Loads of Trouble

First published February 6, 2009

Day 7 of a broken washer. Once I figured out the pictoral guide on the machine, I was washing and hanging and whistling a happy tune. I noticed that some water ended up on the floor and dismissed it as dripping laundry. After the third time, I had to admit something was wrong. Drips turned into puddles and puddles into a river. I stared intently at the 2 buttons and one dial. I wiggled the dial and pushed the buttons and tried again. It leaked and now I'm running out of towels which is a delicate situation because I only brought 6 to start with and there are 4 Mortons.

John looked at it, too, twisted the same dial, re-pushed the buttons, ran a load of clothes and more water out the bottom of the washer. He said we'd have to call in help.

I looked through my Arabic pocket guide and there were no tabs for broken appliances. I searched through a few guidebooks with no luck. I finally Googled the phrase, "my washing machine is broken in Arabic" and many posts came up of people living in Middle Eastern country with the same appliance woes as me, but no phrases to correct the situation. Arg!

Our security guard downstairs is a smiling man who knows two words in English, "hello" and "goodbye." I can't fault him I only know, "Salaam" (greetings) and "shukran" (thank you). So between our four words and an entertaining session of charades, we relented and realized we were getting no where. Laundry has been a depressing topic in my life before, but this time it was depressing with a scoop of frustrating on top.

A few days later we were able to have lunch with a fellow worker whose also a Westerner who spoke Arabic. We had a great time and were so grateful for her insight. Before we said goodbye, I sheepishly asked if she would please write down the phrase in Arabic, "My washing machine is broken." She gladly complied.

I felt empowered now as I arrived at our flat and handed our security guard our note. He read it and smiled. Then he motioned something to John that looked like he would call when the repairman came. So we went happily up to our floor and waited. Nothing happened. Not that day. Not the next. Or the next.

We were eating breakfast this morning preparing to register for our language classes when I announced to the family, "I am a woman on the edge. I'm starting school after being out of classes for over 20 years. My laundry is piled high and this is not how I wanted to start my academic career. I'm completely serious so take heed."

They all looked at each other and smiled knowingly. They've heard the "on the edge" speech before and knew to salt their words and deeds with kindness until further notice.

We went to register for classes and returned a few hours later. The regular security guard had the day off so his replacement greeted us. I had my handy-dandy piece of paper with me. John took the paper and said that he would take care of it while I ran another errand. What a wonderful guy!

Before I left the building a man happened by advertising laundry services. John siezed the moment and had me grab a few pairs of pants and shirts to be laundered. I placed 14 items in a laundry bag and handed it to John who in turn handed it to (guess!) Mohammed. Mohammed said that the clothes would be back tomorrow. It was a few minutes before I realized...I have no phone number. I have no business card. The only thing I have is a guy named Mohammed who does laundry. Great. I never prayed so ferociously over clothes before. I decided to go ahead and run my errands and let John figure out the rest.

I returned after 2 hours and asked John how his afternoon went. He said that he had been busy WASHING CLOTHES! Could it be? Seriously? I ran into the bathroom and watched the miracle of the spin cycle. I asked him what was wrong with it. He said the repairman came and opened up a little trap door and cleaned out a ton of lint and gross stuff. After he shut the door and turned the machine on, the water didn't run out the bottom but instead ran out the tube into the bathtub like it was supposed to.

Normally I would have been embarrassed at such a simple fix. However, nothing is obvious--not even a little lint door well-hidden on a washing machine. John paid him his 40LE ($8) and then opened the windows to let out all the cigarette smoke that came with the repair.

Now I have clothes once again dangling throughout the house and a load of sheets whirring efficiently in the washer. We'll see if our clothes really do return from the laundry man tomorrow, but for now I'm content and wonder if it would be too weird to hug my washing machine.

Delightful Domestications

First published January 24, 2009

Housework will never be one of my first loves. There may be a few of you gifted individuals out there that find great satisfaction in glistening white tube socks, but alas I have yet to find such joy.

