked to Mahmoud about Dahab. It was another cool evening but with the anxieties I became tired very quickly. It was a long day with a lot of emotions – now time to quickly search for my bones and then sleep. 

 

23/06/18

We awoke smelling of bonfire, I headed straight to the café to do some writing – the writing that I felt like doing yesterday. I then ran to see my friend to collect my capo from him – I had left it there when I played there the day before. The plan for the day was to go to Blue lagoon – and we would get there by boat (Mahmoud even cancelled his job to go ahead with the plan!). It was about a two-hour boat ride away. We jumped on to Madison (this was the boats new name) and headed out past the calmness of the corals. The waves were really crazy and in fact I was wondering whether we would ever get there. We all sat upright on the back of the boat, straight backs, staring out to the horizon and the front of the boat that was battling against the waves. We sang sea shanties on the way to take our mind off the choppy waves and sea sickness.     OnOn the way to Blue LagoonEventually, after two hours, we safely arrived. Of course we would, Mahmoud knows the ways of the waves… We all jumped off the boat – Mahmoud, Annie, Eid, Ruby, Finbar, Cat, and myself. It was beautiful and it was the land of crustiness; crusty people paradise. There were people with guitars, people barefooted, casual kite-surfers everywhere and wooden huts. The mountains overlooked us in their striped shades and the cool, light blue sea took away any worries you may have brought with you. Like we hadn’t seen land for a whole week, without saying a word, we all jumped off the boat into the water and swam to the shore.   Still on the way to Blue LagoonAfter we got our seasick bodies grounded, we headed back into the water to play on the water board again. We played like kids. We pushed each other off the board and splashed around. The kite surfers came really close to us, so close that they splashed us as they went past. Ruby did her bitch face to them – the face that always made me laugh. I did a headstand on the board – showing off I guess. A kite surfer jumped over me, going through my legs. All I saw was a flying body above me. My toe caught one of his strings as he flew over, unsurprisingly we both flew through the air and into the sea. It was like unplanned acrobatics, something that couldn’t happen again even if we tried. Nuts.      Almost there… 
We swam in and sat onto the shore – I made up a little song about blue lagoon – it went something like this;  

‘In the blue lagoon, we’ll catch the Icemoon*and some coral if your name is Eid. We will catch some fish, then talk shit Then we’ll drink a glass of whiskey.
The waves are big, so bigThey made us roll around the floor. But we rode that wave, that big wave And Mahmoud brought us safe to shore. 
In the blue lagoon we’ll sleep under the full moon As the mountains watch us from aaaafaaaaar… 

*In reality, in Blue Lagoon, we didn’t catch any Icemoon (a type of large fish), and we were too poor for a bottle of whiskey. However, in the blue lagoon we did sleep under the full moon and it was beautiful, so beautiful.Before we started settle down for the evening, I went for a walk with Eid. We didn’t say much, but skimmed some stones and held starfish. He makes me laugh. We then went back to eat some dinner that Mahmoud had made. After I played the guitar a little then smoked a big joint, we laid on the carpet and looked up to the stars. Ruby said she didn’t want to look because they made her think too much. I wanted to look at the stars because I think too much without them. Stars were also very nice to look at after smoking a spliff. Everything was perfect, well that’s what I thought until someone behind us started playing an Oud in the camp hut just behind us… then it was perfect.  I rolled over from my spliffy haze to watch a piece of polystyrene drifted into the ocean. I ran into the sea to get it, and then ran out. I was awake again. Everyone was gossiping about old school friends so I went for a walk to dry off. The walk was long, maybe an hour, but I wasn’t sure, time doesn’t seem real here. Like a bird, or a plastic bag, (I am not the one to judge how beautiful I looked) I was playing in the warm, mountain winds as I walked. I held my scarf up towards its direction and watched as it flapped like a sail. I held it over my arms, like wings, and watched my moonlit shadow dance like an angel. I realised that I was like an angel, I realised that everyone I was with was like an angel and that the ground I was walking on could have been heaven. I stepped lightly. I was grinning, and skipping, like I had just fallen in love. I was singing a song that came from me so naturally and then I sat on the floor and listened to the waves – I realised, dancing on that foreign land, in which my feet had never before stood, I was home. I was feeling wonderful and when I arrived back and played a little more guitar. I sang a song to Ibrahim, Annie’s friend, he was laughing and eventually decided to join in. It started off on some very terrible cat screaming notes. It was funny until I decided to get my head down to sleep. I waited half asleep for over an hour for them to stop singing and talking, all I wanted to hear was the waves and the wind. Eventually, when they had run out of cigarettes, they slept. The tide was coming in so Eid woke me up to move the mat up further to the shore. After, he got up real close to me. I was enjoying the cuddles, but as the hand moved across my chest then down to my shorts, I felt uncomfortable. Not only did I want to enjoy the sound of the waves in silences but also, every time he touched me, I thought of the people who loved me, Ahmed and Louis mainly – I knew that this was a reckless move inspired from lust. I had to move – I went on to the boat to get some water, pretending that I was thirsty. It was awkward because I saw Mahmoud and Annie naked in the boat. It was my own fault. I should have knocked or something. I quickly grabbed the bottle and jumped off. My plan to sleep on the boat failed and even more so, I had woken Annie up who, after came off the boat to recollect the water I had taken. I sat back down. He asked me if I wanted to walk, I told him I would go alone. I walked for a while then found an old carpet and a corner behind a hut to sleep in. It was nice, there was no wind but the sound of the waves could still be heard. The old carpet smelt of dust and I did feel a little worried that I would be awoken by an angry man who would ask me to pay for the ‘comfort’. Imagining sense of being awoken by an angry man or even kidnapped, I got up from the corner and went for another stroll to think. I looked up at the sky that was now darker since the moon had sunk behind the mountain. I wondered whether I should go back to find Eid, I wondered whether he would be worried. I laid there for a while but then I found my company in the stars. I felt home again, I felt safe. I went back to the old carpet in the corner and slept peacefully finally hearing the wind and the waves behind me.                                                                                                                                                

24/06/18

I was awoken by Eid. I smiled at him instantly apparently, like no one had awaken before he said. Maybe I was pleased to see his face instead of an angry man. He checked that I was ok then told me to go back to sleep, I did so happily. Another three hours Eid awoke me again, saying that the rest of the group were wondering where I was. I stumbled out of the dusty carpet an into the sea without saying a word. I wasn’t fully awake yet. I swam in and spoke to the guys who were chilling under the shade. I got a drink and played with the Blue lagoon cat for a while before many ladies came along to sell bracelets – I brought far too many as usual.The afternoon was spent with the children on the beach – it was wild, they were wild. They ran around, jumped of the boat and climbed along the side of it. It was a child invasion. They seemed intrigued by us – like we were magical beings. They even asked (in Arabic) if were travelling scallywags. We told them that we were and, like a typical crusties, I played the guitar and sang a song including their names. One song which went something like this; ‘Yasmin Yasmin el bint, el bintYa asooola, ya asoooolaYa jamilla, Ya jamillaYa bint, Ya bint Yasmin Yasmin el bint, el bintYasmin, Yasmin’. 
She smiled a smile which showed both confusion and shyness. I guess she was working out whether we were fun people or mad people. Under a secret code, we all jumped into the water at the same time and chased the children from the boat. They seemed genuinely scared of us, especially when we hissed like snakes. It was so much fun, madness. Unsurprisingly, as they tested out our tolerances, they began to call us crazy people and we loved it. They were jumping on us, we threw them in the air, they jumped off the boat like monsters and we fought each other on the board. I had my eyes on one of the children and was chasing him around the edges of the boat. As I swam around the corner of the smaller boat I was hiding behind, I saw the child dangling from the side of the boat. He had one leg in the air and the rest of his body in the water. There was a fish hook stuck in his foot. He dangled there crying and squirming like a fish bait. I swam up to him and held him on the boat closing his eyes. I asked for one of the men to help. The café owner came along and simply pulled out the hook from his foot, as if he was a small fish,picked him up, patted him on the head and pushed him gently as the child ran off to the shore. After two minutes, his tears were gone and after ten minutes, he was back in the water. Kids here are really tough. We went to the shore to play some games before running into the water together – we were acting like clowns. We were pulling silly faces, dramatically crying and coding each other to do and say things in synchronicity. The children stared at us with their brown, wide eyes. We playing the water for a while, throwing the children into the water. Eid, with his big muscles, threw them like ragdolls, whilst we only dragged them through the sea like fragile objects. One girl clung onto me like a limpet, like I was her sister. She had long hair and a petite body. She felt like she was covered in cooking oil. I imagined that she had been helping her mother all morning in the kitchen. I threw her in the air and gave her a piggy back and we both laughed. Eid joined me in the water, we swam around and hugged each other, I was playing with him like the children, trying to drown him and pick him up. We kissed under the water – it was fun. We were like flirting fish. Once he got out of the water, I made a new friend – she was a young girl who I gave her the name bint qawee (strong girl). I called her this until she eventually called herself it. As she was jumping off my back, she was shouting her new name so loud that I imagined us starting a feminist rock band once she was a little taller. As I was lifting her up into the air, I noticed that she had many scars and bruises on the side of her stomach. I wondered if they were burns from cooking or accidents from an adventurous childhood and that differed greatly from that of my younger cousins. After a good three hours of running wild with the mountain children, the tide finally became ready for our departure. It was high and the wind had dropped. We jumped on board, through the blankets onto the boat and started to make our way back. We travelled much quicker and smoother than on the way there, the wind was behind us and we rode the waves instead of battling them.     On the way back from Blue Lagoon, salty and shoeless. On the way we lost both my shoes and the surf board – which Mahmoud told me would eventually make its way back to the outside of their house like a lost puppy. (He was right, only four hours later it arrived right outside Sheik Salam. A surf board with GPS, who’d would of thought).  Not having the board, we used the kayak to get the stuff across to shore. Fully clothed, we jumped into the water. Walking back barefooted and soaking we felt like an apt way to end the adventure we had. After a shower, some apparently famous ‘Dahab’ back massages, and a game of hearts, we headed to Dai Pescatori for dinner – it was out treat from us to Mahmoud and Annie. Was ate two huge pizzas and some salad – it was good stuff. After Eid and I headed to Asalah square to get some shoes. It may have been the most awkward experience of my life – standing in the men’s shoe shop, barefooted, with them both staring at the choices I made. I felt so tall and white (and sunburnt) in comparison to them both, and without shoes and dirty feet, I felt so silly, like a clown but without a nose. After, Eid and I brought some beers, sat on the beach and talked politics. After a couple of beers, we kissed. With the alcohol in our systems the kissing led to more. We may as well have admitted it from the start. We rolled on the sand as he undid the buttons of my shirt and the zip of my shorts. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or whether I wanted to go ahead. This indecisiveness only made me unconfident and nervous. It was another one of the many other moments that I have had in bed where I should’ve made things clear to myself before things went too far. Realising that we were basically about to have sex so close to the path where people walked, and how obvious my white body was in the blackness of the sand, I decided that we had to stop. Having another beer and a chat, we decided to go back to his apartment instead. It was obvious what was going to happen.  I knew that I shouldn’t have gone but again I was too unconscious to even think straight and my body still felt like it was on the sea. I was wavy and dreaming, maybe it was the sea breeze, or maybe it was the sunburn. When we got to his apartment, there were empty bottles of vodka, wrappers of empty sweet packets and underwear on the floor. It reminded me that, despite his strong opinions, he was just another lad who lived alone. We made our way onto the bed, still not knowing how I got there in the first place. We for-played for a while. It was definitely needed because I have never felt a penis so big, I even worried that it would enter. He whispered into my ear that he loved white skin. It made me feel strange. It made me feel like I was a body that had been brought like the T-Shirts that he buys from the shop, the ones that have written on them stuff in English like ‘If travelling was free I wouldn’t be here’. I laid there wondering what I should do, wondering how I would feel after this happened. My mind wasn’t really with him, and neither did it care. Again, I should of decided to myself whether I wanted this or not BEFORE we kissed, BEFORE, we got naked, BEFORE, we went back to his apartment. Maybe this Hedonism is what Dahab does to you after a week of being there. Although I squirmed and wriggled and turned my head to either side, somehow his penis made it inside of me and somehow, I didn’t cry. Really, I had never experienced something so big before. I told him that too. I asked him to stop after a while but, he was so close to coming that he begged me for five minutes more. I am not sure what I replied or whether I replied at all. Either way, eventually, the exchange finished. I laid hugging him with come on my chest, feeling his heart beating fast to slow, tasting his sweat. I was happy it was over, there was no longer that stupid, and false feeling that I have often. The feeling that I owed something to him. I took a shower then sat back in the room. He asked me if I wanted anything from the shop. He came back with water, juice, a packet croissant and hydro – a mix of both hash and weed. I watched him smoke it, as I sat playing with the harmonica that he had given me. I wondered whether, now the feeling of owing someone had passed to him. I wondered whether I had given my body to him in exchange of a rusty harmonica. I was angry with myself for allowing this to happen. I felt dead inside and out. I wanted to leave but I had no energy to. I wasn’t there. We got into bed, we didn’t say a word. He was getting slower as he smoked more of the joint. He began talking about air conditioners and electricity bills but as I lay there, listening to the waves in the distance. I told myself I would go once he had fallen asleep, but I stupidly I closed my eyes and fell into a deep and dead sleep.    

 

25/06/18

I woke early realising quickly where I was. I saw him beside me. It was still early morning, I could tell by the coolness of the breeze and the quietness of the street, no one wakes up this early in Dahab. I got up quickly and left, I was hoping that I wouldn’t wake him. As I put on my shoes he opened his eyes ‘you are leaving’ he said. ‘Yes’ I said. He sat up and said that he would come with me. ‘It’s early, go to sleep’ I said. He asked if I would see him before I Left. I said yes even though I knew that I wouldn’t. He went back to sleep as I took my harmonica and closed the door. I walked along the street enjoying the empty corniche and the breeze of the sea – I knew it would be something that I would miss in Cairo. I knocked on Annie’s door twice, she was asleep. She eventually let me in without saying a word. I was wondering whether she was angry at me or just half asleep still. I had a shower then went back out. I had only three more hours left in this city and I thought I would use them to find my bones. I was feeling lucky. I walked in the direction of the farm, for some reason I thought that they may be there. I walked no knowing where the farm was though, only with a guess. On the way I asked every child if they had seen my bones, as usual they shook their heads and looked at me like I was a nut bag. I walked and kept walking eventually finding Wi-Fi to use my maps. Every car that passed me beeped at me and shouted ‘Taxi’. I shook my head each time. I eventually found the farm and rang the bell on arrival. Jonah, one of the volunteers opened the door and instantly asked – you are here to collect the bones! I shouted a big YES and held a grin for a good five minutes. We spoke about the bones and the weather and the best places to visit then, after saying goodbye I left.                     My lost and found Bones I walked back to find Annie and the others eating breakfast in the house. I told them about my bones and Eid’s bone – they laughed and then went quiet for a while. I think that they think I am a nut bag too. We went for a swim and danced in the waves, they sang me a song in the tune of ‘Jolene’. It went something like this; ‘Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy… I’m beggin’ you please don’t leave your Eid… You came to Dahab for a while and you sang us songs that made us smile, Don’t leave your man just because you can…’

 It made me laugh. We bobbed around for a while, as we always did in the sea, talked about the size of penis’ and then bobbed back in. We changed and then left for the bus station getting some fruit on the way. We jumped in a taxi – I felt the wind in my hair and watched it in the hair of others. I knew then that I would miss these people, these friends that I had made, these people that at have been so patient waiting for me to do all these silly things that I felt I need to do. These kind, funny and very good people. They waved me from the bus station and I gave them all a big hug. They turned and I watched them walk away to their next adventure. They didn’t look back as I boarded the GoBus although I stared at them. They talked with each other and carried on. I wondered if they cared about me after they had walked away, I wondered if they too felt the same – I wondered if they too realised that these experiences that we shared only would stay in the mind of each of us. As I watched them walk away I felt a deep sense of loneliness, I felt that a diary was being thrown onto the fire, I felt like the moments we had shared together where walking away. It was the end of a time and it was time for change – time to travel to the next city.Listening to music on the way back, watching the mountains roll by, I replayed the memories and laughs in my head. I felt euphoric sensations, I felt for the first time in a long time, that I was 21. I thought about the beautiful coincidences which lead us all to meeting, how Annie was in a relationship with a such a kind and gentle Bedouin man, how Ruby always made such perfect faces, how cat was so politically tuned on, how Annie was the coolest girl I had ever met. I thought of all these characters and positioned myself with in them as a friend. I thought of my future self-telling the stories we shared to my grandchildren, I knew that whatever had happened over the last few weeks was something that I would never have dreamed of. In that moment, listening to Bob Dylan on the bus, watching the sun setting behind the horizon, seeing Saudi from afar, I felt the meaning at my fingertips. Life’s answers felt so close, on the edge of my tongue, yet still more indescribable than ever before. I knew then that life was for sharing, for making memories with people, it was travel, it was experience, it was the learning from experience, it was everything you never had imagined, it was right there, it was in those moments that together we shared in Dahab. It was being among people who care whether you are with them or not. It was simple life and growing friendships. We stopped at a half way point, just as I felt the need to write. I practiced my Arabic by asking for a cigarette then spoke to a couple of crusties from Italy. Although I was already missing the company in Dahab, it felt good to be on the road again.I slept as the bus jutted in the heavy traffic across the Suez cannel. We were lucky not to get stopped at any check point. In total, it only took 9 hours from Dahab, usually it would take 11 or 12. Everything had gone to plan apart from I missed the stop from the Gobus. Instead it took me to Giza – I got some very funny looks as I stepped out of the bus – it seems like Giza is not really the place for foreigners. Trying to keep my cool, and trying not to look as lost as I felt (secret to success in life maybe), I jumped in the next taxi that pulled up. I checked his meter was on and he started to drive in the direction I told him. He had no clue which way to go and stopped at every young person he saw to ask them if they spoke English. Eventually, with the help of my phones GPS, we found our way. I arrived at Audrey’s house feeling very tired and brain dead – Being on the edge of anxiousness all day had really taken out my energy. I waited half an hour for Foufou (Fouad, Adureys boyfriend) to open the door (Audrey was not in the flat as she was working away for the week in Alexandria). I sat on the corner and watched life pass – horses and carts dragging plasma screen tv’s, women in Burkas on the back on motorbikes, children chasing cats and four-by-four jeeps. All happening on a back corner of a street. Egypt was nuts and I loved it. It puts London’s city life to shame. I eventually found the door to Audrey’s flat and met Foufou waiting inside. He seemed a little nervous and rang Audrey as soon as I stepped inside. I spoke to her for a while and he did too. I watched him roll a joint on the table, Audrey told me that this was something that he would do. It was a huge joint – bigger than those I saw in Dahab. We spoke for a while until then next thing I knew he had invited his friend round. We all shared a beer and I took a few drags of his spliff. It was all happening a little too fast for my liking. One minute I was laying at a beach looking at the stars and the next, I was smoking a spliff talking about computers with two Egyptian friends. They were nice though and made me feel welcome (apart from laughing at my silly fousah!). They invited me out to a roof top bar, their friends were meeting there as he was going to Ireland for work. I had no clue what made me say yes, I knew that I should have really of rested. Maybe it was the spliff or the beer – who knows. Either way, the next thing I knew I was sitting around a table with their friends I didn’t know. I listened to some Egyptian Arabic and sat there like a child who couldn’t speak, or had no care to speak. What was I doing there and who were these people? It was a who am I where am I moment. I looked at the moon and took another sip of beer – everything felt fine after that. We said goodbye to each other after an hour, thank god it wasn’t any longer – I had no clue what to talk about other than football and work. At least most of the people there spoke fluent English. We finished our beers then headed downstairs.I jumped back in the car and they drove me home. Almost instantly, as soon as I laid down on the sofa, I slept. I didn’t even have any energy to change my clothes or make my way to the bed. I slept for ten hours with only little interruption – the flies that kept landing on my nose.                                                                                                                                                          

