Cairo

 I hate Cairo when a police officer stands helpless or careless in the street not doing anything about the car breaking the traffic light or the man throwing his empty Pepsi can in the street.

 Because one day when I was in college, before I learned how to drive, I took a bus back home, I wanted to pay the fare, but I couldn’t find my wallet and  so the lady next to me told me not to worry about it.

 It breaks my heart to see children on the street, walking barefoot, smoking, selling tissue or candy.

 Because it doesn’t matter where you are, whether or not you’re Egyptian, if you need help you’re going to get it.

I didn’t take a test, any test, in order to get my driving license.

 Because when I’m driving in Cairo and I’m lost, I can just roll down my window, honk at the car next to me and ask the driver for directions.

 My uncle knew a guy who knew a guy and all I needed was to show the employee that I can read the road signs.

 I hate it when I go to a somewhat fancy café in Zamalek or Heliopolis and the waiter starts speaking to me English.

 Because Cairo is just fun! There is always something to do at any time of the day.

 I always wonder if they really think speaking Arabic debases them. If they really think that being an Arab is shameful.

 No Mall, café, or restaurant dares to close before midnight and when they do; the streets of Cairo just don’t sleep.

 When I found out that my Wesleyan sweatshirt was made in Egypt I was so happy.

 Because in one city, I can go visit a citadel or a mosque or a church that was built thousands of years ago, and then go shopping in a state-of-the-art mall, and after that, I could take a boat in the Nile or go to a café and smoke hookah.

 But the truth is I rarely buy Egyptian made clothes back in Egypt because I’ve always known them to be of low quality.

Because now there is hope.