All I Want to Do Is Go to the Grocery Store

First Published January 14, 2009

John's eyes popped open this morning fully convinced he heard our apartment intercom ring. He ran to the button and said, "Hello?" Our security guard responded in broken English, "Hello?" Then John said, "Yes. Hello." Then he said, "Hello." The conversation was going no where when John began to ask him if he had called us for a reason. The security guard asked if John spoke Arabic. John said no. The man spoke no English. They said "hello" about 5 more times and John decided a face to face would be better. 

He went downstairs and began gesturing to our guard in hopes of making some progress. Thankfully a small girl was dressed for school complete with backpack and earmuffs (It's 60 degrees here) and she saw the situation. She promptly listened to John and then translated to the guard. After she conveyed John's initial question, "Did you call me and what did you need?" The guard responded that "No, he did not call John." John came back up to a wife who looked at him and began laughing really hard. However, I was not to get the last laugh.

John needed to wait for our landlady to come to the apartment today to take some floor measurements for new flooring. It seems only 2 days before our arrival, her perfectly prepared apartment was invaded by a neighbor's exploding water pump and now her wood floor was buckling into fragments all throughout our livingroom. So while he waited for her and a friend to show up, he suggested the girls and I take a taxi and go to the internet cafe.

Again, I put on my "Brave Pants" said a prayer and took the girls with me for our first trip out into the big city of Cairo. I got in a taxi and asked the driver to take us to Metro Market. This market is like a small grocery store with all the amenities. In fact more amenities than I need. Afterall, does a store really need to carry 75 types of olives? I hate them all now times 75. Anyway, I digress. 

The Metro Market is right next to the internet cafe. I thought since the Metro Market was better known I would have a better shot at getting there than trying to act out an internet cafe. (M Training did NOT have any charade classes and I think they would be VERY helpful...note to HQ.) So he took us to the Metro Market and dropped us off. I paid him 5 pounds and was very proud to have made the transaction. Once we were out we realized he took us to the wrong one. Apparently there's more than one in our neighborhood.

Since we were there I went in and bought bottled water and more milk. I looked around and decided that it would be futile to keep looking without a proper address. We hailed a taxi with a young driver and began the ride home. I am trying desperately to pay attention to landmarks and such so I can familiarize myself with my neighborhood. (TomTom does not have a chip for this area of the world.) So we drive...and drive...and drive... Looking around I noticed that NOTHING looked familiar. Thinking of every 20/20 special I've ever watched I began a very serious dialog with Jesus. However, he wasn't sinister just miserably lost. He must have asked 10 people how to get us to our street.

He muttered, honked, wrote things down, flipped his cassette tape of Arab pop music over and drove some more. Finally we recognized our street and motioned for him to stop. I handed him a 5 pound note and he told me that he needed 2 of them. I said, "No" with a very serious look on my face. He made motions that he had to drive so far he needed 10 pounds. I told him that it wasn't my fault he was lost. So it was a stare off for neither of us could speak the other's language. I then handed him 20 pounds and waited for 15 back. He gave me 10. I motioned I wanted one more 5 back. He shook his head and said, "No." Now I'm really mad because he has my money and he has the audacity to borrow my pen all at the same time.

I asked for my pen back and waited for my money. No more came. The girls had already bailed out and were watching from the sidewalk to see how this would play out. Score one for Ahmed; zero for Pam. He did hand me a piece of paper with our apartment address written in Arabic. He pointed and said, "Good address!" I guess the extra 5 pounds was for a piece of paper that I could now give all taxi drivers so that they wouldn't suffer as he did. I was still fuming.

Once upstairs, John commented on the brevity of our trip. I relayed the events to him and he gave a sympathetic smile and then began laughing. Touche'.

Just wait until I learn some Arabic, Ahmed. Just you wait...