 

26/06//18 

I woke up to a room with all the lights on. I felt gross – no wonder there were flies around me. I felt like a dehydrated prune – a true crusty. It took me some hours to sort my life out – that is, get clean, unpack, sort out the Wi-Fi and clean the empty beers of the table. I felt dead. I didn’t leave the house till late afternoon – lazy I know. but at least my burnt skin would appreciate it. Well, I say late afternoon although it was already six in the evening by the time I left and the sun was setting. As I walked over the bridge towards the island of the city, I watched it fall behind the buildings across from the Nile, the mother that gives all of the green to this place. Reaching the other side of the bridge, I crossed the road as Egyptians do, with boldness. Any hesitation I would be run over. If I didn’t believe that I would make it onto the other side, then I wouldn’t.  I was heading towards Zamelek – a close community of the city which exists on the island between the two splits of the river. Apparently, it is where most foreigners lived and worked. And you could tell this from the minor details there – there were fancy shops, bakeries, natural cosmetic saloons and cinemas. It was the most expensive area of the city and it seemed as though money lived there.  Walking over the bridge to Zamalek I had no other need to be in Zamelek other than to collect Audrey’s photo she had printed from a photo shop. I walked and eventually managed to find the place after going into two wrong shops. After collecting the huge frame, I decided to take a walk. Anyway, I needed to look out for some new shoes and a phone sim card. I walked into shops each time surprising myself on how natural I was acting – I don’t think I would even act this relaxed in a shop in England. I guess here, if you seem like you are either lost or afraid, you are a sitting duck for a bored taxi driver or some sort. It is better to pretend to be confident rather than nothing at all. I brought some shoes and razors, (I was looking forward to de-crusting myself before we head to al Gouna) I walked around a little more, smelling the pollution of the city and seeing the daily going ons of the people. Sitting down by the Nile, I watched as a man walked up the side of the gangway, cleaning out his mouth. The water that he was spitting out, glistened, almost magically under the lights of the lamppost above him. I headed back to Audrey’s after my short shopping trip, I brought with me pasta and sauce to cook too. I felt like a resident already with my shopping and my photos in hand. I wondered whether, like Audrey, I would ever be able to live here alone. I stopped in one last shop to get some sweetcorn and peas for the pasta. They corrected me on my Arabic (‘Sorry’ is asfah not asif for a female). For the last time of the day, I then walked past the men outside the coffee shops, bubbling shisha pipes, playing cards, and watching the word cup to finally reach Audrey’s flat. Arriving back, I watered the many plants on the balcony, (another duty I was given to do), cooked some pasta, and watched camel racing on what seemed like a TV from the 1970’s, everything was a little fuzzy and in high contrast). Today was the average day in Cairo if you ask me.                                                                                                                                                                    

 

27/06/18

I had planned to meet Yomi today, a friend from my Arabic class at school. He was in Cairo, living at his grandmas, studying Arabic at one of the language centres. Before I met him, I knew he had seen very little of the city. We met at the hanging church, a Coptic church that was in the Coptic centres in Cairo. I was late (as usual) as I spent the morning chilling and (what was my excuse) had a little trouble explaining the place to the taxi driver where the church was and who, on arrival, didn’t have any change to give me for the fare (Change or ‘fukah’ is a problem in Cairo, no one seems to have it!). Eventually meeting Yomi, we talked and walked around the area for a while. In the Coptic area, it didn’t seem like the Cairo you’d imagine, or the Cairo that the government wanted you to imagine. There were hanging crosses, a church for Saint George, graveyards of forgotten priests, and deep underground caverns that were once (and maybe still) used to pray in and. It felt and looked more like Rome than the so called ‘Northern Africa’.    Coptic CairoWe walked around for a while, and getting to know each other, although Yomi and I had talked before, we knew very little about each other before we met). He told me about his family, whom he was staying with in Cairo, the Egyptian side of his family who he hadn’t met before this trip. I could tell by Yomi’s comments that he hadn’t travelled much, everything with a slight change he commented on and noticed how even the mundanities are strange. He was nervous but not afraid to admit it. Inside the churches we were asked where we were from, somehow people could already tell that we were ajnabi (foreigners). Yomi supposed that it was like we had a glowing tourist light around us. Walking around the church, everyone wanted pictures, especially the children and especially when we joked and told them that we were famous writers from London. After Coptic Cairo, we walked along to a street shop full of dusty films. We asked the man to show us some. He blew the dust off and took out a large piece of magnifying glass. The photos looked like they were taken in a port by a family who were on holiday. We were walking towards a mosque, I took my shoes off, donned a hijab, then watched Yomi pray. We then had a big chat about travelling and his childhood in Nigeria. Despite his Islamic name ‘Hamza’, he admitted that he wasn’t so seem so comfortable being alone in Cairo.After cooling off in the mosque, we jumped in a cab to the citadel – one of the highest point in Cairo, not so far away from Coptic Cairo. I had no clue what it was. Either way I paid for a ticket (and an overpriced sprite) and walked up the walls of its fortress. Inside of the citadel, there were various museums and mosques including the military museum and the police museum that were interesting if only short. One of the titles for the sections in the police museum was simply ‘political assassinations’ which held there was then a cabinet with lots of guns and knives. It made us laugh and led us onto a discussion about the revolution in 2011.Outside of the police museum, there was a view of the city like no other. All you could see, as far as the horizon reached, was the houses and buildings of the city and its suburbs. I knew Cairo was the largest city in Africa, but seeing it with your eyes really made you believe it. It was a huge city, and all one colour, a sandy, dusty colour. Cairo is massive and golden.  The view from the Citadel Beginning to melt in the forty degrees, again we headed into the coolness of a mosque. On top of the citadel, the Mohammad Ali mosque was one of the most impressive of the mosques around. It had 365 lamps inside (to represent the days of the year) stood at 53m in height (To signify the weeks) and four large pillars (to represent the seasons as well as the four Caliphs)– I think that the symmetry within mosques are beautiful. Our tour lady, that I accepted for us to join us, was funny, and knew her stuff. She took pictures of us as our feet were burning on the outside pavements. Heading out of the mosque, we found a crowd of angry taxi drivers who all wanted our money. We said no and flagged one down instead. Any taxi driver that is that eager for you to jump in their taxi, is surely planning on over charging you or accidently forgetting to put on the metre. We told the taxi driver that we flagged down, to drive us through ‘garbage city’, a place where everything’s is recycled and renewed, and then to four seasons hotel, the most expensive hotel in Cairo. 
 Inside of the Mohammad Ali Mosque We couldn’t find the garbage city and instead looked like crazy people off roading through a residential area. We laughed as he would down the window and asked people where the rubbish was. Every person on the street peered in though out window. After a good half hour of tight turns and squeezes through market streets, dodging people carrying carpets and children kicking footballs, we drive out from the neighbourhood and back towards the Nile. Being dropped off at four seasons hotel, we brought some snacks then make our way onto a felouka sail. Loaded with chips, peanuts, and fizzy drinks we jumped on board. Somehow, I had remembered the same place and even the name of the man who sailed us out before – Fahtti from Sudan.     View from the FelukaYomi enjoyed it I think and I did too – the view from the city were immense and it was just before sunset. We thanked the diver and got off board, stroked a tiny headed cat. We then began to walk for Yomi to book a taxi.         Yomi / Tiny cat / Feluka Yomi left and I decided to walk back to Audrey’s, not really gaging how far away it was. Dodging the cars and avoiding eye contacts and stares, I walked with a purpose and a mission although somehow, I still fell into a tourist trap. ‘Look at my shop sister’ he said. ‘I am an artist and I give you a gift’. He was a cleaver man. He knew all the right words and how somehow hypnotise me into thinking that the gift he was giving me was really for free. Before I knew it, I was sat in his ‘art shop’, smelling perfumes, drinking tea, and flicking through his ‘paintings’ (that were so obviously factory-made prints). We spoke for a while, chatting about our lives and where I had learnt Arabic. He had set aside two paintings for me to take home. After around half an hour, he asked me to write my name. He told me that he would write it onto the posters that I would take home. Thinking that he was genuinely interested in how my name was spelt, I did so. He wrote my name in ‘phoronic script’ then, kindly I picked up the pieces and began to walk away. ‘Excuse me lady, they are not free – they are 400El!’. I was angry. How could I be so stupid to fall into this trap, of course nothing is for free. I told him that I didn’t want the gifts then continued to leave the shop. He replied saying that, now that he had written my name on the papers, he could no longer sell them. I told his that that was his problem, and that he had made me feel stupid. I walked away again feeling like a typical tourist. Walking away I thought about how much Louis would have liked one of those paintings so, to make things slightly better between our bad feelings, I brought one of the smaller ‘gifts’ for a pound. It wasn’t much but I guess better than leaving the shop owner with two paintings that had my name on…Shaking my head at my own naivety, I continued to walk. I dodged the traffic of horses, buses and jeeps by running out on the motorways and crossing over the long 6th of October bridge. October bridge was huge, much bigger than I expected. It ran across the two places where the Nile split and over the island in the middle. On the island it crossed over below, there was so many lights as I passed. It was only until I walked passed I realised what it was. AS I peered over the edge I several football pitches and sport courts. Below me was an Island of pitches, and every one of them was being used. It was an island of sporty people, footballers, basketball players and both the young and old, boys and girls playing it. I looked over some more, to see the families in the playgrounds further along.      6th of October BridgeAlso, slightly further along, there was a big screen and many chairs. I walked further, it was playing the world cup. I stood there, on the bridge, with men on motorbikes also dangling over the side, and watched the match from the top of the bridge. As I continued to walk the motorbikes passed me in the distance on the road. Continuing my walk, there were so many noises on the way back, so loud and so many. Beeping cars surrounded me, music from the boats, shouting and fighting and the waves of the Nile. This city was really happening. It really did put tameness of London to shame.    Football City under 6th of October BridgeI eventually made it back to Balloon Theatre, close to where Audrey was staying. It was late and with all the walking I was sweating. I went inside, ate some dinner, then slept without trouble at all.                                                                                                                                                           

 

28/06/18

I rested in the morning, doing some writing and tiding the house. I had then planned to meet Yomi at the Pyramids. It was far and I knew it was a horrible place to visit; a place where, as a tourist, you are attacked. Again, a sitting duck. Either way, I knew that, without me, Yomi would have never have seen them and anyway, maybe it would be a good idea to go back and see if I can face the tourist tricks this time. The taxi was a long ride and all the taxi driver asked was if I wanted a cigarette. I think he wanted to test my ‘foreignness’ or ‘westerners’ (only foreign women would be likely to smoke). I quickly said no and he seemed disappointed. In Hinze sight I should have used the time to practice my Arabic although, I wasn’t in the mood.I met Yomi at KFC. The place where only one year ago I was sitting outside, shaking with fear, angry and stupidly selling silly chalk pyramids with people who I had just met. Compared to last year, it felt really good this time to walk, it was like I was on a mission to say a strict no to everyone who asked me if I wanted a camel ride or a horse.We made our way in, still saying no – no – no to the very adamant horse driver. We only had an hour to spare, we walked along the path, past the sphinx. Of course, despite our responses, camels and horses followed us all of the way. They staked us for a good hour. ‘camel?’ ‘horse?’ ‘hello foreigner!’. We kept our patients and kindly, and not so kindly, asked them to go away. Most of them did after a while but two skinny looking camels and not so skinny men, followed us all the way around, everywhere we walked. It was like our shadows had turned into camels and their camels had turned into our shadows.     Yomi on Camel back We went to the furthest pyramid, the one I had been into before and climbed down to the bottom and, as expected, there was nothing to see except from stone. Oh well it was done we both said. We walked back with camels still following us. It was a game of ‘who is going to break first’. Eventually, as the camel drivers saw us heading to the exits, we were stopped in our track by the camels. It may have been because he overheard me saying to Yomi ‘shall we just do it?’. I asked if Yomi had ever been on one before and, as expected, he said no. Before we knew it, we had both climbed onto the back of one of the camels and began to ride. We were the people who broke in the game. Yomi’s face looked slightly scared. I just rode and it reminded me of the time, last year, Ali took me on his camel, Ali with blue eyes. We walked over to the path where we asked him to get down. We wanted to walk the rest of the way. We passed the sphinx and the other tombs on the way.     We got a drink, and of course, had to haggle for it. ‘Mooshkula mooshkula’ we tutted. Yomi was pretty good at haggling by now, especially with his ability to throw in some Egyptian Arabic and the fact that his cousins live in the cheaper end of town. This being so, we eventually got the drink for a decent rate. We headed back, after having another chat about the future. Yomi told me that he didn’t want to do a masters but felt like he had to. I replied saying that he didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want to, that he was free. I got back in the taxi and headed back. The taxi man changed the radio from qur’anic verses to some very cheesy British pop music to accompany the ride. I guess he thought that it was something that I liked, it was kind of sweet. I arrived back to Audrey’s house to find her chilling on the floor in her underwear, for some reason I was a little nervous before I went in. Either way, it wasn’t such a grand hello. The French are not so into them it seems and besides, we both feel like we only saw each other yesterday. We sat on her sofa and had a catch up, mainly about her work colleagues. She invited me to the saloon, I initially said no but, in her voice, she seemed annoyed, like she had envisioned me coming with her. I agreed then went with her. I had no clue what happened after that as the next thing I knew I was sitting in a chair watching my hair being chopped of in one go. It was a mess. My fringe had been ruined and the back of my hair was wonky, as I looked in the mirror, a woman with a 70’s bowl cut stared back at me. I looked at my hair on the floor and felt like I wanted to stick it back on. Why didn’t I stop her before she chopped of the longest sides of my hair, why didn’t I say something?I asked Audrey if she had any scissors at home, I wanted to sort it out, my fringe was one sided. She said yes, laughed a little and told me that it would be fine. I knew it would be fine but I wanted to cry. I think also I was emotional and a little nervous about the travels to al-Gouna anyway. I eventually shrugged it off and thought that it was simply the consequence of going to the saloon when you don’t really want anything done. At least it was a story to tell. In the saloon, I got a pedicure too. Again, because I thought it would be fun and just because Audrey did the same. I thought at lease I should end this on a happy note, a pedicure was the least risky thing to be done. It was fine and my feet were scrubbed. In total it cost me 140. Around £6. The cheapest hair disaster and feet clean I had ever not had.  On arrival we met Foufou and the first thing Audrey told him about was my hair, again I felt embarrassed but tried to laugh along. Two of Foufou’s friends joined us eventually. As they rolled three spliffs and I drank a beer we packed our bags and got ready to leave the city. I couldn’t help feeling a little stupid and nervous with my funny looking hair and naivety. I took my books and laptop to Al-gouna   and smuggled some hash in my bra for    On the road again (look at that fringe!)            the rest of the gang everyone. Eventually we were on the road. The city was so big and took us more than an hour just top weave through the Thursday night traffic. We played Arabic beats then cheesy 90’s female brit pop, of course non4blondes was included. As we kept driving, the music changed to cheesy Arabic beats form the 70’s, Om Kalthoom, the white stripes, Nina Simone, Bjork remixes, then eventually a steady beating house album. The music made me feel better about my hair, my pre-traveling anxieties and my ‘what I was doing here’ feelings. I realise that I used to love this feeling but now, it only gives me fear. A fear like I am wasting precious time. Time that I could just be getting on with something or working with what I already have. I feel like, as death gets closer, I have less time to practice the answers to these questions. After the check points and the stares from the security guards, we eventually found the place. It was like a middle-class American village. There were little boats parked outside each villa and garden lights. Different to anywhere I had ever seen in Egypt, it was a very luxurious Dahab. I wondered whether I could relax here, or weather I would feel like I was trapped. The security gates and towering CCTV palm trees reminded me of the regulations and barbed wired garden walls that had made me feel so claustrophobic in South Africa. I closed my eyes and carried on pretending to be fine, just as I had done before and as I will always try to do. We found the place, just as you could see the first light of dawn, it took us much longer than expected to arrive there. We explored the place and sat for a while along the shore. It was a really nice place, perfect to do some writing I thought. We spoke for a while, with Gado, Ozo (Foufou’s friends) and I then we went inside, they rolled two joints as we made our way up to the mezzanine.       The CCTV palm treesThe sun was beginning to rise, as the others joined Ozo and I. As we smoked two spliffs nothing much was said. We sat there watching the sun, its orange illuminations behind the clouds, rising over the sea. It was so fast, it almost looked false, like a time-lapsed documentary. Its shape was wonderful, it was burning yet defined. The birds flew across it like it was planned to happen and the palm trees waved by its side. It’s not something that I see every day I said to myself, it was enough for all my worries to drift away. At least to the back of my mind for a while.  Everyone went to bed and again only Ozo and I were left. We didn’t say much in fact, if anything only talked about work. I changed the conversation to politics (I have decided that dawn, instead of early evening is a much better time to talk big) and asked if there were any political organisations around. Unsurprisingly, he said no. He told me that, since Sisi arrived, everything has been controlled and monitored. Just as he mentioned that, I noticed above me on of the giant, artificial CCTV palm trees stood above our heads, watching over every area of the city. I thought of Foucault’s theory of panopticon and the talk we had on Egypt’s political prisoners. I realised how lucky I was to live in a country where, not only you can express these theories (or walk around wearing a no borders T-shirt), but also you can at least sit by the sea without feeling like you were being watched.  I asked him if he had ever been outside of Egypt. He told me he had only been to middle east countries, Algeria, and Saudi he said. He then mentioned that for three times he had applied for a British Visa but each time they rejected him. All he wanted to do was watch a tennis match there (before his favourite player passes away), and even though he brought them the ticket for proof, still he was rejected. He added that, each time he applied, and is application rejected, it’s his money that he loses, and it’s not nothing. It’s $140 each time he told me – that’s a lot considering the exchange rate and the unemployment rates in Egypt. In other words, Ozo admitted that all of his savings go straight to the British Home Office.I reassured him that his refusal wasn’t personal but solely a political act, more like a corrupt business than a logical bureaucracy. It was also possibly because he was a single man with a music sounding name – everything that the UK fears right now. I told him that the UK still functions on race and exclusion despite how it wants to believe that it had gone past its colonial days. He told me that he would try again, maybe for the US this time. I told him it is probably a better idea, especially considering the Brexit environment. Other than this I felt stupid that all I could offer him was a space in my suitcase and a silly invite if that would help. I thought maybe we could just marry, just to get him across. Maybe this could work I told myself. Eventually we moved the discussion from politics, to asylum systems, then back to the beauty of the sun (maybe all political chats should end with talking about the sun) that was now sending a warm yet awaking glow over the land below. After that, we headed inside. It was around 6am – time for bed I guess. I slept that night with my laptop on as I tried to finish my writings and record the many experiences over the last few days.                                                                                                                                          

