Home Sweet Home

 I can’t believe it took me months to plan this. Should I wait until the girls are free though? No, today I want to be alone. I might get emotional when I’m there. I might want to write and if that happens I most certainly don’t want anyone interrupting me. 

Olayinka had finally decided to give herself a day off, even from her children. She’d been working non-stop since she got back, and it was about time she had some time for herself.

Should I drive or should I take the tube? Well, since today is about reminiscing, I’ll take the tube.

She steps outside her London flat, shuts the door behind her, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to smell the Nile. A smile slowly reveals her beautiful white teeth. Today, I will not be in London!

On Edgware Road, she takes out her smart phone to check that she’s walking in the right direction ,but then the  phone rings.

“Hello ...Wa alaikom assalam …I’m fine, thanks, how are you?...Yeah, I’m on my way over there right now…oh, of course you can join me… I’ll see you in a bit then, bye.”

Okay, that’s not so bad. She won’t be coming until later, I could still have my alone time. So, where was I? Right,map. Using her index finger, she scrolls down the touch screen of her phone. Right, so I walk all the way down this road and then turn left on Bell Street, perfect.

Olayinka continues down Edgware Road. Ten minutes later, she is no longer in London. Her ears detect a foreign but familiar language spoken on the street. Her heart sinks. Her imagination, or rather her memory ,flies her back to Cairo. People’s skins are starting to darken, to tan, to lighten again-to become Egyptian.

She regrets having only English music on her iPod. Knowing that she won’t be coming here very often, she wants to try and live today as a full Egyptian day out. Oh, I know. I’ll play the Quran, there is no better Arabic than that, huh?

 

The soothing melody of Quran recitation take her back to where she once felt at home. Born and raised in London, this British Nigerian, in less than a year, was able to interweave herself into her Egyptian social circle. Leaving a failed marriage behind, she found refuge in one of the least multicultural capitals on the planet. Her skin color did not define her identity, her unilingualism wasn’t a barrier, and finally, finally, being a Muslim actually made her belong.

As she strolls down the street, the verse sounding in her ears reminds her of a specific day. She stops walking. She looks across the street. It is suddenly warmer than a usual London February afternoon, louder and more polluted. She is now enjoying the view of the Mediterranean, the cars honking in the background don’t bother her, neither does the poor man who’s asking her to spare some change.

Against the beautiful shades of blue, she sees a man in a green boat. He is looking for something beneath his feet. He finds it and then slowly stands up and stretches his arms out in the air. His fishing net lands not so far from his boat, and then he waits for his week’s food to swim its way into the net. Staring at the fisherman, tears run down her cheeks. She takes out her notepad and pen and starts writing.

When work at the British Council and living in Cairo got too overwhelming  for her, she would take the train to her favorite getaway destination; Alexandria. The sea soothed her. It reminded her why she had to leave her two kids back in London. It helped her rediscover herself. It helped her recharge.

Right, so time to get moving again! Man, I’m hungry! It’s time to get there already!

After ten more minutes of walking she sees a sign saying “Bell Street”.  She smiles with relief and starts to walk faster excited to go to the Egyptian restaurant she has heard so much about. 

They told me it’s going to be on my left. Mark Jason Gallery…La-Bell-e Bou-tche-rie…what is that? Oh, fine halal meat and poultry…Ten out of ten barber?! That has got to be a very poor literal translation from Arabic! Oh, here it is! Meya ,Meya!

There are three men sitting in front of the restaurant engrossed in a conversation which seems ­--judging by their loud voices and hand gestures--to be very serious. She doesn’t understand what they’re saying but when she hears the word sawra--revolution-- she immediately knows that they--like all Egyptians these days--are talking about politics.

Yep! This certainly sounds like post-revolution Egypt!

She takes a deep breath, and walks into this little Egypt she’s so glad she found. Upstairs, she sits in a small u-shaped couch in one of the corners. The first thing she orders is shay bel na’na’ --tea with mint --and asks the waiter to give her a few more minutes for the rest of the order.

She takes off her shoes, and crosses her legs on the couch. A film strip of memories runs in front of her eyes and her heart can only pound against her chest with nostalgia .Waiting for her hot tea, and now for her fetteer, she’s as excited as she was when she returned to Egypt after the evacuation of all the British citizens when the revolution started.

She receives a text message from her friend saying that she’s ten minutes away.

This is as much as I’ll have of Egypt to myself today. This is as close as I’ll get to Egypt for many years.