Coming to Cairo, however, I did find myself longing to do some of the normal things that I’ve always “had” to do. I wanted to wash clothes, cook meals and miracle of all miracles--dust. I think I must have contracted a rare virus to cause such symptoms.

I was knee-deep in laundry when we received a knock at the door. A young man smiled broadly and handed John a flyer telling all about laundry services. “Whoopee!” I yelled, “I am likin’ this city.” John closed the door and handed me the flyer with a smirk on his face. I began perusing the flyer flipping it over and groaning. It was all in Arabic. The only thing I can read for sure are numbers. Slumping on the couch I realized that I would have to figure out this laundry thing by myself.

I went into our bathroom and began to look at the mini-washer that our flat came equipped with. It had a pictoral guide, but it made no sense to me. I did thankfully notice that the drain hose needs to be in the bathtub prior to use. (Chalk one up for keen awareness.)

The built-in "flip guide" on the washer.

The little guide said that the letter “A” would 40/90/flower/rain/swirl/drain--in that order. Letter “D” would 40/flower/swirl/drain. I chose letter “D.” You had to push in the knob to get to the letter of choice. Then I waited. Nothing happened. I tried to push the 3 other light up buttons on the contraption, but nothing worked. I turned the dial a little bit and then a lot just in case it was temperamental. Still nothing. Checking to see if the mini-washer would fit through the mini-window, I called John as a last resort. 

He walked over to the washer and rather than push the knob in, he pulled it. Immediately the water began to fill the tub. He began whistling and walked back into the living room. I pushed the button back in because I hadn’t put any clothes into this front loading washer and I had to see if it really was that simple. It was.

I chose some items and began putting them in. Around 4 shirts and the machine was full. I looked at the pile of laundry to be washed and then looked at the pitiful amount in the washer. By John's calculations I should be done in July.

I started the load, gave myself a mental pat on the back and began humming. Humming?! I think the virus is worsening. I was...enjoying my laundry moment. Quick! Someone call a doctor. Thinking the symptoms would subside I began sorting things in the house and dare I say it? Dusting! I should be in quarantine.

Checking on the washer every so often, I realized that those 4 shirts were getting the cleaning of their lives. The short cycle is by my calculations 1 hour and 30 minutes. Once they were finished I needed to hang them up. I put them on hangers and hung them on the shower rod. (Dryers are not used in this climate.)

Dryer #1

Needing to feel a bit more productive with the laundry, I did a load of whites. This allowed me to place at least 20...uh...items in the washer. Woo hoo! An hour and a half later, wah-lah! clean whites. Now I had to figure out where to hang them.

Our flat has a 1 foot wide balcony with a clothesline attached to the left side of it. It is approximately 5 feet long and has 5 strands of line for hanging. My problem is vertigo. Every time I even think about hanging something out there my stomach drops. Plus I’m wondering how strong the clothespins have to be to survive a gale force wind 12 stories up. Plus I’m mortified to think of the flying unders sailing through the city should these little mechanisms fail. I vote “no” on the clothesline and begin stringing delicates through the house like garland at Christmas.

John will definitely have to adjust since he’s the only male in this household. He should be prepared for shocking welcomes in every room he visits. Once I found a place for all of those I did one more load. Not because I was out of time, but because I was out of places to hang our items.

I called the girls together and said that if they had something in particular they needed to wear they would need a 2 day start on the process. During these winter months in Egypt, it takes 36-48 hours for the heavier items to dry.

Dryer #2

So this morning I went to check on all the clothes strung all over the house. Most were dry and so stiff they could be leaned up against the wall without help. The jeans will need a few more hours to dry and probably rewashed. It seems we wanted to be prepared wherever we went during the “Intestinal Issues Episode” and left emergency toiletpaper folded in each pocket of our pants. (Rewashing is a SMALL price to pay. Trust me.)

The weird thing is, I don’t mind. Any piece of normal is welcome to me right now. I feel accomplished and competent. Oh, well. I’m sure this virus is short-lived and I’ll be burning the midnight oil trying to translate the laundry flyer laying on my dining room table very soon.