 

29,30,01/06/18

I stopped writing for a week since we arrived at al-Gouna. Possibly it was the consequence of smoking so much hash, or maybe I finally retransformed into a lazy crusty mermaid. I have become very chilled. So chilled that I felt no need to write things. Experiences and thoughts just washed over me the salty rippling waves that were outside of our villa. In al-Gouna everyone got stoned, for three days straight, even at breakfast. This being so, I feel the need to combine the three days together and write about them in one big hashy haze… In al-Gouna there was never much being said in the house, instead we all wondered around in silence, like we were all on some hippified Buddhist retreat or something. We ate in silence, swam in silence and sat together in silence. Although, despite the fact that we were strangers and the constant silence, it rarely felt awkward. Only the things that were needed to be said were said. It was refreshing. When the silence was interrupted, it would only ever be by music – usually Sub-Saharan African blues in the morning, stuff like Tinariwen and Ali Faka Toure, and heavier stuff in the evenings. Or if there was neither music or conversation, I would play my guitar, but for some reason I was a little nervous to do so in front of these half-strangers who never spoke. Either way, each time I played my guitar I feel that I am increasing my confidence levels, no matter how shite my songs are.  We played games together, silly games like Mikado and a scrabble-like game called bananas. It was nice to do pointless, unpolitical, unmeaningful things for a change. It reminded me how much I liked sudoku. It was a contrast to my SOAS life in London. For a childish amount of time we even played hopscotch together outside of the villa. Together, as a bunch of hash smoking 20-30-year-old strangers, we became children again.     Al Gouna and the Villa Every night and morning we cooked together too. Having a big meal for breakfast and for dinner. Although the others sometimes helped, usually it would be me and Gado that cooked. We cooked vegetables, beans, shrimps, tuna fish cooked in the can with a tissue on top (the Abogaloom method) and salad and I cooked some VERY spicy pasta. Of course, we were drunk and stoned whilst doing it (maybe a reason why, by the end of the weekend, we had burnt the pans, the knobs on the stove and split half of the chilli powder into the pasta (whoops!)). Either way, despite the fuck ups it was nice to cook for others, whether they liked it or not. After the second day of beers and hash, I was beginning to feel a little zombified. I would wake up stroll into the sea, stroll out, eat, smoke a spliff, then lay down with my Bob Dylan book. That would be done for the day or ‘alyowm halas’ in Arabic. Although during the day time I was relaxed, the same night (the second night) I got a wave of energy that made me want to get out of the place. I felt that if I smoked another spliff I would forever be trapped. I felt like I was becoming a hermit crab like the ones on the beach. After we returned from walking around the main town (where I saw a map and realised the size of the place) I decided to go on a night time adventure. It was around midnight I got in the water and began to swim… I swam across the man-made lake to the other island. It was a far but not far enough for me to panic. As I was approaching the island, a strange thing happened. The colour of the island changed into the sky. The contrast had left and even though the island was only 10 metres in front. It looked as though it was only the horizon that stood before me. As I swam, still not distinguishing between the island the sky, I imagined that I would spend the rest of my life swimming in the wide oceans. Somehow this thought was welcoming rather than threatening.  Reaching the island, I walked for a while, crossing over the palm trees and closed down ice-cream huts. Despite the silence and the eerie wind, I wasn’t afraid. Maybe I had gotten used to silence now. I walked across the island until I reached the other side, the side which met with the sea. It was wonderful to see the sea again and feel its waves. I walked up the beach to come across a pier and of course I had to walk down it. It was so long, really, I had never seen a pier so long. It took me a good ten minutes to walk its length. it was wonderful though. On one side of me was the wind and the waves and the other the cool ripples across the ocean. It was the extremities of the cosmos I thought. Sun and moon, light and dark.  Reaching the end of the pier there was nothing but some steps into the ocean, it looked temping but considering that it was dark and windy, and I was already in the middle of the ocean, only visions of me floating away with the tide came into my mind. They put me off the idea and I didn’t go in. Instead, I sat on the bench next to the steps, listened to the waves and watched the lights in the distance. Al Gouna is a place where all the rich people in Egypt go on holiday or have houses, a middle-class holiday village. In the distance you could see the huge jet boats bobbing in the distance and on the other end, the disco lights from the top end bars of down town. Either was a contrast to the majestic ocean in front. 
                          Where is home?I walked back down the pier, in fact cartwheeled, singing a song and skipping. I was happy to have moved from my hash smoking position. I sang to loud in the wind, making up a little tune that I can no longer remember. Reaching the end of the pier I saw that there was an empty lifeguard chair, of course I had to climb up it. I climbed and reached the top. The view was really great again, I could see across the horizon. I swam home – this time, maybe after all of the cartwheels, my shoulders were aching – had a shower and returned into my horizontal position. The Hazy drive back to Cairo The next morning people asked where I went, all I could reply was ‘an adventure’. I think they thought th at I was a little too drunk or stoned or something. Either way, I made it back safe. After our final big breakfast together – using all of the leftovers from the fridge – and another couple of spliffs, we began to pack up. I was sad to be leaving behind my Bob Dylan book but more so, the sea breeze. The drive home was long – none of us slept. We played eye spy and word games for hours as the sun sunk behind the mountains. Returning home, we said goodbye to each other still in a hashy haze.     

 

02/07/18

I didn’t do anything in the day apart from write. It was nice to be alone for a while. However, late afternoon I met up with Yomi at Bab-al-Nasr. Here he was going shopping in Khanil Khalili and meet up with his aunt and cousin that lived there.  When we arrived we met Meena, his cousin. She walked around the small and winding streets of the Bazzar like she had walked them a thousand times before (she probably had). I had no idea where we were heading to. We walked until we reached a tall window that had a big ginger cat sitting outside of it. I stroked it then Yomi told me it was Meena’s. We then went round the side of the building and into her house. Inside her home we met Meena’s mum, Yomi’s aunt. She was sitting watching the music on TV. I said hello. Yomi spoke a little better Egyptian than I did. I felt blessed (Alhamdulillah), that we could introduce each other with some sufficiency. Meena told me she was 21 and going to university next year and her mum told us it was nice to meet us. We sat there for a while watching the music videos and playing with the ginger cat that we later were told was named Cou-Cou. Eventually Meena asked us if we would like some noodles. She cooked for us and made us a HUGE plate of spicy noodles – they were lush. After tea, we went shopping – Yomi (or Hamza as his family called him) needed some things to take back for his family and work mates. He spent a lot. We brought abayas (long dresses for women), oud (perfume oil), frying pans (to replace that pans we burnt in al-Gouna), tourist tops – lots. I wondered whether we were buying an embarrassing amount and whether Meena and her mum thought we were rich. This thought made me feel uncomfortable. After buying everything and more that we needed we went to sat outside of the old mosque, near to Imam Hussain mosque and watched life pass. There were children dancing, young boys taking photos, women in belly dancing outfits, people selling balloons and sticky apples, and families enjoying the cooler breezes of the night. It was a nice evening and after we sat with a big juice that I had brought to finish off the night.     The Family 

 

03/07/18

Since the hash and the beery weekend, I have felt a little down – all that chilling and made it hard for me to speed back up. Unlike when I first came here, I have found it hard to get up early and hard to stay awake long enough to write anything decent. I was wondering whether I was getting a little depressed. Maybe instead I have just been lazy – too tired to leave the house, walk in the heat and deal with all of the ‘welcome to Egypt’ cat calls. Besides, I am beginning to realise that experiences are nothing unless they are shared and that nothing really is gained by wondering around alone. It seems pointless to go to places without people and see beauties alone. The memories seem empty and the beauty a burden. I feel like this is something I am just beginning       ‘Instead I will sit inside and play’                     to admit. Unlike my hippy travelling days around Europe and Bali, where I would adventure out onto foreign streets like a lost yet courageous puppy, I no longer feel the need to prove myself to the world. I know that I can do things alone, I know that I can become friends with and spend my days with strangers, sleep at their houses and so on, I know that I can rent moped and drive up the sides of mountains, I know that I can sit on the steps of a fish market and pretend to be a local, I know I can jump into taxis alone without really knowing where I am going. I know that I can do that and all the other Jack Kerouac stuff. But what does it really mean? It all feels a little pointless. A little lonely. A little empty. A waste of time. What I was trying to say is that over the past few days it felt necessary to have mornings spent quietly – alone. Writing or reading or planning. I have had enough of befriending strangers. After the late mornings however, I did go for a walk. It was mainly due to the cleaning lady coming in. I always feel awkward sitting there whilst someone is working around me – I feel like a princess or a wife of a colonial man. Anyway, I went for a walk to a museum. Unsurprisingly however, it was closed. Instead of the museum, I jumped into a taxi and headed to a botanical garden up the road. I had a book to read and I thought that maybe this would be just as interesting as a museum. Although the garden wasn’t closed, it was hardly botanical. Instead it contained wilting trees, lakes full of litter, and patchy grass. I wasn’t complaining, just as the other people around me however, it wasn’t what I had expected. It feels like the whole town is paying their money to the new capital. The old capital, and all of its gardens and attractions are being abandoned. I sat there for a while, reading my book, eating banana, dipping it in a pot of honey and relaxing. I had a few names called at me but it wasn’t enough to feel uncomfortable. It was nice to relax in green and hear the city in the distance. I was half way through a chapter when all of a sudden, I heard a noise, footsteps behind me. I could hear the cracking of the dry leaves. A little head peaked around the corner, I could see it from the corner of my eye. A young boy, with big curly hair. I looked at him quickly then he ran away and laughed. After that we were well into a game of peek-a boo. He would poke his head around the corner as I would then turn my head quickly from my book and pull a funny face and laugh. It was all fun and games and I was enjoying it until he pulled out a water gun! He fired a shot directly at my face only around 30cm away. I had no words to use in Arabic nor felt any need to ask him to stop. It was actually quite the cooling in the heat. After 5 minutes though it got a little too much and my shirt was getting stopped with drops of water. Eventually his dad found him and lifted him away but of course he came back. I got a little tired in the end so I decided to move to another spot in the park to finish the chapter of the book. I did so however, it was only another 10 minutes before I was shouted at by children or asked for another photo. I got up and left – the most relaxing place was home. I chilled in the house for a while until the sun set. I hadn’t done much that day yet it felt ok. The rest of the time had been a little busy. I sat there and called mum and they told me that England were playing, for some reason I really wanted to watch. I went to the local coffee shop around the corner to watch it. Of course, the place was only full with old men and I got some funny looks but I didn’t care. I think they saw my state of panic though and insisted that I took a free drink of Karkadi – a drink made from hibiscus flower – it was really nice. During half time I went to meet Toni and John. They picked me up from their house. They were stoned (just like I had left them a year ago). I got in their car and we headed to a sports bar called buffalo wings and rings. It was a funny place, tv everywhere you looked and people were eating chicken wings with plastic gloves on. Like a pacified child I watched the football without taking my eyes off the screen. We ate there then headed out – they kindly paid. We then got in their car, drove around for a while, picked up some hash, picked up some beers, then headed out of the city. Even though it was midnight John insisted that we drove to Sokhna – the nearest coast to Cairo. I was really tired and wondering whether we would ever come back from this place. We spent a lot of money on the way there, paying for petrol and check points. Really, I was wondering whether this was worth it at all. Either way I sat back in the chair and listened to the music, Toni and John are funny, they are into Brit -Pop from the 1970’s. Who’d a thought. They are cool though – and pink Floyd fans (just as is every stoner). We stopped at every station we passed as we were running out of petrol however, they were all closed. Again, I wondered if we would ever return from this place. We were beginning desperate and the sign was on the red area. We stopped at the next station and begged for them to give us some petrol in plastic bottles. They did, although they made us cross the road to get it. Eventually Toni and John got the petrol by walking to a station on the other side of the road and coming back with two full bottles. I offered to help but there was no way could a woman do this job so meanwhile, I sat in the car puffing on Johns electronic cigarette. The security officer asked me if I was Chinese, I didn’t know whether I should say yes or not. I think it was the fringe. I said I was English then he said I was beautiful. I turned my head and conversation stopped. Toni and John returned and as I sat in the back of the taxi, thinking about the conversation I had, I began to feel like I was being smuggled by Egyptian men. Like a prostitute. I felt strange. That feeling came again, I wondered what the fuck I was doing with the people and where the fuck I was. To take my mind off the feelings, I talked to john about politics – the revolution and Sisi. Nothing much was said apart from its shit. It’s the same response that I get every time. He told me about the new capital that they are building and how everyone’s tax is either being spent on places for the rich or for the wages of the rich. Really it made me feel lucky to be living in London. We turned up the music before the conversation about politics got too depressing. We were listening to Acid Arab, I suggested it. They laughed at the name. We kept driving, there was no one on the road apart from the lights, it looked like an aeroplane runway. We drove and drove, it felt like forever. When we arrived Toni and John realised that the place that they used to go, the tiny patch of beach that was left unbuilt upon, was bordered by fences and boulders. It was the only part of the beach that was left free for the public – the rest had fancy hotels or villa built upon then. There was no place to even park the car or stop. We had driven all this way to see a fence. Not much was said and in fact, they didn’t even seem so surprised. I wondered if they even were expecting it. Without even getting out of the car we turned back. It was disappointing and felt we had wasted energies and petrol. At least we spent time together I thought and at least we were able to smoke at least on spliff (the first one we had to throw out of the window because we reached a check point). On the way back, listening to pink Floyd, I sat in the front. I think Toni wanted to sleep. I was chatting to John as the sun was rising. I began to feel a little paranoid. I felt that my eyes were rolling into the back of my head and my head was rolling off of the back of my neck. I was so tired. As ‘comfortably numb’ began to play, we passed the new capital. A village of empty building and tower blocks. The walls surrounding it stretched as far as we could see. It was ugly. It gave me the shivers. As if I was George Orwell realising his writing was non-fiction. We eventually made it back into the city. It was almost daylight by now. It was 5am. The streets were empty and everything was closed. There was nothing around. It was a strange sight to see. Only pigeons flew around the tower blocks stretching their wings for the new day. I had never seen a city so empty. It was beautiful. Toni jumped out of the car as John continued to drive me home. It was kind of him. With the city asleep, what had taken me a 45-minute drive in the taxi took us 15. For some reason I craved a cigarette. I asked john if he would be too embarrassed to have a foreigner smoking from his window – a silly question now I think of it. He pulled out his packet and gave me one. I watched the daylight get brighter and the city pass. Maybe it ruined the moment but I didn’t care. I had that travelling feeling and I was happy to be sharing it with someone. We reached home and I said goodbye – there was a strange feeling as I left, like he was expecting me to say more. I had nothing to say apart from that it was nice to see him again and wonderful to see the city so early. I felt him watching my back as I entered the flat and walked up the stairs. When I was out of his sight I stopped to listen to the birds out of the window. It was unusual not to be hearing the beeping cars and the shouting on the streets. I thought I would make the most of the moment and the stoner feelings. Then, still hearing the birds from my bed, I closed my eyes.

 

04/07/18

Unsurprisingly, I woke up late again. I reached for my phone but it wasn’t there. I knew I had lost it at the window as I was listening to the birds. I felt shit and thought about all the photos I had lost. I panicked and spent all morning in a sweaty haze looking for it. It wasn’t there and neither was it in Johns car. I asked him. I made some signs and put them around the flat saying ‘I left my phone here, please return it to flat 15 or ring this number’. I sellotaped the signs around the tower block, went to the shop to get some food and then waited. I waited all day. Eventually I heard the grasshopper, it was the sound of Audrey’s doorbell. I opened it to find a man with my phone. I later found out that it was the landlord. I thanked him so much and gave him 100 EL. He didn’t seem too impressed but whatever. I then, stupidly, spent the rest of the day in the house. Despite getting my phone back, I still felt a little shit and unable to deal with the chaos of the city. I waited for FouFou and Audrey to return from work (as I hadn’t seen her all week) and spent my afternoon planning things (but not doing anything). Foufou came to the flat to visit me before Audrey returned home. I felt like one of those crazy, aunts who have cats and are lonely (but never admit it). Those older people whose family members feel like they need to visit them. It was a strange feeling and it was one of those dead days.  

 

05/07/18

Again, I spent all day trying to plan what I would do with myself. Again it was a silly decision to make and only got me down. Again, it was a day of too much thinking and not enough doing. Even after the day of thinking I had yet to make any plans to travel, I felt hazy and awkward with everything. Everything wasn’t enough for the moment. I was restless. I got in a taxi and headed to the park to watch the sunset. It was beautiful and I watched the sun sink behind the mountains as the pigeons flew around the minarets.I sat in the park and watched the children get along so well with the other children – it reminded me that everything was ok, whatever happened. After the park, I headed to Khalili market again, I got very lost. I was planning to look for the same dress that I had brought mum before, I needed a bigger size, Of course though, I was never going to find it without the help of Meena. I tried to call her however my phone died. I spent the next two hours wondering around trying to find the same shop that sold the abayas but I only found myself being led out of dark alleys by strangers that were trying to help me. I was tired and fed up of walking so I brought a guava juice then gave up. On the way back, I found it hard to find a taxi driver, everyone I spoke to didn’t understand the place that I was going to and with no GPS it was risky. I eventually found someone after the third taxi. He was a cool taxi driver and was even listening to cassette tapes, it made me laugh. I was in the mood for a Friday night – maybe it was because it was Thursday night here (the start of the weekend). I was extremely chatty with the taxi man and took a cigarette of him. he then turned up the music – I think he could read my mind. We were chatting a lot – I’ve found that the best way to practice my Arabic is to go out in taxi’s besides, you won’t get to the write place if you struggle to make yourself clear. Chatting a lot, he invited me to sit with him in the front, he pulled over on the 6th of October bridge and I jumped in. It felt cool to ride in the front and for some reason I trusted him more than anyone I had met in Egypt, I think it was because he looked like me. Chatting some more, he invited me to get some food. Still in the wild feeling mood I said yes. We headed to a place which sold Kosheri (the famous Egyptian meal of pasta, rice, lentils and tomato sauce (all the carbs possible). We sat for a while and spoke, I think he felt awkward. We both laughed. It was funny to go out for dinner unexpectedly. One minute you think you are going home the next you’re on a date! I tried to talk about family but he didn’t say so much. He was just eager for the food to arrive – I think he was either really hungry or a little nervous. I never felt so rushed eating my food when it arrived, although he had a bowl that was bigger than mine he ate in in half the time as me. Still eating my bowl, he tapped his fingers and got the bill ordered. I was enjoying the food but the speed to eat it made me feel a little sick. I ate half the bowl then we headed to pay. On the way home, we got a Pepsi and had a final chat. I think as I was leaving he expected a kiss from me but that wasn’t going to happen. I gave him 100 for the taxi rise and the food, took his number then said goodbye. I liked him he was a cool guy. Opening the door of the flat, I found Lele sitting there in her underwear with a big bottle of wine. She looked a little drunk already. I instantly took of my sweaty clothes and joined her. I told her about my adventures and she laughed. Thee bottles of white and two packets of cigarettes later we were talking, talking, talking about everything and everyone. Foufou’s parents, my parents, our childhoods her friends. Our conversation was wide and deep. Even a few tears came out – just drunken talks of course. We went out to buy some more cigarettes. Lele accidently threw her keys onto the roof. She was trying to hit the lizard that was crawling on the ceiling; It was very funny. In order to collect them back, a small boy from the local shop came to help us collect the keys – his body was nimble enough to climb up the side of the wall. We went back inside, smoked and drank until the sun rose.

