The FUN Theory

"Fun changes people's behaviour for the better"

Gotta love that.

Me Vely Vely Silly

Salam Salam,

Just when I had run out of ideas and topics for my blog, and was resorting to brainstorm sessions with A. on what I should be writing about next, then, myself happened. Surprise, surprise.

You know, I may not be very good with languages, but I pick up accents really, really, fast. I cannot explain how it happens or why; it’s like some kind of speech retardation that I suffer from. It takes me a minute of talking to someone and, Bingo! I borrow his accent. And it is an unconscious process too, only to realise when it is too late and can’t seem to shake it off!.

I can do Arabic Engrishhh, Filipino English, yes mam , Indian English, French anglais, you name it. It is most embarrassing when my interlocutor cannot speak good english, so I end up talking like a toddler myself , and not a very clever one.

Likewise with Spanish, I can do any accent just as easily. So If I am talking, say, to a Mexican, it is a matter of seconds before I start to sound like one myself. Weird, uh? But I swear I cant help it.

Moving on….

There is this Chinese mum to one of M's classmates that I always cross paths with on my way to the nursery . And today we stopped, standing right in the middle of the street, for a little small talk.

I cannot do small talk. I’m terrible with chitchat.

So, here we are, with a broken English and very strong Chinese accent, she is telling me how she spends her mornings doing some internet degree and blah blah blah, and before I know it I’m talking like a Chinese myself . And now I cannot get rid of it!

And thele was this leally awkward moment, when she stared at me, a bewildered look on hel face…And at that precise moment I could tell she was thinking: Is she making fun of my accent?.  For a split second I was about to confess:- Me no know why talk like that, me surle no mocking you, me so solly solly.

But I didn’t say anything and the split second passed and I kept babbling in Chinglish.

Shame on me, she vely nice, me vely vely silly.

Roasting

***Editor's note: Isa is very much  aware of the fact  that most of her readers don't give a cow's fart about the weather, therefore she has tried to keep this post as short as possible.

Ah, Autumn, that time of the year when weather turns into something somewhat bearable and one can breath with a little more ease.

Autumn. I have been waiting for it all year long.

Because if there is a time of the year when temperatures are comfortable in Cairo, that’s the period that goes from mid October to mid December.

So I was rather disappointed this morning as I checked http://www.accuweather.com/ and saw this:

'Unseasonably hot with scorching sunshine'

Worse yet, it will continue right till next week too.

We are going to roast like roasted chickens.

Gulp.

Gone Bananas

Bananas are ready, and I can prove it

Yuck, Yuck, Yuckity Yuck. There is no way I'm eating Thaaat.

El Niqab

You probably know the story by now, right? I’m talking about some Very Important Sheik banning Egyptian chicks from covering up their faces.

(If you  haven’t got the slightliest idea of what I’m talking about, Ill try  not to judge you, and I hope this link helps : http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8290606.stm )

So yeah, that has stirred a bit of a debate here lately. Personally, I couldn’t care less. Let the girl wear whatever she feels like wearing. I seriously cannot comprehend what’s the big deal.

I actually think Niqabs are great.

And here is why. Read on:

Isa's Top Five Wonderful Reasons to Keep You from Ditching the Veil

1- It blocks your sense of smell. - There are days that this reason alone would send anyone (Muslim or not) rushing to the nearest souk in search of a good thick niqab, two layers of flannel between your nostrils and Cairo’s air pollution and not so sweet smells of the streets.

2- You can move around incognito. Isn’t that fun?

3- No-one notices your spots, facial hair, moles or acne. - Yes, we (girls) are complicated like that. We’d rather stay locked in our rooms than face the world with an emerging yellowish spot or a suspicious shadow in the upper lip area that calls for immediate waxing. Covering up sounds like the perfect solution sometimes.

4- Stops diseases from spreading. - With all the health scares and paranoia around these days, one cannot cough or sneeze in public without getting some alarmed looks. Anyone down with the flu should cover his/her mouth and nose, and the veil works just fine for that purpose.

5-And most importantly: It is your right to wear whatever you feel comfortable with. And I really think that right shouldn’t be taken away.

Arabic for the Lazy Expat. Chapter Two.

ALA TUUL. YIMIIN. SHIMAAL. 

Hello People

Have you heard all those horror stories about taxis in Cairo?

Well, let me tell you something: they’re all real, true and tested.

Chances are, not only you’ll be sitting in a smelly and filth-covered back of a pile of metallic shit with wheels , praying for the your dear life as the driver speeds at 200km/h while constantly looking backwards hoping he may get lucky and catch a glimpse of your legs, but you will not, I repit, Will Not get to your destination unless You know how to get there.

And you’ll need to guide the taxi driver. In Arabic.

Enter the three magic words: Ala tuul (straight) Yimiin (right) Shimaal (left).

Regardless of where you are going, do not for a second over estimate the driver’s navigation skills and think they must somehow know how to get there. I once pre-booked a taxi to take me to the airport and wrongly assumed that he would know his way (since I specifically booked it to take me to the airport) . He didn’t. And to make matters worse he claimed that there were no airports in Egypt.

And remember: Drivers do not know how to read maps,  Drivers do not know street names and  Drivers do not know landmarks.

El Bawaab

You see them sitting in front of every building, smoking endlessly, with their gabbabiyas rolled up their legs in an attempt to rid themselves of the heat. This is el bawwab, ‘the gate keeper’. Everyone, everyone, in Cairo has one. Except me, that’s it. I don’t.

Which explains why there is garbage mounting outside my door.

I used to have a bawaab. In fact I had four. They all left. Well, they were actually asked to leave by my upstairs neighbour, who tends to shout at everyone who is unfortunate enough to cross his path, but that’s an entirely different story….

My first bawaab was called Mohammed and he was a real SLB (sad little B***ard), who complained about the smell of my baby’s soiled nappies ( as if HE himself smelt any better!), expected us to pay him more than the rest of the (egyptian) residents, and generally made us feel very uncomfortable.

Our second Bawaab, surprisingly enough, was also called Mohammed and he was good humoured and pleasant enough, although terribly lazy. The best thing about Mohammed II was his wife, Nababya, who happened to talk a lot. Except that she spoke only Arabic, which I don’t (see previous posts). Nababya was the sort of person that when starting to talk, cannot stop, and does not care much about the listener. She was happy to carry on talking for as long as my presence provided her with an audience; whether I was bored senseless or could no understand a word of what she was saying was circumstantial and not to be noticed. Anyhow and besides, Nababya was great company and I eventually learned many Arabic words from her. Did miss her a lot when she had to go.

And then came the third, and Mohammed was his name. Mohammed III and his wife, Sheimar, were really very bizarre. Probably the most annoying thing about them was the way they seemed to look at us , like if we were creatures from outer space that just happened to land in their building. ..

It was worst when we were in our (private?) garden, doing some work or playing with the children,: they would creep in, come really close to us and just STARE, a curious and amazed expression in

their faces.

Mohammed III was soon replaced by Mohammed IV, his wife, (who was also called Sheimar, but hey, at least I had no trouble remembering their names!) and his five year old son, Islam. Not much to say about them, other than Sheimar slept all day, Mohammed IV was nowhere to be seen, and Islam…well he practically lived in my house with us . If a window was left open, he would climb up and squeeze in, run to the fridge and help himself with whichever snack he fancied, all this while I was blissfully unaware of his presence . Islam was a sweet and bright little boy. My daughter adored him. And so did I.

And now, with no bawaab, I am for the first time enjoying the privacy of my home,. So there , no moral to this particular story, and I’m sure many other Mohammeds will come and go. That’s the charm about my building.