 

06/07/18

We both woke up with a hangover. Audrey more than me. Surprisingly, despite the fact that it was wine that we were drinking, I didn’t feel too bad. To cure our dehydration, we ordered massive amounts of Syrian food for breakfast. Falafel, hummus, fried cheesy things, fried vegetables, baba ghanoush, the lot. I then went to get some fresh juice from the shop. For almost the whole day we both just rolled around on Audrey’s bedroom floor. It was funny and we giggled. It was difficult to do anything other than this. Eventually, I mustered up some energy to go for a walk. I needed to buy a sim card and I had plans to meet the family that I had met in Sharm a Sheik. The walk around Zamalek was nice and somehow refreshing. I saw a view of the Nile that I had never seen before.  The Nile looking from ZamalekAfter I had walking for a while, I eventually headed off to meet the family that I met in Sharm. They lived in Giza, about a 40-minute taxi drive away. Jumping in the taxi, the driver did his usual trick of telling me his metre was broken. I knew it wasn’t. I asked him to stop the car if he would not put on his metre. It was only then that he quickly pressed the on button. The taxi drove again over the 6th of October bridge (I was beginning to remember the minor details of this bridge since driving over it so often) then into the residential areas of Giza. The street was long, called Haram street. The car drove off the smooth tarmac of the motorway and onto the gravel and pot-holed streets of the town below. Here there were more donkeys and tuk-tuks than taxis and tourists. I undid my window. The smells reminded me of the other markets places I had come across on my travels. There were wafts of the corn on the cobs that were being smoked over fires, smaller kebab mata3m’s, horse manure from the stable around and of course the dry dust from the road we drove on. This place was really living. I called Bishoy (Nero’s husband) to double check where his flat was. I passed the phone to the taxi driver. He informed me that he was here. I looked around and I couldn’t see either a house or a apartment in sight. Only small corner shops and more donkeys. He confirmed again that I had arrived. Taking his word, I paid him and jumped out of the taxi. We were at the cross roads. Which road was I supposed to head? It was then that Bishoy’s head popped out from a small door the other side of a shop and called me. ‘Amy!’. I walked over with my silly I love Hackney tote bag and headed up the stairs with him. The flat that we entered looked derelict. He told me that no one was living there accept him and his family. We stepped over the hanging electrical wires and into the lift that took us to the 9th floor. The door to his flat was already open. Compared to the derelict surroundings, this flat was a surprise. It was large, decorated with fancy, kind-of-kitch ornaments of priests and smaller ceramic statues, it had all the mod-cons like surround sound TV and fancy lighting in the kitchen, and even a sparkly granite work top. In certain ways it reminded me of Nanny Liz and Grandad’s house. I stayed at theirs with him and waited for Nero and the rest of the family to arrive. They had been at a fairground with the children. There wasn’t much to talk about with Bisham apart from how nice his flat looked. We put on the TV and began to watch Jurassic park together. It was another one of those unplanned situations that were beginning to make me laugh. Eventually the children and Nero arrived along with Joseph and his brothers. We spoke about what had happened since we met each other in Sharm. Surprisingly Joyce (photo beside) and Jan remembered me, they came running up to see me when they entered. we sang songs together and did some drawings. Meanwhile Nero was cooking some food. I mentioned that I wasn’t hungry but she insisted that I ate. I had a few snacks, some bread with pickles and tahini. I made a big mistake of dipping my chip into both the tahini and the molasses. They laughed at me. After dinner Joseph and I exchanged videos of our hobbies – he shows me what he can do with a football and I showed him stuff on my guitar. He was my age and I wondered what life was like from his point of view. I ended up sleeping at their, partly because I felt it would be rude to leave otherwise and partly because I had no clue how to flag down a taxi on the corner where donkeys stood. I accepted Nero’s kind offer of wearing her pyjamas. As I walked out of her room to sit on the sofa I did a funny dance and shouted ‘I’m free’, I shook around my shoulders and did a funny dance. We all laughed. Eventually, after a while, we all headed to bed. I slept in Joyce bed whilst she slept with her aunt in Jan’s bed. I heard her creeping around the bed as Aunt Lele and I were just falling asleep.   

 

07/08/18

We woke up and had breakfast watching a priest talk on TV. Apparently, he was a famous priest for Coptic Christians in Egypt. I helped Nero get the washing in then sat and watched more TV. They were talking, pretty passionately about something that I had no clue about. I think it was something to do with make up or tattoos, and whether it is right to have them or not. Eventually, I decided to leave. I felt like if I didn’t I would stay there forever and eat everything in their freezer. I got a tuk-tuk to the metro then got the metro to Dokki. I walked around Dokki for a while. Brought a dress (which I later found out was a school uniform) on a second-hand clothes rail then went to the coffee shop for Audrey. I then later headed to Audrey’s. we had planned to go to Kanil Khalili’s to buy a few things including a new shower head, some carpets for Audrey’s office, another dress for my mum and some candles. We also brought ourselves a tapestry of Joha each, I brought mine for Ed, Audrey brought her’s thinking of her child one day. We spent a long time in the shop with the man explaining what the story of Joha was. The story of Joha goes something a little like this;  Audrey and her New Tapestry The story of Joha and his donkey; ‘’One day, Joha was riding upon his donkey on the way to market. Joha’s son walked beside the donkey, holding the reins and talking with his father.When the father and son passed a small group of people gathered by the side of the track, the people criticised Joha. They said to the old man, ‘How can you be so heartless, Joha?  How can you ride upon the donkey while your son is forced to walk beside you?’When Joha heard these words he climbed down and lifted his son up onto the donkey’s back in his place.Joha and his son continued on their journey, Joha walking beside the donkey, holding the reins in his hands as they made their way towards the market.A mile down the road, Joha passed a small group of women gathered around a well.  When the women saw Joha they were very shocked. They asked of him, ‘How is it that an old man walks while his young son rides upon the donkey? Surely this is not right!’So Joha climbed upon the donkey’s back with his son and they continued on their journey.It was getting into the late afternoon, the sun was shining high up in the sky and it was very hot, but still Joha and his son continued on their journey towards the market. The donkey was moving very slowly because of the weight of the father and the son upon its back, but nobody criticized until they came across a small group of people gathered on the edge of the town where the market was held. The people pointed with disapproval when they saw Joha and his son both sitting on the back of the little donkey which was moving so slowly under the weight of the father and the son. ‘Why do you ride upon such a small donkey?’ they cried out to Joha. ‘Can you not see that you are too heavy and your donkey cannot support your weight?’‘I think it is best if we both get off of the donkey and walk,’ Joha said to his son. ‘That way nobody can say anything to us anymore.’So Joha and his son climbed down from the donkey. Joha took the reins in order to lead the donkey and walked with his son towards the marketplace in the centre of the village.But when Joha arrived at the marketplace, many people laughed and criticized and made fun of the old man.  ‘What a fool!’ they declared. ‘What kind of a man owns a donkey and yet walks with his son when he should be riding?’Joha was not angry at the people because he realised that it is not possible to please everyone all the time, and perhaps it was best if each man decides how to live his own life’’

In order to find the dress shop, I had to find Meena. I realised that she was the only person who would know how to find the dress shop that I had brought the Abaya from. We knocked on their door, went in and had another chat. I think Audrey was tired so I tried to do all of the translation and communication. Although some of it worked, others needed a little help. As we were sitting there, they made us some fresh Guava juice before we headed out. It was lush. After changing the dress, we headed back to Audrey’s. Both of us were a little tired and Audrey needed to get ready for work. We came back ordered (way too much) Sushi and then laid on the couch talking about the sizes of willies. It was funny.                                

 

08/07/18

It was my last day in Cairo as I had planned to go to Dahab the following day. The last things that I really wanted to do was to go to the Om Kalthom museum. It was a cool little place and learnt a lot on how Egyptian nationalism was constructed through her songs. Being in the mood o lean, after I went there I sat on the side of the river and read my book ‘Egypt on the brink’. I was interrupted by a man who had brought me a bottle of water. He was the receptionist at the museum. He asked me if I had been inside the building that stood opposite me. Telling him that I hadn’t he invited me in. I walked into to what seemed like a well with no water. Either way it was beautifully decorated and had Islamic calligraphy painted onto the walls. I later found out that it was the, and the only, ‘Nile-o-metre’. A building to gauge the depth of the Nile. It was a cool find.    Inside the Nile-o-MetreAfter, hanging around the area, I got a taxi towards the Islamic Art museum. Like a proper tourist, I was trying to cram in as many of the trip advisor ‘must-see’s’ as possible. Although, when I arrived it was too late, although it was only 4.30pm, the museum was already closed. Despite the disappointment, the journey was worth it for the taxi ride. I had a 30 MINUETE CONVERSATION IN ARABIC. 30 MINUETES! Of course, there were a few miscommunications and slip up but never would I have thought that I would be able to do this in confidence. Before I left the driver, who was becoming almost uncomfortably flirty (I’ve found that I have often put up with flirty taxi drivers just as an oppitunity to practice my speaking, a strange exchange ay) I took one of his cigarettes and smoked it out of his back window. Although a cigarette is hardly a reward, I was feeling pretty good about myself and I wanted to saviour the moment. Compared to last year, where I would myself getting bumped off by taxi’s and lost within the tourist trap of the pyramids, this time I felt like I was begging to make this city my own; Cairo was no longer owning me, I was owning Cairo.      Leaving the Museum Having enough of talking to flirty (yet married) taxi drivers, I decided to walk back. Besides, the sun was begging to rest upon the horizon and the temperature was beginning to cool. It was the perfect moment to walk around the city. Still feeling pleased with myself, I stuck on my headphones and tuned into the local radio, a song played about ‘Ghalby’ (my heart). I thought of Ahmed. I walked through the streets with a confident stride. I felt that nothing could stop me (a part from the microbus that almost ran me over when I crossed the road). I walked towards the setting sun and swept past the bystanders outside their shops. People looked and I heard a few names being called at me when the radio paused but I ignored them. With my reflective sunglasses on, I kept my eyes focused straight ahead. I was determined not to let anything or anyone stop me in my path. I had never felt stronger.  Walking through Cairo, central government building

The only thing that stopped me in my tracks was a funky wall painting of Om Kalthom;  After around an hour, I jumped in a taxi across 6th of October Bridge. I couldn’t face walking over the length of it again and besides, I wanted to spend time with Audrey after she got back from work. I asked him to drop me outside of a florist where, earlier in the week, I had seen a plant I wanted to buy Audrey as a gift for giving me a room. The plant, to me, looked like mermaid tails and, last April, Audrey and I agreed that we were both mermaids. With a small argument and many frustrations (frustrations that still make me angry and therefore are too frustrating to explain), I brought the plant for a hefty amount of money. I then walked back across the bridge and back to Audrey’s. Audrey was in when I got back and so was Foufou. Like every time I had walked in she was chilling in her underwear smoking on her couch. Before I left, I had to book flights out of Egypt and to Istanbul or somewhere. Not only was my visa about to run out but also, the longer I left the decisions, the more expensive the flights would be. I got out my laptop and began to plan. I found cheap flight to Kuwait from Alexandria and I wanted to go. Since I had met Ahmed, I had been my dream to see the country that he was born in and, if possible, meet his family. It was in my mind and I wondered whether, if I didn’t go now, if I would ever go again. Like every time I had a decision to make, I thought about death. Audrey had lived in Kuwait before and she told me it was an ugly place, especially in the summer when it was fifty degrees Celsius. ‘Really Amy, it is horrible. Built on migrant and out can’t go outside in the heat, you just go from one air conditioning to the other’. I knew I should of listened to her, not only as someone who had been there before but also as my friend who knew the best for me. I knew that going to Kuwait was also illogical. Three days is not enough to see a city and neither is it enough to meet Ahmed’s family. But then Ahmed called…‘Amy, any time, you are welcome to my home and my family are very excited to see you. They want to meet you, you can stay at my aunties and eat anything you like. Any time you welcome.’ I looked at the flights and looked again and looked again. I began to worry, I began to overthink, so much that Audrey couldn’t deal with my stressful head. She left the front room and went into her bedroom with Foufou. I was beginning to feel selfish and immature. It didn’t matter now what I did, I just had to book something anyway. Like every time I felt on the edge of life I did the illogical thing. The choice which, to a business man or an accountant, would be ruled out without a second thought, the choice which my Dad or in fact any other right-minded person, would even consider. I booked the flight to Kuwait. For three days. I was going. I had no hotel booked and was planning to stay with Ahmed’s brother. As soon as I saw the confirmation I had instant nerves. I think Audrey thought I was mad. I melted to the floor, when Foufou asked me what I had booked. To him it must have looked like I was praying to someone or something. I felt life and all of its beauties on my fingertips, I was nervous and excited but it felt like I was living. Something was happening, I was vibrating. I don’t think Audrey thought that I had made the right decision. Besides, she knew what the country was like. But it was done. We moved on and, after finishing off the mountain of sushi that was left over from last night, we enjoyed our last spliff together. We spoke about upcoming plans, having children, and life moving. It was at that moment, I felt life there and all of its amazingness and pains. Audrey said goodbye and left me sitting on her couch, in my bra, with the very last puff of a spliff in my hand. In that moment, the Amy that I thought had left me forever, the Amy that had walked across the hills of Eastern Europe, had sex in hostel showers, wore grotty pieces of string around her wrists, kayaked out into an Indonesian lake, cried on a train through Poland, was reborn in a South African shopping centre, had returned. The traveller had returned to me though I thought she had me left forever. I thought she had found her home. 

 

09/07/18

I awoke in a hashy haze, with all of the stress about booking flights over the past few days I struggled to get enough sleep last night. I said good bye to Lele as she went off to work and I stayed in the house. My plan for the day was to write and paint and that’s what I did. Nothing more and nothing less.
 The final masterpiece by Audrey and myself, check out the mermaids After all painting and writing duties were done, around 8pm I packed. I had planned to meet Toni and John for a beer and then head to the bus station. I met them in a rooftop bar, it was a cool place. I spoke with them and their friends for around an hour until they took me to a station. It felt good to be with people my own age again. Nothing was planned, only that I had my things packed and, because I had returned the key to Audrey, I could no longer stay there for the night. So, either way, Dahab or not, I had to travel somewhere. Toni and John kindly drove me to the East Delta (the local bus) bus station and with only five minutes to spare I jumped on. I had to pay both a fee for being a foreigner and a fee for being late. The bus was full and full of loud people. Everyone’s phone was pining and every person around me was talking loudly, I knew this would not be a comfortable ride and already, watching Toni and John drive away in their nice car, I was regretting my decision of travelling. But it was done and either way, maybe it would have been nice to see Annie and Mahmoud again – at that moment it felt like I was travelling to see my parents who could care for me!I was moody and tried to sleep but I felt everyone around me was mentioning the word foreigner. Maybe they weren’t really saying it, maybe I was just paranoid because I was the only ‘foreigner’ on the bus. I tried to ignore the comments and put my scarf over my head to darken the lights that passed. I snoozed until we reached Suez crossing. There was a huge queue of lorries and cars, so many that it took us almost an hour to get to the other side, it reminded me of crossing from Calais to Dover. Still I was moody about the decision I had made and wondered whether I would still have the chance to turn around and head back. Although, considering that the road was clear after the camels and the buses made their way, slowly but surely, to Dahab, I thought that hopefully this long bus ride would be worth its time. I hope were wrong. I had jinxed it, at 3am, only 3 hours away from Cairo, the bus broke down on the side of the road… 

 

10/ 07/18

It was 4.30am and we were still stationed in a broken-down bus only 3 hours away from Cairo. The sun rose and with no air conditioning the bus became hotter and hotter. I was seriously considering hitchhiking back to the city. I had had enough. I checked the maps to see how far yet we had to travel – another 7 hours. I put the scarf back over my head and fell back asleep. The man next to me kept waking me up to ask me stupid questions like – do you know we’ve broken down? OF COURSE I KNOW THAT WE HAVE BROKEN DOWN. You silly man. He then asked me to put his glasses in his bag. I am not sure what kind of flirting this was or whether he was trying to flirt at all. I was becoming moodier with every awakening. I got up to take a step outside into the ‘fresh’ (hot and dusty) air. The people instantly asked me where I was from, asked whether I was Russian or Chinese’s, and then replied with the usual ‘welcome to Egypt’. I wondered whether, by the time I reached Dahab (if we would ever make it), I would have gone insane. Eventually, after a two hour stop we got back on the road. Thank god. The sun was heating the window that my head rested upon by now and with the leg of the man next to me squashing me to the side. I was sweating insanely. I listened to crappy Egyptian pop on my phone radio to block out the noise of the rowdy men on holiday and tried to close my eyes again. Only another half hour up the road, we stopped. This time it was a checkpoint. We had to take out our bags and open them. Only the young men who looked like Bedouins and were travelling alone were searched, the women and the older people were instantly passed. We got back on and continued to drive but the bus went so slow. Slow enough for people to even shout at the driver to hurry up. It was obvious that still something was wrong with the engines. Only another half hour up the road, the bus pulled over and the engine boot lifted. Admitting that the bus was still broken, this time we were told that we would have to wait for an engineer from Cairo to make his way. We were three hours away from Cairo and still four hours away from Dahab. I had had enough. I grabbed my bags and headed on the next go bus that passed by the road. Some people from the bus joined me. By this time I was so tired, I had no clue what the time was or what I was even doing. I was dead. By eyes were dry, I was sweaty, by legs ached and my bum hurt. Even though the bus was now half way there I was still considering returning to Cairo. I missed Toni and John and the ‘Wahid’ crew. I slept and wrote for a while until the bus eventually arrived…. To SHARM, not Dahab. Everyone was pissed off it felt like, or maybe I was. Although now, I was less so – I realised that whatever happened now it didn’t matter, I was still alive at least and should take this oppitunity to sleep as much as I can, especially If I was to save some energies for Kuwait. We got a bus to Shark Delta and waited for our original bus that broken down. It took us an hour and all within that hour I realised two things; one that my phone had broken and two, that my guitar had broken AGAIN. Today was not a good day. Some time was killed talking with a man who liked the same music as me, for some reason he remined me of uncle Ricky. Like a travelling companion, or a lost cousin, he stuck around with me and, although he was a little annoying, he did make me laugh a little. After 16 HOURS of travelling we finally arrived to Dahab. I was dead and the thought of doing it all again tomorrow made me feel a little sick. Anyway, now I was here, I was determined to enjoy the time here with my friend.  All’s OK in Dahab I made my way to Annie’s and, as usual she invited me in, she had brought me some falafel sandwiches and a drink- what a legend. She even had booked me a trip to Saint Katherines – she said that that this would make the travel worthwhile. Annie he went to do a tourist boat trip with Mahmoud (they are now doing business in Dahab together) whilst I stayed in the house. I went to the sea instantly to wash my sweaty skins and wash away all of those frustrations. The sea is a true healer. I watched the sun set and a camel being washed and then heading inside. A long snooze was needed. 

 

11/07/18

I woke around 10am when Mahmoud and Annie returned from taking six Koreans on a fishing trip. We sat in her house for a while talking, it was getting late. As Annie and I were leaving to go for a walk we heard shouting, it was Mahmoud and he sounded angry. We thought it was him and his friends until we approached closer. It was the police. They saw Mahmoud fixing the water pump and saw this as proof that he was staying in the house with Annie. It is illegal for them to live with each other without being married. After shouting at Mahmoud, they approached us and asked us if we knew who he was or whether our water needed fixing, we said yes both questions. There wasn’t much we could do apart from stay in the house and ensure that there was no proof of Mahmoud staying there. We went inside and waited for the commotion to stop. The police must be bored to care about what Mahmoud was doing we thought. There was nothing we could do apart from move all of his belonging outside of the flat and insist that Mahmoud was a kind friend of Annie’s who was fixing the pump. After five minutes the commotion stopped and I went to get some beers and check up on the situation. Mahmoud and the eight police that were surrounding him had gone. I went back and told Annie, she said that they would have taken him to a police station. There was nothing we could do apart from wait for his return. I continued walking to get some beers and went back to Annie’s. We sat and chatted for a while, I am not even sure what we were talking about. She tried to ring the person who would take me on the trip to St Catherine. He told us that the trip was no longer going ahead. I was disappointed, especially considering that I had slept all afternoon to prepare for it, I really fancied a walk. Like a spoilt kid, I was determined to climb the mountain. I asked Annie if she wanted to go with me but she didn’t really seem up for it and eventually she admitted that she didn’t want to go – it was too much hassle and fuss. I gave in and instead, at around 3am we went for a walk together. We walked for a while along the beach and through the streets. The place was very quiet at this time of night. We walked until we reached the edge of a wadi, she was taking me up a mountain that overlooked the city. We walked, or stumbled actually (we had a few beers by then), for a while up the side of the mountain. I was only wearing flip flops and actually I was wondering if I would fall down the side of the mountain. I wondered whether this would be the moment where my life would end – besides, according to my palm reading, it wouldn’t be long until my death, I managed it though, following Annie’s footsteps as if she was a Bedouin woman taking me on a tour. She was telling me a story about a time when an older man took her to his house in the village, not because he wanted anything, but because he was lonely. It reminded me of the many other lost souls I had met throughout my travels. On top of the mountain, we admitted our hopes and fears and regrets of the futures and pasts. She told me that her biggest fear is dying alone. She can never see herself living alone, she gets her energy from other people. We sat there for a while, the sun hadn’t risen yet and still it wasn’t light. We sat there listening to the silence and the noise of howling dogs, Annie told me that just another 10-minute walk up the road there was a woman who owned around 60 dogs that she had rescued in Asila. Unlike Annie who feared dying alone, I found it quite a romantic life and I wondered if I would ever be a crazy dog woman living in the mountains, We chatted for ages, about our hopes and fears, but mainly our fears, we chatted about our regrets and guilts, then we picked up rocks and threw them down the side of the mountain. It felt good. The sun was beginning to rise the colours in the sky were dramatic. The sea below it looked like freezeframe. The sun eventually rose just as we had finished talking. You could see every crack and crevice in the mountain by now. They were beautiful mountains, so perfectly placed as if someone had put them there we thought. We saw other people below us, people who hadn’t been able to find the pathway to the top of the mountain where we sat, we watched them try to figures out where they could get out. We shouted at them and they waved back. Then, once the sun had fully risen, we walked back down and into the city, grabbed a juice and then headed to the beach, stopping to get some falafel on the way. Before we ate, we went for a swim – or a bob as we used to call it. We then ate breakfast, played a game of fish then slept. I woke up the two times that Mahmoud came to make coffee. It was like Deja-vu each time. After Annie and I walked to moon café for a drink. Then we walked the entire length of Dahab to Lagoona, we were going to a get a taxi but actually we were enjoying the walk without the hassle, we also spoke about many more things – our family and how our family feels about us having boyfriend’s form outer countries. Reaching Lagoona, Mahmoud was waiting for us on his boat, it was a beautiful sight; the sun was sinking behind the mountains and the water was crystal clear. Sweaty from the walking, I jumped into the water straight away, diving and enjoying floating in the salt. Horses ran from one end of the beach to the other. I knew the 15-hour coach journeys would be worth it eventually. Once we spent a while a Lagoona, I gave my last salute to Mahmoud (what a great guy) and we got a taxi back to Asala. We brought a pizza to share and finished the last beer in the fridge. With only five minutes to spare I jumped on a go bus – to Alexandria this time. I wasn’t looking forward to another long journey but, with the aim of finishing someone to watch the world cup semi-finals with (England – Croatia), I was hoping that time would go quickly. Besides, anything had to be better than the coach journey I suffered yesterday.  

 

12/07/18

It was 8am when I eventually arrived to Alexandria and by this time, myself and the person I was sitting next to had gotten quite cosy with each other ono the coach. My head was bobbing all over the place and probably onto his shoulder, I was so tired. I missed some decent REM. As I got off the coach, every person who had been on the bus said I should take care. ‘It’s not like Dahab or Cairo here, they told me’. I had no idea where I was and, with a broken phone, I had no idea where to go. I jumped in a taxi with a man who wanted to split the cost – he was absolutely mad. I could see it in his eyes. But it was an intriguing madness, not a scary one. A madness that was kind, a big-hearted madness that would never leave him. We drove around and dropped him home first – somehow it ended up that he paid 50 and I paid100 – Hardly splitting the bill ay! Maybe he wasn’t quite as big hearted as I thought. Either way, he was so entertaining that actually I thought that I would pay another 100 just to watch him speak. As he got out of the taxi, all of a sudden, I was alone and it was only then that I realised that I really had no clue where I was going. I told the taxi driver that my hotel was on the corniche. We headed that way although as we arrived to the sea front, I realised that the whole city was on the corniche. He thought I was crazy. Maybe as crazy as I thought the other man was. Instead I asked him to take me to a phone shop, so at least I can fix my phone and then find the hotel. But of course, at 9am the city was still asleep. It’s funny comparing this to London who is up and raring to go by 5am. After driving around a while, I eventually got my bearings and realised where the hotel was. I quickly jumped out before I was charged any more money. I was happy to arrive at the hotel – it was the same hotel I had stayed in with Audrey and Martin last year. I loved it there and the lift was amazing – like something out of a 1920’s film. Although the hotel was cheap, it had character and I felt grand staying there. I slept for a while before awaking to do some writing. The deadline for the writing competition was tomorrow at 5pm. After I went out to fix my phone. Unlike a usual market, there was a whole STREET of phone shops. All of them looked the same too. I find it amazing how these shops make money considering that their customers have a WHOLE street to choose from. I eventually found a shop which a man who seemed to give me some time, everyone else just insisted that I brought a new screen for £30. This man insisted that he took two hours to have a look at the phone and readjust a few things. I liked him and was willing to wait for his suggestions. I walked around for a while. I realised I hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours, No wonder I was tired, I wanted nothing else but falafel, full, bread and salad. I searched for over an hour and asked around (I liked asking questions in Arabic, I was becoming much more confident). I found a shop and took a bag of take away things to my room. Continuing to write I munched away on my food. I went back out to find my phone. He had magically fixed it somehow and for less than the other people had charged, I was happy. After I walked to the beach. I needed some fresh air. As the next day was approaching I was becoming more and more nervous. In fact, I wondered whether my mind was already in Kuwait. I brought myself an Ice-cream and sat on the wall. Unusually it seemed that people bothered you less in Alexandria. I sat on the wall for around an hour with only one man disturbing me but in a way I didn’t mind and took it as a final oppitunity to practice my Egyptian Arabic. As the days passed I was feeling much more confident with what I was saying.  The Final View from Alexandria I left my spot on the wall and headed back to my room – I needed to call Ahmed. He was angry that I hadn’t contacted him in a few days. He was angry, but I could never imagine us fighting. I feel like we would only laugh. We spoke for an hour, actually not about much. We talked about the new clothes, how hot I would be in Kuwait and what Leicester was like in the sun. After chatting to him I headed out for more falafel – again I was on a mission. I was lead to a place by a man who was cooking meat. It was funny, he left his stall to guide me to the shop. I sat in the restaurant and chatted to an American/Egyptian guy who had been studying in Ohio university. He was kind and brought me a Pepsi, I sat there for a while and watched a young boy being taught how to make falafel by his dad. I walked around after looking for super glue and a tea. I found both and another of George Orwell’s 1984 book for Ahmed. I wasn’t going to but I thought about the love story of the girl and the boy and thought it was like ours. I sat in the café drinking tea and I rang Dylan – he seemed ok but he seemed like he was looking for some answers, I had nothing to give but to recall our childhood together and when we lost our virginity. We mentioned that it is amazing that we have been friends for over half my life now, and really it is amazing – and we have never argued. Really, I am sure that we will be friends forever. I headed back with the aim to finish the writing before sleeping but I made a mistake, I decided to have a snooze. Despite the chocolate, Pepsi and tea, I had brought to keep me awake throughout the night, I felt dead. I think it was the nerves about Kuwait that had tired me out. I couldn’t stare at screen let along think. It was already 2am. I set over ten alarms and planned to wake up before 5am. It was stupid idea, and of course, due to having very little sleep from the travelling night before, I was never going to wake up on time…

 

13/07/18 (Friday the 13th)

I woke up an hour before my flight was due. I was going to miss it for sure. Although, for some strange reason I held onto hope. I jumped in a taxi wearing the clothes I slept in and frantically shouted at him to drive to the airport. Not only did he get lost, but also, he had to pick up petrel and the back of his bumper fell off. The whole car was falling apart. There was no way that I would be getting that flight. I should have just stayed in the hostel and rebooked another but, my illogical and late brain doesn’t work like this. It just assumes that something will work out in the end. I arrived at the airport to be stopped by every security officer there. Really, they were bastards. They held me up another 15 minutes directing me to three different entrances. GRH. And arriving at the airport, I realised that there was nothing there. Not even a desk to buy a new ticket or ask about the one I had already brought. I was pissed. There wasn’t even Wi-Fi. There was nothing. I asked the taxi driver – Ali – who by now had become my travelling companion, a character entangled in my chaos, to drive to the nearest hotel. I needed Wi-Fi to upload my writing. It was a Hilton hotel. I laughed, he looked at me like I was mad. One minute I was rushing to a plane and the other going to chill in a Hilton hotel. He must of thought I was a nut case. He whacked up some heavy drum and bass and Adel remixes to silence me. I arrived at the Hilton and thank god they had Wi-Fi. I would have booked the 1pm flight however, I was more concerned about getting in these (FUCKING) writings that had been taking over my life for the last month. I would be such a piss off if I didn’t get them in. I sat there with a racing heart frantically trying to submit these writings. The page wasn’t working. I was sweating and my heart was racing. Still, I planned to get the flight at 1pm. Eventually I got them in. Alhamdullilah. I gave up in the end, I didn’t care what I had written. I ran out of the hotel after, again people thought I was mad. I walked out into the desert and onto the motorway to try and hitchhike. Luckily a taxi driver pulled up, an airport taxi driver. He gave me a lift to the airport and I ran out to try and catch this flight which I still wasn’t even sure that I wanted. Again, EVERY security man stopped me in fact this time they didn’t even let me inside. I argued persistently like a middle-aged woman who wanted to return a dress she had brought. All I wanted to do was speak to reception. Eventually one of them guided me to the office. They wouldn’t let me go alone. Maybe I did really look that crazy by then. The people told me that I wouldn’t be able to fly until 8pm at the earliest. I asked if I could use the Wi-Fi and of course, they said no. I sneaked around the back and tried to book it however, I eventually found a kind officer who allowed me to stay. I booked a flight, with the help of mum and dads’ wallet (it had been a while since I had done this!). I was dead and hungry and sweaty and VERY restless. I couldn’t stop doing stuff, I was anxious. Having four hours to kill I headed to a hotel to use their Wi-Fi, I swam and ate. I spent so much money but, by this point, I didn’t care for anything. I was running around like a headless chicken and I couldn’t stop. Before I knew it I was back on the highway looking for a hotel. I found one and payed a day for all-inclusive dinner and swimming. I showered, ate and drank beer. Finally eventually got myself back into a normal, human pace of life. I even painted my nails. I sat for a while, and drank a beer, I watched the families play in the swimming pool in front of me. It is funny that this whole month began with me sitting alone in a hotel of Egyptian families and eventually ended with me sitting alone with a bunch of Egyptian families. Luckily however, In this hotel, I was a little less alien. People were drinking and children ignored you – to an extent. I pushed away a little boy who pervaded me underwater. It felt strange to eat a proper meal, I couldn’t say that I enjoyed it but I needed it. I may have exploded under stress otherwise. I chilled out with a full belly not long after. I got my results though in an email – I was pretty happy with them. A first. I then put on some make up, made myself look human again and, for the third time of the day, headed back to the airport. It seemed like a ritual to smoke the last cigarette before boarding the plane – it was like a travelling habit and strangely, sitting there I thought at every airport that I sat and smoked a cigarette. It seemed like a final goodbye to the land – blowing the mouldy and tar filled breath of smoke to the land. Iceland, Greece, Croatia, France, South Africa, and Egypt. I sat there when a man introduced himself to me. Here we go I thought a creepy guy who would want to chat the whole duration of the airport. Whatever, by this time I had had enough of the day and it actually felt good to relieve some stress by telling other people about my madness. He found me funny at least. He was a creep and somehow managed to get me to talk about every boyfriend I had ever had. (How do people make you do this and why do I always reveal this?). Either way he brought me a coffee and that was that. He told me that he was a ‘Mamlouk’ – a family that had a previous history of ruling the country or something. He told me that he was basically royalty in blood and he seemed proud of it – what a knob I thought. Anyway, by the end of our chat, he was interesting but happy that he boarded the flight before me.I eventually boarded the plane that I was supposed to be on 8 hours before. Late or what. Not hearing anything from Ahmed or his brother, I had had huge doubts that I should not travel by now. So much of my life had been taken up by this plan that I felt had to be completed. And now, I sit here in my tickets seat as the plane descends through the clouds (there are clouds in Kuwait?!), my heart is racing. Really, I have no idea what to expect – I never had been to anywhere like Kuwait and everyone I had spoken to had only told me how much I would hate it. I must admit, it doesn’t seem popular, there are only around 20 people on this plane and they all look miserable. All of the worker are migrant labourers, seemingly from the Philippines or India. I can tell already that this place is not going to be pretty. But bring it on. Let me meet Ahmed’s family, whoever they are and whatever they have got to say. We are flying through turbulence now and its shaking up my brain. I am imagining scenarios in my head. I am imagining me sitting in Ahmed’s aunts house wearing an abaya and a hijab. I feel sick. How did I get myself into this situation? And now we are landing. Oh fuck.… here we go… maybe one day I will stop putting myself thought these performances, jumping through hoop rings to challenge myself in the fear of death. Let’s see. Someone get me a hotel, a job or at least another cigarette. Just don’t remind me of home whatever you do. Ahmed said that I mustn’t be shy – for him I will try not to be. Ok the wheels are coming out, I see the city on the horizon. So many lights. Shit, we are landing. Fuck – what have I done? What am I trying to prove? How do I want to meet? Am I just nosey? I am gazing out the window as we descend onto the land, but I am left behind somewhere else – where am I? Come on Amy, just smile, you can do this, it’s only change… 21 century rock and roll remember. Good luck Amy ya habibti. 

 

14/07/18

I arrived to the airport. I hadn’t felt so nervous in a long time. I felt like I was in a place where I shouldn’t be, a place where I didn’t belong. Although people were welcoming and there were people from everywhere, something felt unfitting. I felt as though I had arrived to a place that wasn’t expecting my presence, a place which I was not yet prepared for me or, more likely, a place that I was not yet prepared for. Either way I continued the process of arrival, I got my Visa and headed out to collect my bags. Still feeling nervous to meet Ahmed’s brother, I ensured that I looked ok. I put on a little make up and found a perfume shop to take some free sprays. Little yet was I to know that my senses were right, something had been wrong since I missed the flight at one and that, whilst I was passing my time in an all-inclusive holiday hotel, serious shit had happened for the people on the other side of the plane…Entering through the ‘nothing to declare’ doors, the first thing I realised was that the entirety of the place was filled with men wearing white abayas. It was almost impossible to identify anyone from each other, let alone Ahmed brother (photo opposite) from the crowd. To my unadjusted eyes, all of the men looked the same, a blur of white bodies and red checked heads. It made the place look normally brighter. I found an ATM to get some money and to charge my phone – making a phone call was my only hope to find a man who I only had a photo to identify. 

My nerves settled as I found a cup of tea. It cost me well over two English pounds. Like Audrey had warned me, everything was expensive here (one English pound was 2.5 dinars). Waiting for my phone to charge I looked around the airport. I tried to gauge the people of Kuwait and their nationalism. Nearly everyone working seemed to be from Bangladesh, Pakistan, or the Philippines. both women and men. Whilst every individual arriving or departing seemed Arab. The women I saw with the men in white Abayas were fully covered in black Burkas and sat passively and reserved as their husbands drank their teas. More extremely that Egypt, Kuwait seemed like a man’s world. I went to the toilet. There was a woman, sleeping in the corner. I tried to sneak past without waking her however, with my rucksack and guitar, I couldn’t help but rustle. As I left the toilet she asked me for change but I yet to had found an ATM. She quickly gave up asking, it looked like she had given up on other things in her life too. My initial experiences in the country hardly changed my expectations of hating the place yet, taking another sip of tea, I attempted to centre myself on the reasons why I had taken the flight here in the first place – to meet Ahmed’s family. With recognition, I took a deep breath, swallowed my nerves, switched on my phone and was ready for the adventure.  Once I eventually found Wi-fi, I received a message from Ahmed. It read;‘My brother was at the airport waiting for you, but he was a member of the police followed and was put into danger and retreated and went home and so far they follow him’. With my heart racing and wide eyes, I rang Ahmed instantly. He sounded worried and told me that the whole of his family was worried for Badr – his brother. They had no idea where he was or where the police had taken him, they thought that he was in prison. He told me that the police thought that he was suspicious waiting around in the airport for a person from Misr. As he was Bidoon he shouldn’t have left Jahra, let alone stood around the airport for four hours. The police suspected him of attempting to illegally smuggle himself out of the country.  Initially, I felt to blame. If I hadn’t of been so stupid to miss my flight, maybe I would have met him at 1 o clock and everything would be fine. My heart felt so much pain, I felt like I had disrupted the lives of so many so innocently forgetting my privileges of a having a red passport. Ahmed was reminding me on the phone that it is ok for me to travel, I am free he told me, but Bidoons are not. ‘We have nothing’ he said and the police are shit to us in Kuwait. They hate us. I felt wrong. I felt so selfish. It hit me what I had done, the mistakes I had made – I was a privileged white person hoping to visit a place where my friend had tried to escape his whole life, what was I thinking? That I could turn up and expect everything to be as expected and planned in my mind? Or for me to arrive into a country that would be accepting of a western woman staying with the people they perceive as illegal? I felt stupid, I felt naïve, I wondered whether the world would work better if people like me were never born. I sat in the café for a while, speaking to Ahmed. Tears started to well in my eyes. He was upset too, he told me he swore, that he was excited, ‘very happy, for me to visit his family in Jahar but things are difficult’. ‘We live different lives, we have different freedoms, ones which you couldn’t imagine.’ I felt hatred for myself, repeatedly I told myself that I was to blame; that, because of me, because I couldn’t wake up to catch a flight, the secret police, (that are often wearing the same clothes as the rest of the people in the airport), had taken Badr away to prison. I wished that it could have been me. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wondered whether it would be better if I already got out of the country now? Instead, I got in a taxi toward a hotel. Still not realising the price of things I paid double the price I should – £25 pound for 20 minutes. Seeing the expensive cars driving around, and the migrant labourers. I had never hated a place so much so quickly. It was disgusting here. There was no banter like there was in Egypt, people seemed head fucked by working and the desire of money.  Kuwait and London - KudonAn advert for a Kuwaiti bank mixing architecture of Kuwait and London. It reminded me of the evil cosmopolitanism dreams and evils between both of the countries. It made me think of Ahmed. As we headed out of the border of the airport, I saw the police at the check point. There were blue and red flashing lights and I saw someone inside of their car. Under my breath I swore at them. I realised that, as a tourist that we visiting for two days, that was all I could do. I couldn’t help anyone. Just watch it happen. Watch people be taken to prison because of mead not even have the capabilities to apologies.  Eventually, I arrived at the hotel. It was a tall tower block surrounded by other tall tower blocks, everywhere had multicoloured lights. It was one of those places where, if I had the choice, I would definitely avoid. To avoid the uncomfortable hot air that, that, with each breath was making me feel sick, I went inside to and booked my room; the receptionists were Egyptian. It made me feel like home. Surprisingly not tired yet, I sat in reception for a while and called Ahmed. We talked about Bidoons in Kuwait and the whether there was anything I could do to help the situation. Like I expected, he told me that I couldn’t help, and reminded me that I was just a tourist. A tourist that should be doing normal tourist things, like visiting the shopping malls. A tourist that shouldn’t be interacting with Bidoons.Over the years that we had known each other, over the years that he has been waiting for papers, I have always complained about the UK and how it’s system functioned apon the idea of race and exclusion. Now, it was his turn for him to tell me that Kuwait was shitter. Now I understood what he meant. He told me that Brook house was nice, and in Kuwait you are tortured in prisons and placed in cells that are only three metres squared. He knew because since 2014 to 2017 there had been many demonstrations for Bidoons and he, including his friends, had been placed inside of the prisons for a few days. I felt that all I could do was apologise to him and his family for the shit I had caused. I admitted to him that I had made a huge mistake coming to Kuwait and especially. not even at the time we had planned. Like he told me, I should have just visited him in Leicester. Then at least the wife of Badr would not be at home crying and worrying about her husband. At 4am I put the phone down and slept.

 

15/07/18 

 

With the emotional stresses, I slept long and deeply and again I didn’t wake up for breakfast. Just like the first day that I had awoken in Egypt, I awoke this morning in an instant shock of where I was. I remembered what had happened.  I sat in my room and played my guitar with an aching heart. I sang a hard rain, my voice was shaking, about to burst out into tears. I rang mum to explain what had happened. Again, she said that ‘that’s what happens if you become emotionally attached to people that are in a shit situation’. I put the phone down. although I felt like doing so, I hadn’t cried yet today. I wasn’t sad, I was numb. All day I sat in the hotel room, playing my guitar and thinking. Acknowledging that a serious of actions that you were a part of, it the reason why someone was taken to prison, made me wonder whether the world would be better if I just stayed inside of hotel rooms.It wasn’t until the sun began to set that I realised that, sitting around in air-conditioned rooms would help myself, let alone anyone. I could easily sit here for another two days, feeling angry at myself and the world but what good would that do? I would become as miserable as I saw the world. And besides, after the experiences I have already happened in my life, I had learnt that that bad things happen when good people do nothing. Despite, the silly mistakes and naiveties, I knew that I was a good person somewhere in my heart.Taking a step out of my emotional mind, I was also able to break my continuous cycle of moping, cigarettes and another sad song. Doing so, I was able to realise that in order to keep going, this situation had to be something that I could learn from, not something that I despised. In order to do this, I knew that I had to delve into to it like it was an experience to enjoy or, more so, just an experience. I could no longer be fearful of admitting my mistakes and actions. So, after one last Bob Dylan song, and another hour of hard thinking I was able to start beginning to forgive myself for my mistakes and more so accept that this situation was not a fault of my own, but a fault of the corrupt government of Kuwait. Although I had not yet fully accepted this idea in my mind, and still I was loathing the world I saw in partial self-hatred, with a glimpse of forgiving myself I was able to pack up my guitar, close my cigarette box and open my hotel room door (due to stupidly opening the window to smoke a cigarette, my hotel room was now the same temperature as outside. The air-conditioner had overworked itself and shut down.  I think that if I hadn’t come to these mental conclusions sooner, I still be in that hotel room as a melted blob of human flesh and tobacco ash). As I walked down to reception, I tried to smile. To help me, I thought about how eventually time will allow me to accept this situation and get my head around what happened last night. As I waited for the Kareem taxi that I ordered, I thought about ways in which I could make the most of this situation I was in; how I could move on but not forget. I also wondered how I could express my anger and frustrations to the people I met and how they may be able to show me another side of Kuwait, a Kuwait that does have some decency. Here are a few conclusions that I came to; • Although now, as a short-stay European tourist, I cannot do anything to solve the marginalisation of Kuwaiti Bidoons (I have just as much power as anyone), I have had an experience that proves that marginalisation exists. In some sense it is a first-hand account of corruption and an account that I can share. An account that I can tell to anyone I meet. People on the streets, Kuwaiti or not. Just as I have learnt from this experience, I too will share this experience so others, like me can become aware of Kuwait’s ugliness. This afternoon, I will speak about this event and express my anger with others. • However, although I do have little power, unlike Bidoon people, who would be prosecuted for sharing any political thought, as a European tourist, I do have the power to share my thoughts about Kuwait and how they treat Bidoon people here. I must therefore take this experience and apply it to a grander political narrative. One that critiques the actions of Kuwait state and its mythical nationalisms and more so, the marginalisation of stateless people at all. I must use my privilege of having the right to express my political thought and to educate myself, to express, in solidarity, the discriminatory practices towards Bidoon people. I must express this political narrative especially to the Kuwait people, other tourists, or even my family, who have no idea about the corruption of Kuwait. • But equally, I must be aware of my freedom of expression and freedom of travel and remind myself that others, who may seem equal to your power, do not have the same rights as you (in other words, you should now be aware that not, only do people not want to, but not everybody has the freedom to hang around at airports waiting for you).  • I must show solidarity with those marginalised and not apologetics for my ignorance and mistakes.  • Likewise, like those who are marginalised, I must not take side with the police or state forces. • Secondly likewise, and on a more personal scale, If Ahmed and I are going to have a long-term relationship with each other, we must be in solidarity. We must stand together, on an equal ground, against the systems of hatred, be that borders, the Kuwait police or the British Asylum system. It is neither my fault that I have a British passport or well-off parents, and neither is it Bdrs fault for being a Bidoon. It is the fault of the world around us, the world that together oppresses us in differentiating yet similar ways. The world that together, we need to change.   • Lastly, I will never believe in superstition, but never again will I travel on Friday the 13th. 

Pretending to be like any normal tourist, I headed to Kuwait towers. I would have preferred not to pay for a ticket but I wanted to look over the city that brushed its own people under the carpet. The view was clear but the city was ugly. Everything I hated. Characterless glass and iron towering dominating above much more beautiful buildings. I stared for a while then walked over to the other side which showed a much nicer view of the sea. I watched the people below enjoying the water parks and expensive coffee shops. I hated them all. In my confused and frustrated mind, I wondered why didn’t they care about their own people in the next city? Maybe they didn’t care, maybe they didn’t know?Trying to make the most of the £7.50 I spent to go up the tower, I sat crossed legged on the floor as it slowly spun around on its automatic wheels. The view of the city that hides its own people;    I watched the families and other tourists take pictures of the place – what did it all mean? What would people do with these pictures once taken? Frame them? Talk about how beautiful Kuwait was to their families back in Saudi or someplace? Had Ahmed ever seen this view? I doubted it. What were these skyscrapers symbols of I thought, cosmopolitanism? Wealth? I sat for another half an hour, sulking on the turning floor of the tower. I wished to be with Ahmed, I wished to be sitting on his bed, or on his bedroom floor, talking to him. I wished to be any other place than in the country that had caused so much suffering to him and his family. I headed back down to the ground floor and went for a walk along the beach. The sun was setting. I collected some shells for Ahmed then sat on a large rock, watching the strange, crab like bugs run across the sand in into their holes. The sun eventually turned into an orange ball across the skyline. Its glare and the warm sand under my feet felt like the only real thing in this city; this city which is clean but ugly, this city where everything felt false, this city where even the air that you breathe is conditioned.    The sunset; the only real thingI was wondering whether I was over exaggerating the ugliness of this place, besides, all of the world we see is only a reflection of ourselves, our thoughts and our minds. I attempted to change my mindset, create some positive energies, anyway, still I had to speak to people, tell them about my situation and take note of what they said. There would be no chance of doing this with a miserable face. I cleaned my feet from the beach on the grass watering spray and jumped into a taxi. I made a conscious effort to talk to him. ‘How are you?’, ‘Busy day?’, ‘You speak Arabic, English? Urdu?’. I had no reply, although I knew he understood me. ‘Where do you want to go?’ He said, still ignoring every question I asked. I told him where I was heading and he began to drive. I tried again ‘Have you had a good day today?’ I asked. This time he didn’t ignore me but instead replied ‘what did you say?’. I repeated the question but still he did not reply. Eventually, after the third time asking him, he quite forwardly asked, ‘what do you want?’. I told him that I was asking him how his day was, still he didn’t understand. I gave in and we continued driving in silence on the way to the market. Sitting back in my chair, I realised that most people, especially those who have been accepted here as migrant labourers, are no here for a good time or even for small talk. They were here to make money and probably hated Kuwait as much as I did. People come here to work, not to make lives. I sat back in my chair again with a miserable face and read the taximan’s profile that hung on a laminated piece of paper on the back of his chair (all taxi drivers that are not Kuwaiti have to have this). It was a copy of his passport. His was 37 years old and from Bangladesh. I hadn’t eaten anything in twenty hours and my head was spinning. I am sure that this wasn’t helping with my mood either. I found a vegetarian, Indian restaurant. Finally, something I could smile about. Although it was hardly on the cheap side, it was the best food I had eaten in a long time and, ordering so much of it, it took me a good hour to finish it. I became full Alhamdulillah. After, I walked around and spoke to the people in the shops – I had no intention of buying anything (besides everything was so expensive), I just wanted to speak to someone anyone. With all this self-hatred, straight after the friendly company in Egypt, I had felt lonelier than ever. Everyone here was from different places, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Iran, Afghanistan, Egypt. The only Kuwaitis seemed like they were either in the government buildings or living as Bidoons in Jahara. Despite my happy belly I became miserable again, seeing the struggle for money reminded me that it was not only this place that was ugly but the whole world. Although we like to imagine slave labour is over, seeing the amount of work the people here do reminded me that ‘cheap migrant labour’ really is no different. As I wondered the streets, simply observing these social patterns, I began to place myself in the picture? Who am I here? The migrant? The rich? The daughter of colonisers? The journalist? I decided that, once I make it back to my hotel I would book a day out to visit the house of mirrors (a house made out of mirrors, the only in the world) A place I should have gone to a week before booking the flight here. I thought that a long, hard look at myself was needed.                                                                           

A chamber of reflection in the towers. After the meal and the wonder, I sat on the bench beside a bin that, in the heat was smelling awful. Although, despite the stench I had not care to move or in fact go anywhere else or do anything. I wanted to sit and stare, like I had done all day. I was hoping that someone would talk to be but they didn’t. Like I realised earlier, Kuwait, isn’t a place where people want to talk to you. I sat for a while. I had Wi-Fi. I looked to see if people wanted to meet up on couchsurfing, an app that allows you to meet with other travellers or locals of the city. I had a few requests. After a while of deciding where to meet, I met one person named Anees. He picked me up in his car and we drove to a place for coffee and tea. He kindly paid, thank god because it was £4 each! Like the rest of the population, he was here for work. He was a radio software engineer who had already graduated although he looked younger than me. He was from Kerala and visited home to see his family sometimes. He was nice and a bit of a stoner I think. We spoke for a while and he told me that I looked different to what I expected. I always find it funny when people say this, especially when they had never met you before. He then he drove me home. It was nice to have some company eventually, I felt comfortable around him too, he listened to me. It felt good to be around people. He dropped me off and I brought some cigarettes from the local corner shop beside my hotel. Stepping out of the air-conditioned car, I was hit by the hot air. I remembered again where I was on this planet. I brought some snacks and the cigarettes from man in the shop and we had a good chat, he was from Iran but somehow could speak Arabic. We had some banter and finally, I felt human again. Company was healthy. I walked back from the shop, feeding the street cats my left overs from dinner on the way, and eventually returned to my room. My air conditioner was still broken. It was hotter than outside and with the cigarette smoke stuffier than ever. I stripped off and laid naked on the bed. Staring at the ceiling. I thought about this part in ‘On the Road’; “I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was-I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon.’’Ahmed called. I picked up. Unlike me, he seemed to be in better spirits and mentioned that his brother was out of prison although, he had to pay 300KD (£750) of Baksheesh to the police. I offered to pay although I knew that I couldn’t. We ended the call and I put on the TV. I found a channel that played only Sudanese music. I watched for a while and played along with my harmonica that Eid had given to me. I smoked another cigarette, turned off the TV, then passed out asleep leaving all of the lights on. Despite my day of thinking, I still wasn’t looking after myself. Wrongly, I was still full of guilt.  16/07/18Before I slept I thought about what my friend Fabrizio had said to me – ‘make the most of it’. I always thought about him saying this when I was unhappy with something or a situation. Fabrizio taught me a lot. He taught me how to enjoy it, whenever or whenever, and enjoy the people around especially. He taught me that you can have a holiday anywhere if you try hard enough. So, after spending the whole day in the hotel, again, feeling sorry for myself, I eventually mustered up some positive energy and made my way out. It was around 4pm and I had planned to go to the national museum. I wanted to analyse the nationalism that had so cleverly discarded half of those who were born within its borders. I had a good chat with the man on the wat to the museum, he was from Pakistan and we talked about beautiful poetry in Urdu. On arrival however, the national museum was closed. Being refurbished apparently. ‘So this is where their tax money is going – on perpetuating and recreating their national identity’ I thought to myself. With the museum being shut, I crossed the road and went to the national library instead. But again, I was eventually kicked out from there also. I was a tourist and tourist were only allowed to visit on certain days. I had a good chat with the security guard though, we had some banter – Egyptian banter. I missed the Egyptian banter. I missed Egypt. I hated this skyline of shining gold and straight edged ‘development’. ‘Progress’ is usually performed in a soulless manner, but Kuwaiti progress was especially performed in soulless manner. After walking out from the library, (and kindly been given back my water bottle by the Egyptian security officer who had ran all the way from his office to the outside of the library to give it to me), I continued to walk to the national mosque. Again, I was intrigued to see where the state was spending its money. I was about to go in but something changed my mind. I had a vision of me becoming very angry at an Imam who, like the other times I had headed in to a mosque, was trying to persuade me to say the Shahada. With this scenario in my mind, I turned the corner from the mosque entrance and instead jumped into the next taxi that passed. There was already someone in the taxi, a Kuwaiti it seemed. He was being dropped off down the road by some large offices. The taxi man was from Yemen. I had never met anyone from Yemen before. He was a funny man, he was tiny yet felt like the largest soul in the city. He turned up the music and shouted, waving his arms in the air. He wanted me to marry him and take him to London. I tried to tell him that London was not so nice and instead he should think of moving somewhere else. He wasn’t listening and just told me that everyone was beautiful in London because they had blue eyes. I gave up on the discussion and simply and nodded. I tried to tell him that I was in a relationship with a Bidoon man in London and it took him a while to believe me. Still with the aim of trying to share the situation with the people I met, I asked the driver if he knew who Bidoon people were. ‘Yes, very bad people, they drink and have no papers’ He said. His response shocked me. It seemed like Kuwaiti nationalism had worked and that they had even been able to divide its migrant labourers from its stateless people.  I tried to tell the Yemeni driver that this wasn’t true and instead, there are good and bad people everywhere. But still he wasn’t listening and insisted that I gave him my phone number. Bu now he was dreaming of London. Although I am sure we both knew we would never meet again, he gave me the ride for mate’s rates. It was nice of him and running out of money, I appreciated it. I arrived al-Bait Othmans house – it was a museum explaining Kuwaiti heritage. It was huge and full of men which sheik titles. Their nationalism was built upon Bedouin culture and the port industry. The museum displayed certain national artefacts and photo’s that perpetuated this idea of a pure Kuwaiti heritage; a room of Kuwaiti sport successes, a room of Kuwaiti music, a room for Kuwait airlines, a room of Kuwait money, a room of Kuwaiti Amir’s and their lineage. There was nothing about interactions with other cultures or states except the war they had with Iraq in the 90’s. Like the rest of the world, Kuwait was another country to build a nationalism upon this myth of pure culture and acceptance even though in reality, and especially being a port surrounded by Bedouin tribes, its people have always migrated and never been inherently ‘Kuwaiti’.  In the museum; Exhibition on Kuwait Airways, family tree of the Shah  Statue of Bedouin women in the kitchen, Kuwaiti football team        In the museum; music of Kuwait and ‘traditional Bedouin’ teapots.I was reaching the end of the museums exhibitions when one of the guides who worked there began to give me small tour around the remaining exhibition rooms. He was kind and told me about the Iraqi invasion in the 90’s. He showed me the photos of the bombs the exploded the oil tanks. He also showed me the line of people who had own the oil company in Kuwait. It was only until the 80’ when Kuwaitis owned their own company. It was interesting to experience this display of nationalism but I was beginning to feel angry again. I reminded myself that Ahmed’s brother was charged 300 KD to the state which had given him so little. In my anger and search for justice, I graffitied the toilet doors with ‘justice for Bidoons’ (in Arabic) and stole a small football badge from the wall. It is silly now that I think of it – a waste of time and another naïve act. The people who worked at the museum or even the curator of it, was not to blame for the intrenched inequalities of the countries and I am sure my damages would only become another duty to complete for the underpaid Bangladeshi cleaners who works seven days a week just to be able to afford to travel to visit family. After again writing ‘Justice for Bidoons’ in the visitor’s book, I left the museum quickly and headed towards an Indian restaurant nearby. On the way, I passed murals and big photos of the current Amir’s/Shahs (Sabah al Ahmed (photo opposite) and his brother) on my way. I hated the photos because Ahmed did and thought about sticking my chewing gum on the face of one of them.  Justice for Bidoons!Just before reaching the Indian takeaway, I passed a few cafes. People seemed engrossed by what was on TV. It was the world cup and France had just won the finals. Watching the cheering men on the flags on the TV screens, with the trophies and confetti, I sighed, ‘ah more nationalism’. Eventually I entered the restaurant, placed myself down and ate. The food was cheap but nice and there was a lot of it. I was thankful.I left the take away place with a full stomach to walk out into a man who was standing on the side of the road. He stopped me and told me that he brought me some sweets. It was strange. I thought he was joking at first but then he admitted that all the time I was eating he had been waiting for me outside, watching me eating and waiting for me to leave. I’m not sure if he thought it was romantic but I definitely was creeped out. I told him that I wanted to go to somewhere with WIFI, I wanted to call someone (it wasn’t an excuse I did. I wanted to call Ahmed and I wanted to meet up with another couchsurfer that wasn’t creepy enough to wait outside of the shop for me). He told me that he knew a place and that he would just drop me dropped me off there and leave. When we arrive, I insisted that he did exactly that. Especially after the way I watched him interact with the waiter. He was a very rude man, despite his Egyptian banter, and I wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. I rang some people Mum and Ahmed, and then met up with another couch surfer. I wasn’t sure if I was really in the mood to meet up with another person but, as it was my last night here, I wanted to make the most of my time here and gather as much as a perspective about the place as possible. Also, the couchsurfer I was planning to meet was Kuwaiti and he had lived in York – I thought we would have a lot to talk about and I had questions to ask him – about Bidoons and about his life in Kuwait. Besides, any person would be better to meet rather this rude and creepy Egyptian man, that still I wasn’t sure had left the area. The couchsurfer, Yahya, picked me up in his car. I made the mistake of telling him that he was saving me from a creepy Egyptian. On first impressions it made me look weak and innocent, something that I shouldn’t have looked to Yahya who, little did I know, too had hidden motivation of his own (I hope that soon I will give up my innocent view on life for something that is more realistic. Of course Yahya had motivations, just as I did. I wanted to find out about the political situation of Kuwait and he wanted something else. Everyone on this fucking planet has motivations, conscious or unconscious and NOTHING IS FOR FREE). Yahya’s car was a huge 4X4. It looked like it was worth a lot. Way too much for anyone else I knew who was our ages (he was 23). Not only was he quick to show me the many mod-cons of his flashy 4x4 but also he was quick to admit that he had a boat, his own charity, Arabian horses, free-ranging camels, a ticket to the world cup in Russia, an apartment just for house parties, had already studied two majors, and his dad was a minister in the government. He was loaded and he let the world know. In fact, I don’t think I have ever met anyone so proud of what materials they had. He was the paradox of a crusty and everything I hated. I tried to ignore his cocky nature and big-headedness (that probably had stemmed from his material status) and see him as a person to be interested in, a person to like or at least a person to try and like. We spoke for a while, and trying to be interested in his life, I asked him many questions. Of course, he gave me lengthy answers. For some reason, maybe due to his class or status, he made me feel intimidated from when I first met him. I think I had already portrayed myself as weaker than him, let alone less able to sustain myself financially in this country. We drank a tea and we spoke for a while in the marina, the nicest place of Kuwait. It was a fancy place and reminded me of Gunwharf quays (minus the drinking venues of course, in Kuwait alcohol is illegal). Although we spoke for a while, I could tell that he wasn’t listening to what I had to say. He just talked about the number of hours he used to run along the beach at the marina in Salamiya and whether I would like anything more to drink or eat off the menu. I constantly said that I didn’t want anything. Despite his cockiness, subtly, he made me feel like his queen. He ensured that I would sit first, that he would pay for the drinks, that he would show me the best and most plush parts of the areas and that he would buy me sweet drinks (a very sickly ‘heart attack milkshake), and even (very patronisingly) gave me his loose change as ‘souvenir money’ from Kuwait along the road as we were driving. Somehow, as our time together continued, he turned me into his passive female passenger that only spoke in response to what he had to say. We went for a walk along the beach after our drink. He was shorter than me (and he had braces) even when I took off my chunky Egyptian made shoes to swim in the sea. The beach was so busy, with families cooling off in the night and single people who had just finished work. It was busy and also dirty with plastic. Of course, Yahya wasn’t impressed. I went into the water for a paddle. Yahya joined me but only hesitantly. I don’t think he loved the sea as much as I did. He drove me around the city until eventually he asked if I wanted to go to see the dessert after he had collected his aunts’ friend from the airport. Like a goldfish, or still like his passive passenger, I said ‘yes sure lets go’, I didn’t care – although I hated him slightly, he was entertaining in some sense. We had an hour to kill before we had to collect his aunt’s friend. He asked me where I wanted to go. STUPIDLY, still unsure if I really wanted to spend the night in the desert, I suggested that we went back to my hotel for a while. WHY THE FUCK DID I SAY THIS. As soon as I said it I knew I had made a mistake. For him however, it was green lights ahead. He whizzed up google maps, and drove much faster than even before towards my hotel. Without any words being said, we were speeding back along the highway, the way we came, and towards my hotel. He had turned the music up sped up to120 mph. He didn’t speak, it seemed like he was only concerned with getting there so that he would have enough time in the room before he had to pick up his aunts friend at the airport. I wondered whether it was too late to retract the offer. It was obvious what he wanted and I have no idea why I didn’t stop him. Like an already dead fish, even before we arrived at the hotel, he had hooked me onto his desires. Brainwashed one could say. With the subtle ways in which he made me feel as ‘godly’ as him, I felt obliged to do what I knew he wanted. As always I let go of what I knew was the right thing to do and as always, I continued to do what I felt the other person was in for. It was gift exchange in its most evil form.Luckily, the hotel wouldn’t let him in. Phew I thought. I suggested that we make our way back to the airport and to the desert but, unsurprisingly his plans had changed. Like I said, he wanted one thing and one thing over, right from the start. He suggested that we go to his house that he had just for parties. In the fashion of before, I said yes – again, why the fuck did I say yes? I knew what was going to happen and that, after this step there was no going back. Not only had it all gone too far too quickly but like I had done so many times before, I had gotten entangled in a mess again and I hated myself for doing so. We collected the keys from his friend and eventually arrived at his ‘spare apartment’. It was named ‘apartment happiness’. Reading it I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be sick. Opening the door, it was everything what I imagined a prostitute den to look like. It was ugly, it looked and smelt like a ‘lads’ lair for hedonisms… Why had I allowed him to take me here? I wondered whether I still hated myself, and was searching for every oppitunity or distraction that would mean I didn’t have to sit alone with myself and my actions. Sitting on the sofa and kicking his silly branded trainers off, he politely cancelled on picking up his aunt’s friend from the airport and admitted that our plans to visit the desert were abandoned. Something that he could have admitted as soon as I mentioned the name of my hotel. Instead of watching the stars in the desert, not so romantically, we flicked through his TV’s film selection, laying on a stained sofa, in a cold and the blue-lit illuminous room of his not-so-happy apartment. 

 

16/07/18

 

I thought I would be sitting on this flight to Istanbul, reflecting upon my time and the people I had met – The experiences I had shared with Ahmed’s family; the people I had the chance to know just out of a twist of fate. Instead, I sit, feeling emotionally exhausted, looking out of the window across the desert and to the slums where their government controls Bidoon peoples every move. In some sense, I have returned feeling more distant from the people I thought I would be close to and, even more so, more distant from myself. I wonder if they were disappointed for not being able to meet me? (I’m sure they perceived me as another rich foreigner with a passport, and more worried about the money they had to pay to get Badr out of prison.Even though I didn’t meet them, I felt that just my presence disrupted their lives and, as I coincidence I have also disrupted my own. I have returned smoking more cigarettes than I have done before, given a blow job to another stranger dirty sheets, poorer in spirit than I have been since I was 16, and feeling like I am a wondering nobody. I have retuned feeling that right now, in my life, I have a deep sense of confusion in both my heart and mind. I am not sure if they are connected or too connected. At that moment, sitting on the plane, I realised that something in my life needed to change. I felt that it was time to give something up. At first I was not sure what that something was, but I know it has to go and it’s going to be hard. It’s wasn’t smoking either, smoking is easier than what I have to give up. I had to give up feeling lost. I am too old for this. I am only embarrassing myself. I have to start making decisions, something I am not good at I know. But Halas, it is a choice to feel lost, not an experience placed upon you. You can choose not to feel lost. You can choose to be head strong. Choose to pretend to know what you’re doing even though you don’t. Choose to make the most of your situation even though plans go tits up. Like I said earlier, now I realise that Jack Kerouac’s characters were neither stupid or crazy – they were time wasters. I concluded that I had to give up feeling lost because, I used this excuse exactly for my actions I had done the night before. I wasn’t head strong nor taking responsibility for my own actions. I was letting another person, who I had met only a few hours before, control my life and situation even thought I knew it was happening. I acted lost, I acted weak. And that’s why I awoke, in a cold, blue-lit room still half-asleep sucking the dick of a stranger. Doing it, just because I felt I had to, just because he brought me a milkshake, just because I thought that he wanted to meet and talk about York, just because – I believed I was lost, I thought why not. After we had laid on the stained sofa, flicking through his TV films, I asked if I could sleep for a while in the bed. He showed me to the room. A room which had high heels on the floor, empty vodka bottles and underwear. I laid on top of the dirty sheets and he joined me, simply assuming that we would sleep together. Knowing what would happen I asked him to leave. I wanted to sleep alone and besides, it was only for another hour. I asked him if he would wake up to the sound of an alarm. He told me he would although still he didn’t trust himself and would stay awake until I had to leave. After only an hour snooze, I woke up to Yahya’s hand on my shoulder and his face staring. He awoke me from a dream about Ahmed. I dreamed that I had to tell him everything I thought and everything that happened in Kuwait. I felt as though my dream was telling me that, if we couldn’t communicate, then whatever this was between us had to stop. I awoke in a panic thinking that what was between us wasn’t healthy for either of us. Yahya began to massage me, all over my back. Just as he had made me feel like a queen before, again he had made me feel special. He was shivering. He told me that he hadn’t slept and that he had stayed awake in the cold, air-conditioned front room waiting for me to wake up. Laying there, in his apartment, with him massaging me, after he had drove me around town all night, I began to feel spoilt I guess. I began to feel that I needed to repay him in some sense of form… He climbed under the dirty sheets of the bed and laid next to me. We kissed. He wanted more. Keeping every item of my clothing on, I sucked his dick. He came. I got up out of bed. I opened the blacked-out window of the tiny kitchen and searched for the materials to make a cup of tea. Drinking my tea, I hung out of the window, listening to Bob Dylan and watching the sun rise over the buildings opposite. I smoked two cigarettes then got ready to leave.  At first, although I too was shaking from the lack of sleep and the coldness of the apartment (it was really cold in there) I couldn’t say that what I did was something to regret. Besides, I blamed the whole experience on ‘feeling lost’ and anyway, I think that if I wanted a lift to the airport then I would have had to of given something back to him. In some sense, maybe I was doing it to save money here and there – taxi’s, drinks and drives were expensive and maybe I was willing to have for these through the exchange of a blowjob? And anyway, surely, I couldn’t have regretted it or have been surprised by the outcome. Ever since I got in the car and we headed to ‘apartment happiness’ it was always going to happen right?But deep down, despite all of these thoughts. I knew that the whole night was exactly what I didn’t need, or want, or should have done. As I already figured out, I hated Yahya and his huge head and knew that, back home, people loved me more than him. Ahmed, Louis, Dylan. That was real friendship or love, whatever you want to call it. To an extent, I had stuck with my mind until he woke me up. I asked him to sleep on the sofa before I went to bed and I had repeatedly mentioned that Ahmed was my boyfriend (which to him didn’t mean anything of course). So, I gave into my word at the very last minute. Just as I had done before. Just as I accepted the offer to smoke just before I leave, just before I awoke five minutes before I had to leave for my flight, and just as I had missed the oppitunity to meet Ahmed’s family. Maybe I was doing it for the money, maybe it’s just what happened to solo travelling females, maybe I just still need to grow up.  Yahya dropped me back to the hotel. He stayed in the car outside as I headed in. I still needed to pay for the room last night. As I went up to the desk to pay, one of the Egyptian receptionists, (the one who had welcomed me the first night I arrived) quietly asked me if I needed money. I was confused and I wasn’t sure what he was insinuating or more so why he thought that I needed money. Getting out my credit card to pay for the room I said no. He asked me again. ‘Excuse me but do you need money?’. Again, I told him no. ‘I can pay for your room for last night. You don’t have to pay’. He said. I was wondering whether he was just being kind but the room was expensive and it was too much for a small gesture. ‘Really it is fine, I can pay. It is £40, it is too much’ I said. Even so, even though I had insisted he wouldn’t take my credit card. It is ok, I will pay. ‘Do you need any money for a taxi to the airport?’. I looked at him. Again I told him that I was fine. ‘It is ok, really you are kind and thank you but my friend has offered to give me a lift’. As I continued staring at him, I could see it in his eyes that he was genuinely concerned for me. He walked out from behind the reception desk and took me to one side. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, who is he outside? Is he your boyfriend?’ (I had already told him about Ahmed) he asked quietly. ‘No I said, I had just met him yesterday. We met on the streets’ I replied. He looked shocked and he shook his head. With my dirty ‘I <3 Hackney’ bag, baggy eyes and greasy hair, I think he perceived me as something that I wasn’t – a prostitute – but at the time, still I hadn’t realised. He seemed genuinely sympathetic for my situation. ‘You don’t have to do that’ he said to me. ‘If you need anything, just ask. I can pay for a taxi, you don’t need to go with him’ he said. I was still confused and without saying anything else I went to my room. It was only when I was standing the shower, peeping out of the window to check if Yahya was still there to give me a lift that I realised why the receptionist was so concerned. I realised that he thought I was tryingto sell my body last night, for money, to pay for the hotel. It all made sense. Of course, not only had he seen me come back with Yahya before we made our wat to ‘apartment happiness’ but also, when I came back I told him that I would pay for the room in the morning. It all made sense. Standing in the shower this morning and thinking about the night I had with Yahya, I wondered whether the receptionist was right. I wondered whether, in some strange ‘gift exchanging’ sense, I was a kind of prostitute. Happy to give blowjobs for a free taxi service to the airport and a drink. I began to feel sick. Not only did I feel ashamed of myself, I felt dirty. I felt as though the receptionist had seen me in a light that no one else had seen me. I felt like he knew, and felt sympathy for all of my darkest secrets. I felt as though the receptionist knew everything. The truth. The truth that I didn’t want to go with Yahya, the truth that I knew it was the wrong thing to do. The truth that I didn’t love him or in fact even like him and the truth that Yahya was a knob head that had intentions that were so obvious that even the receptionist can tell. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked different. Older but less wise. I turned to the window and looked out onto Yahya’s car. He was still there. I thought about how, on the way here, he would offer to play a song from his phone and then, just as I was singing along, he would turn it down or turn it off. It made me angry. I thought about how he had heard, but hadn’t listened to anything that I had to say all night. I thought about how I had just sat there, letting him do these things and consuming the things he brought me. Why didn’t I say anything or do anything? I thought I was stronger than this. I was angry at him but more so myself. Finally, I saw myself as the body he had invested in and expected something from in repayment. I realised then, more than ever before, that sex, however romantic, is a performance of exchange, usually for money or materials. I sat on the bed in silence, my hair dripping down my back and my eyes tired.There was a small knock at my door. I was brushing my teeth. I wondered whether it was Yahya, coming to apologise maybe. Of course, it wasn’t. I opened the door to see the receptionist standing there. He looked nervous. He quietly informed me that, if I was hungry I could go to the second floor for a free breakfast then asked if he could take my number if I needed anything else. I don’t know what else to say apart from thank you. I was hungry. I wasn’t sure whether to tell him what had happened or whether to accept his kindness. This was because, deep down I was still wondering whether I was a kind of prostitute or not. I ate the breakfast staring at the light-up rock-star guitar that hung on the flowery wallpaper of the restaurant. Like the two days before, there was no-one in the restaurant except from me.  I had the whole buffet to myself. Taking the advice from the receptionist, I told Yahya to leave and that I would get a taxi to that airport. Deep down, I wanted Yahya to stay. I wanted to be repaid for the silly blowjob I had given him by getting a lift to the airport saving a few extra pounds unspent in my pocket however, feeling as I did after the interaction with the receptionist, I convinced myself that maybe it would be better to end this adventure as it started – alone. This was a good thought to have as, by the time I had freshened myself up and got ready to leave for the airport, I hated the idea of seeing his face again or having yet another conversation about the things that he owned. Instead, I wanted to tell the world that, despite his cockiness, he had a small penis. Swinging my rucksack and my tiny guitar over my shoulder, I thanked the receptionist for his kindness again, and handed him back my room’s key card in which I had secretly slipped some money inside of. I then walked out of the door, took my last breath of burning desert air, and waited for my taxi to the airport. Just as the taxi pulled up, the receptionist ran out of the hotel entrance and returned the money that I had sneakily tried to hand him. ‘You don’t need to do that.’ He said. There was no chance that I would be able to give the receptionist anything as long as he thought I was a prostitute. As the car pulled away, I watched the hotel receptionist become smaller against the fifty-storey tower block that I had been existing in for three days. I hoped that a part of myself would stay there and my future self would never return. I had never felt so strange realising that the receptionist thought I was a prostitute. I felt more painful than the guilt I had after I had done the action. Being perceived as someone you had ever imagined yourself to be can make you question who you are. I felt that the receptionist had perceived me as a lost child, and maybe I was. I felt him sympathise about my situation and because of that I too felt sympathy for myself; another destructive and unpractical thought pattern. Again, I became angry at myself. Why did I do it? Why did I get myself into yet another situation which I didn’t want to be in? Maybe I was doing it for the money, but surely not. All a blowjob got me was a milkshake and a dirty bed. Maybe if I had given him more Yahya would have insisted that he stayed at the hotel to give me a lift to the airport. And the receptionist. With his payment for the hotel room, he too was involved in this mess. I felt like my actions had resulted to a hole in his pocket, a hole that I am sure that he didn’t need. I thought that I had used my womanliness in all the wrong ways; I felt like the wrong people have suffered from my actions, including myself. What had I done? I wondered whether, the next time I travel, it should be to a small shack in the south of Wales; a place where the only things I can damage is the grass under my feet. I arrived at the airport, I was pushing it for time although eventually, I checked in and managed to buy Ahmed some Oud. I had planned to do this since the start of the trip. Boarding the flight to the plane, I felt a pain in my chest. A pain which, instantly you know, comes from within. A pain which cannot be healed by anyone or anything except time. A pain which all you can do it accept. The pain extended around my chest, my heart was aching and heavy. I stood, staring at my feet, feeling a deep sense of loneliness. A loneliness that is not caused by being alone from other people, but being alone from yourself. I flicked through my passport that I was holding in my left hand. I arrived at profile page. the photo of me stared back. I blinked for what felt like the first time of the day. I hoped for the picture to of changed as I reopened my eyes. Of course, it remained the same. I wondered whether anything about me would change, or whether, like the face that started back at me, would remain the same. Would I forever make these stupid mistakes, be late, and feel this lonely? Should I simply accept that this is me or battle towards something I’m not? Who am I? I thought. Am I Ahmed’s girlfriend, A foreigner, A prostitute, A traveller, Alone, Amy? Watching the security man inspect my passport – glance at the photo, then to my face, and then back to the photo – I realised that I was all of them, an individual yet nevertheless still a social being differing in relation to time and place and person.  Like everyone, I was only what others perceived me as; everything and nothing, a failure and a success. Boarding the plane the pain persisted. I was sad to be leaving the country without having seen the people who I came to see – Ahmed’s family. However, again seeing myself as a stranger, the person that others perceived m, I again recalled my bad habits and mistakes. I thought of I knew that it had been a mistake to of come here in the first place. It was a selfish and irrational escapism, deriving from the thoughts of death and my own sense that ‘I may never get this oppitunity again’. I reminded myself how selfish it was for me to assume that Ahmed’s family would want to meet me, let alone even have the time or energies to host me. The plane took off, and soared above the lands in which Ahmed’s family live. I looked below to the small, cubed buildings, then to the desert surrounding them, then to the skies. I knew then that, even though I hadn’t met them, my perception of the world differed from Ahmed’s family and, even more than ever, I was selfishly lost within it.  I cried throughout the flight, again considering the things I had done and the reaction of the receptionist. Again, I felt ashamed, anxious, and angry at the world including myself. So much so that I couldn’t even take the free food that was offered on the journey. I pulled down my window shutter and slept hoping that my - self, that felt so absent from the person who I was in Kuwait, would return by the time I would awaken.  

 

17 / 18 / 19 July 

I awoke just as the seat-belt sign flashed on. I hoisted up the window cover and looked out. RAIN CLOUDS; Something I hadn’t seen for six weeks. And GREEN. Everything looked so green below, so lush. I was so excited to see rain again. Maybe, like the summer sun, it releases certain moods in a human. As the plane began to descend, we passed a huge cloud which seemed like a spiralling hurricane. It looked as through the world was being sucked down a plug hole. It circled and span around a central tip that pointed to the earth, just as the seasons change, or as emotions come and go, or as birth takes one to death and back again. It was comforting to remind myself of life’s revolving patterns. However, as I fully began to awaken, I again realises where I was flying from and my feelings from before I had left. I looked again and the cloud seemed less beautiful and more destructive, more like a hurricane. Here I believe it is necessary to add a short extract of Joni Mitchell’s beautiful lyrics. I am sure they capture my feelings more adequately; ‘Bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the airAnd feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that wayBut now they only block the sun, they rain and snow on everyoneSo many things I would have done, but clouds got in my wayI've looked at clouds from both sides nowFrom up and down and still somehowIt's cloud's illusions I recallI really don't know clouds at all’Time with a friend was much needed, especially a girl-friend. I was excited to talk about all of the crazy adventures that I had with Soph and likewise, listen to hers (she had been buying records in Trinidad and then to a yoga retreat in Belarus). Stepping off the plane I felt like I was on the road again, ready to leave whatever had happened in the past (even just for a little while) and ready to make more adventures. I felt young again, and doing what I was supposed to be doing at 21 years old. I jumped on the bus after my first Turkish coffee and headed from the airport to the city centre. I offered a chewing gum to the person sat next to me. He declined. I was tired but trying to keep my spirits flowing so I blasted out some Turkish freak-out on my I-Pod. It was rock and roll, it felt fitting. We smoked and drank and danced in bars, we spoke about boys and how good they were in bed, we talked about being a woman and living a life that leads us to where we want to go. And that is exactly what Soph does. Somehow, she gets what she wants whenever she wants. I love Soph, I think she is cool. I think she is strong. Unlike me, she can decide on anything, big or small, without a second past. She would tell anyone to fuck off if they offended her in the slightest, no matter who they were or where she was, or what shit they had been through. Besides, she has had her own shit to deal with, enough that she wouldn’t think twice about dealing with anyone else’s. It felt good to be with her. She makes stuff happen. I met Soph in the Airbnb that we were staying. It was a cheap place, right in the centre of town, with a Kurdish couple. They were very friendly and as soon as we arrived they offered us lunch. I ate bread, Tahini, Molasses’s, cheese and olives. It was wonderful. After eating a staple diet of falafel wraps, my taste buds were dancing. We spoke to them for a while, they both seemed pretty wrecked with life. Both of them had lost their jobs and they told us that Erdogan was so shit to Kurdish people. The woman used to work in a charity that was for female empowerment but, since Erdogan got into power, the charity was shut down. She was unemployed. Her boyfriend, who seemed in slightly better spirits, was working night shifts at a hotel around the corner. He too seemed tired but slightly more hopeful of the future. Both of them admitted that they were struggling. This was something that we saw over the three days we were staying there. Both of them would sleep until the early afternoon and then, by the night time both of them would be awake sitting watching something on their laptops. On night, both of them slept at their friends to make way for another Airbnb couple to sleep in their room. They seemed to be trying to make money by any means possible. We spoke to them for a while, the man could speak fairly good English whilst the woman hardly any. She told us that she was taking lessons but they weren’t going very well. Either way, it was better than our Kurdish of course. Then Soph and I got ready to go out. A huge catch up was needed over a huge pint. We got ready and headed out to the nearest pub. On the way we explored the streets, they were narrow and winding with liberal graffiti plastered on most walls.     Our Street Graffiti Eventually, we found a pub. Actually, it was more like a fancy bar. It had water sprays attached to the roof and it was located in the square where the clock tower is. Despite this however, the place still offered a cheap drink. We ordered two of the biggest, and local beers. Soph had just returned from a week retreating doing yoga. She told me that she was a changed person, enlightened even. We were on our third beer when we were still talking about her adventure in Belarus and Trinidad. Soph could talk for hours and hours and that’s what she did but I didn’t mind. It was nice to hear someone elses voice other than my own subconscious. Eventually, just as we were about to order our last pint, I was able to tell her about my travels. I couldn’t really tell if she was listening or not to anything I was saying about Egypt but when I told her about what had happened Kuwait, she stared at me with huge wide eyes. So wide that I wondered whether she thought I was as made as her. When I finished the stories, she gave me a huge hug and a big sister to sister chat. She reminded me that it wasn’t my fault, it was the situation I was in as well as certain circumstances – being a woman, feeling shit about yourself already, being in a country where woman are already seen as inferior, an feeling confused about where you stand with Ahmed. She also reminded me that, no matter how much they would like to think they could, men will never understand what it is like to be socialised as a woman. Especially a woman within the situation that I was in. She told me that she too had felt like pressure where she felt as though she owed someone something (usually your body)– some strange exchange mindset – and it takes a lot of will power to get your head around it. We ended our huge chat concluding that us woman have to be strong. SISTER POWER. On that note we lit another vouge, ordered another beer and watched the rest of the world pass beyond our eyes. Maybe I am simply being lazy with my writing but, what happened next, over the following three days, feels unnecessary to record in detail. Mainly, I fell this because I know that Soph and I will be friends for a lifetime – enough for these memories to stay alive in-between the reality of the friendship that we have in our lives – not on paper. However, just in case our lives do go a little nutty and we do end up smoking enough dope together for our Turkish memories to completely fade, I will list a few of the best moments that we shared together. I guess, following the theme throughout our holiday, these moments should be named ‘VOUGE MOMENTS’ (Of course, inspirationally branded by the skinny cigarettes that we were both smoking);Vogue is Dead, don’t smoke kids! 

TURKISH VOUGE MOMENTS WITH SOPH;     • On the ferry to the island – looking out of our tinted glasses at the sunset whilst the man next to us eats biscuits. Due to the wind, the crumbs of the biscuits were going into our eyeballs and up our nostrils. He threw the biscuits to the seagulls that flew above us. • Storming through the cities muddiest paths in the rain, just to find a Turkish bath that would be open to females at the time we went. The back of our legs were muddy and our hair was wet. By the time we arrived, we looked like we had already been bathed. • Slipping up in the Turkish bath, spilling the water and closing the door of the bath accidently just as we were about to go in – rather embarrassing. • Laying, like a dead fish, on the hot stones, waiting to get scrubbed in the Turkish bath. • Laying together on the bed of the Turkish bath, with our face masks on and drinking sweet apple tea, just after we had been scrubbed down and washed and massaged. We were giggling and dreaming of one day having a Turkish bath in our house. • Sitting in multiple bars, being served beers and peanuts. We felt like Persian queens, especially when someone would come by and empty our ashtray of our skinny cigarettes.• Talking, talking, talking, about people we know, about music, about stuff we have learnt, about everything. We were getting to know each other more as the days passed. Soph told me her whole life story of her adoption under the bridge by the river. As we were sitting there with a beer and chatting, the people fishing from the bridge above us were pulling up fish. It was a magical moment. Fish flying, Soph chatting, and we were even given a free half beer from the waiter. Life felt good with friends.     • Swigging rum and eating a very stale pretzel as we were returning from the reggae bar on the boat. It was our own kind of vouge we said. Beside us there was a lady that was playing some very bad Turkish rock music on her phone and standing over the side as if she was in some sort of 1990’s titanic film. That was just it. Nothing else to say. 
• Being vogue with our newly brought headscarf’s in Blue Mosque, although the place was being refurbished and, to the huge number of visitors, smelt like cheesy feet.   • Dancing down the street where our Airbnb was after a huge grooving night out in the bars where we ordered a big rum. Down the street we were dancing and singing ‘Vouge’ and pulling every letter with our arms and legs down the hill. • Grooving and grooving with the other fairy hippies to the reggae music – all in solidarity for a new gig venue and art café. • Falling asleep to a Peep show series every night in our double bed and room that was filled with all of the best things – rum, biscuits, and vogues and, by the third day, a lot of silver. Again, I felt like a Persian queen.      • Finding the bar on the rooftop with the cheesy cover band the handsome waiter who kindly, got off of his seat and walked over to us, just to empty out ashtray every time that we smoked a vouge cigarette. There we also looked out across the bar and to the rest of the city. There was a thunder storm at the time, it was beautiful. 
   Enjoying it with friends, boats and mosques!    • Eating muscles – being served them free by Kurdish men who I insisted that Soph showed her music to. After they listened they loved her and followed us all the way to the other boat terminal. Just as we were about to board, they asked if we would like to go for a drink in their restaurant. OF COURSE, WE WERE NOT GOING TO GO. WE WERE BOARDING A BOAT. We laughed and said goodbye. • Giving eyes to the sexy men that was sitting outside of the metro swimming his worry beads around his finger. I sat across from him on the public bench, with my silly turban on my head, and glanced over with my best eyes (Soph and I would like to renamed them vouge eyes). He was handsome and hairy. • Turning around, on the count of three, to face a family that had been massively staring at us as we walked past them to go under the bridge. When I turned, I faced them and danced the looniest dance I could. I span around and kicked my legs. They didn’t do anything, just  continued to stare with wide-eyes. Eventually, as I stopped and continued to walk, they cracked a smile and began to laugh. I wondered if this was one of the highlights for their holiday too. • Flashing my bum in front of the ‘ufuk bebe’ shop.  • Soph telling me, quite simply, that ‘it is what it is’. • Finding the silver shop man and going a little nut. We came out well and truly BLINGLED.  • Soph telling the spice man that she was a lesbian. He reaction was one of pure confusion. • Being awoken by a huge ‘MO SALAAAAAD’ every morning. A mystery until we went out and brought some – they were very cheap and very tasty cheesy pastries.  • Soph doing a Yoga class in the morning in the front room of our Airbnb hosts sliding Kurdish carpets. • Making a big breakfast together with olive and tahini and molasses.  • Sitting in the rain (the first rain I had seen for six weeks), with a big cheesecake, a juice and no English speakers around. Only waiters that stared at us as soon as we tried to order anything.  • Pooing in the Sufi house – it was a hole in the floor. Soph was not so impressed.  • Watching peep show together in bed, eating Oreos and rolling about, like drunken mermaids. • The moment when I lost Soph for a bit and she got really pissed of at me. That pissed off that she stormed ahead and I wondered whether she would walk forever. I sat awkwardly with her for a while on the boat as we made our way to princess’s island. I pulled out a can of juice that I had brought her and poured a fair amount of rum in the top. We put on her groovy coloured glasses, looked out to the sea and giggled massively after that.    
• Seeing the colours of the wonderful boats docking to Princesses Island.     • Watching the ladies cry at seeing the ‘footstep of the prophet’ and a glass tube with one of his beard hairs in it. Soph and I pulled funny eyebrows at eachother. 
 I can’t stress enough how great it was to spend time with friends. Friends that you know you will know forever. Friends who are especially like Soph. I can’t big her up enough. Soph – she’s got some bollocks and when I am with her I feel like I have bollocks too. She’s crazy in the most sanist and normal way. She enjoys beer, she enjoys music, she enjoys a party; the simple things, the things that people forget to enjoy, the things that everyone should enjoy. Never does she feel like she isn’t worth it. She is full of fire, always on fire, always alive and willing to live. A true ‘fuck it soul that makes you wonder whether humans really need as much sleep as we are told. I am very happy to say that I have Sophie as a friend and more so that we have shared these memories together. Anyway, memories are just empty thoughts if they aren’t shared. Soph, if you are reading this, the thought of our adventures in the future, truly keep me going on the greyest of days. Bring them on soul sista! 

 

20/07/18

I left Istanbul early this morning. Just as sun was rising over the bridge which joins Asia to Europe. I watched the seagulls fly overhead. The port made me think of home. It was strange to think that after the six weeks of travelling, I would be in Gosport this afternoon. Gosport. A town that, just out of chance I was born and grew. The place where I thought had made all of who I am. A place where, all my life, I thought I belonged. I realise now that this is not the case. Although Gosport is home, it is only one part of me and only one place that I can belong. I realised throughout these past six weeks that, especially in Egypt, that I am growing an ability to call anywhere home. I no longer feel as lost as I used to during my travelling days, I feel that I am growing a sense of how to hold on to myself and my beliefs regardless of where I am. Yes, I have had moments during these last six weeks where I have loosened my veil of identity to drift along in the world, and I’ll admit that sometimes the wind has blown me away. However, unlike the times before, I feel that I have been more conscious and critical of myself when this has happened. Unlike before, I knew what I was doing an what was happening and, in some sense, I was able to control it. Instead of pure innocence, this time I felt as if I was testing it was still there. I guess I shouldn’t overrate these changes; I guess it’s all just a part of growing up. But despite the few regrets, I am happy to know that my travelling spirit still is in me and, whether it is for the best or not, I can still perform the freedom that I had used to. It’s more fleeting when it happens but it’s still there. I can feel it. Sometimes I enjoy it, and I feel so real, like I had done before but although other times I feel stupid, stuck in a phase that my teenager self was in three years previous. Following my innocence and becoming trapped in situations which I knew I didn’t have to put myself through. Testing circumstances out just for my own intellectual curiosity. Kerouac the Clown Bob Dylan may say. Nevertheless, I am ready to move on from the mistakes I have made and the experiences I have had. I am ready to return to the situated traveling; the travelling on the inside, the travelling you can experience in your bedroom. My bedroom in London that I am excited, but also strangely scared to return to. Picturing it now, it seems lonelier than I had ever imagined it before. The thought of having to sit alone for a while scares me a little, just as it does everyone I guess. I have been surrounded by people and new experiences for six weeks, now it’s time to sit in a room again. Just as I have done since a child and just as I will continue to do. But I will find something to do – I want to learn the violin, learn more songs, read more books, watch interesting films. And it’s a good time to do so, the Soas library is empty. I have also reflected upon a few things that I want to change – I either need to improve communication, or adapt my relationship with Ahmed. The reckless and destructive emotions that I experienced in Kuwait, on top of the money that I spent on helping him over the years, has made me realise that whatever exists between us isn’t as healthy as I once imagined. What lies between us is not as simple as I thought but instead complicated with things that we have not and cannot speak to each other about. Something in our relationship needs to change before I will again feel like I need to hide away and write another love story. I also want to reconnect with the people who seem to be drifting, friendships which have changed yet are too precious to simply give up - Abbey and Katie especially. We have had too many sweet memories to not meet up and at least not be nostalgic with them together once a year, no matter how much we have changed. Annie reminded me that there is something scary about dying alone, having lost the people that you had grown up with, no matter whether you get on with them or not. She reminded me that it is cowardly to end up like Ibrahim or the Norwegian man who are in constantly running from any form of relationship that will tie you down. Sometimes the best things in life come from a bit of hard work, sometime commitment is healthy.  I have also realised how much that I love my parents too – they are also my friends which I need to commit a part of my life to. And spending time away from them always allows me to appreciate what exists between us. It is strong and deep, so special and rare. I love them both and thank them for allowing me to be free. I am sure that not many people would allow their daughters to travel alone to Kuwait. Really, this trip, taking me out of my dusty red room, has reminded me of friendships – how important they are. How really, the only thing to truly ‘work’ on in life, is creating a network of beautiful people around you. People that you can share life’s wonders with, and pains. Where ever or whenever they may come about. Life, is beautiful but strange. It needs to be laughed at, under the stars and under the waves, with the people that you love. Flight ‘Home’. 

Extra Notes; I think it is only right to add the reflections that I had had about this trip the few weeks after I arrived home (where ever that is these days). Besides, it seems like it is only when you return home that certain experiences seem to settle into you mind. My reflections led me to certain conclusions, some that were harder to admit than others. The first general conclusion that I came to was that, since the last travels, something about me had changed. Although still I cannot quite explain these differences, I noticed certain moments (especially in Egypt) where I was stronger, more confident, more rational and more persistent than my previous travelling-self had ever imagined. Take the day at the pyramids of example. I wasn’t sure to be proud of this new-found confidence or concerned that I had become too head strong to be open to spontaneous opportunities and strangers.   Harder to admit was the realisation that, just as Bob Dylan was unappreciative of Jack Kerouac’s adventures, I no longer felt the desire for aimless wondering. The sense of adventure that encompassing my eighteen-year-old self was no longer a strong and powerful wind, it had quieted to a still fresh but gentler breeze. I felt that wondering was pointless, a waste of time. Although I still knew that myself, along with the rest of the planet hardly ever found any kind of purpose or, similarly, any belonging, I am starting to realise that it is much more rewarding in life to pretend to have one than to aimlessly wonder in search of it. Besides, I learnt a long time ago (from my dope smoking boyfriends), that anything that can be discovered from the outside, can also be found within. Another thing. I realised that, more than ever, I appreciated the memories and experiences that are shared. Building memories with people that you know that will stay in your life forever, the people who hopefully one day you can recollect these memories with. The memories that you needn’t feel the obligation to record and write down. Besides, writing can never really capture the real thing; human thought and perception is much messier and relatable to real life. The memories that are shared between you and friends, such as the memories that Soph and I shared in Istanbul, are the memories that I know are eternally held preciously between you and them forever. With these reflections, and with only the feeling to do so, I cut off my multicoloured pieces of rope that had been tied around my wrist for over two years; the bracelets that I had collected since the first day of my travels. No longer did they seem to suit me. I replaced them with silver bangles and chains. Maybe this transition from rope to silver is symbolic of some kind of maturity, or at least, a sign that something in me had changed. Until next time, (The changing but still travelling) Amy-Dawn.