… And off I went – guitar and duffel bag in hand.
The next thing I knew, I was on a direct flight from Dallas to Rome.
I never once hesitated about leaving Texas. Dallas was simply a place my family had moved to from Michigan when I was six. I never felt connected to the place and left two weeks after graduating high school. Austin was an improvement – quirky, weird – great Tex-Mex food – and fun, but still, it was temporary. Tex-Mex can only hold you so long.
I did feel connected to my parents and siblings. They created a warm, nurturing environment for me to grow up in. I never once doubted my parents’ love for me. There was a handful of close friends I had grown up with, but we all headed off into our individual lives once school was over, grateful most of us were still alive and not in jail from all our hi-jinks.
I flew out of Dallas that day, barely looking back. I never questioned if I had made the right decision, and I was not afraid. There was only an unexplainable desire to feel the wind in my face as I moved forward over land, sea, and skies. It was like I was being born for the second time. I was a new person, beginning a brand new life.
Ciao Roma!
I changed planes in Rome. Soldiers were everywhere, patrolling the terminal with combat uniforms and automatic assault rifles. It was my first glimpse of a world outside my previous life, a world where personal safety and the next meal are NOT guaranteed from birth.
Finally, I landed in Cairo, a fresh-faced, over-fed kid from middle-class America. It was spring, and metropolitan Cairo was a city of 6.5 million. Today, it weighs in at a population of 22 million.
Before I got off that plane, I had a bit of swagger. I had done stuff; I’d lived on my own in Austin for three years, had a 3.2 GPA at UT, and worked my way up from dishwasher to Bar Manager at the restaurant.
These so-called accomplishments seemed completely meaningless as I left the safety of the plane. I had NO IDEA what was ahead, so I put on my best, I’m cool act.
As-salamu alaykum, Cairo!
Peace be upon you, Cairo
I got off that plane and was smacked in the face by the sizzling desert night, the smell of sun-baked sand and rocks, and the sweaty Kaftans most of the local men wear.
As I entered the terminal area, there was a parallel universe of chaos, heat, and the cacophony of 500 families, all shouting Arabic words at maximum volume. I stopped and stared….
I was excited. But minutes later, in the taxi to my hotel, I had to hold my breath and close my eyes. We flew past old men, millimeters away, wobbling along on rickety bicycles. We zoomed by so close I could count how many teeth they had left. My nervous system was totally unprepared for the imminent slaughter of innocent geriatrics.
Eyes closed and mildly hyperventilating, I arrived at the hotel my company had put me in. After unpacking, I met one of my crew, who took me down to the dark, dank bar for an Egyptian beer and a snack.
First lesson: smell the Egyptian beer before sipping. 25% are putrid.
I fell asleep not long after returning to my small, spartan room. In what seemed like fifteen minutes later, the minaret tower outside my window began blasting the unintelligible, distorted version of the Call to Prayer from speakers blown out ages ago.
I looked at my watch – 4:00 AM. The sound was so garbled it was like a shouting match in a Star Wars bar scene.
The next morning, a Saturday and the Sabbath, meant the corporate office was closed. I set off exploring the area around the hotel. The mood was edgy during these years. Egypt had an uneasy peace with Israel, and there was still tension in the air, all of which I was oblivious to in those first months.
Wa alaykum as-salam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh
The peace and mercy of Allah and His Blessings be upon you, too.
Since I had the day off, I went out walking around a nearby bazaar, wearing my brand new, shiny cowboy hat since the sun overhead was hot. I stuck out like someone wearing a full-length bunny suit with my crisp, white hat!
The bazaar was sensation overload – smells of crazy sweet pastries, kabobs and ears of corn smoking on the grills, hundreds of bright, fluorescent-colored shawls, bags – even vegetables – it was all there
Those first few hours in Cairo, I ambled about like an alien explorer on my first trip to Earth. I couldn’t utter a single word in Arabic. As the months went by, I learned to greet other local people with the greeting, As-salamu alaykum, Peace be upon you, which ALWAYS surprised and delighted the Egyptians.
Months later, I learned to respond to another person’s greeting with Wa alaykum as-salam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh – “The peace and mercy of Allah and His Blessings be upon you, too.” This phrase would elicit nods of approval when I got it all out in one shot.
“When a greeting is offered, you answer it with an even better greeting, or (at least) with its like. Allah keeps account of all things.” – Hadith
Meanwhile, that first, raw, day, I spoke in English, hoping someone else could also speak my language.
You ate what?
Wandering around the bazaar, I met a local man dressed in the traditional long white tunic, loose pants, and small cap, who spoke excellent English.
He held out his hand, which resembled a limp, lifeless fish – my first Arab-style handshake – and said to me As-salamu alaykum. He ended up inviting me back to his home for a Sabbath afternoon meal which was a FEAST!
I felt right at home sitting at his table. He closed his eyes and said a short Grace before the meal, like we did growing up, except it was in Arabic, and he was thanking Allah. We had six or seven courses of local foods, dishes like falafel with humus, hawashi, and shawarma, all perfectly spiced and cooked, and ended with some traditional (aš-šhāy bin-na’nā) super sweet, super minty tea! A drink I would become very familiar with in Egypt.
The meal was made and served by either his wife or his servant. I honestly could not tell as we just stayed in the dining room, but she performed in both roles simultaneously. Fortunately, I learned good manners growing up, and never asked any questions!
Eventually, I made my way back to the hotel after my extravagant lunch, feeling a little proud of myself. I told one of the gnarly, long-timers what I had done. “It was great!” I said. “We had so much great food, and….”
“You did WHAT!?” He looked horrified. “Oh, no…” was all he said as he shook his head…
My first lesson, learned the hard way – I lived on the toilet for the next 24 hours. I understood exactly why he was apprehensive about my fabulous meal.
Everything I put in my mouth was somehow foreign to my body, he explained later. “The chemical, mineral balance was so different from what you’re used to. Your body didn’t know what to do with it.” In 2024, we would say my American gut microbiome treated everything like a hostile invader!
That night, in my digestive nightmare, I didn’t mind the Call to Prayer blaring outside my window. It reminded me I wasn’t dead!
By Monday, I was shaky, a little pale, but ready to get going. I went to the corporate headquarters, got my ten-minute orientation to my life as a surveyor in Egypt, and jumped on the next vehicle heading out to the desert. Time to get the party started!
I was off to my new home in the Sahara! And off to my new life as a doodlebugger [1] nomad.
To be continued … Welcome to the Sahara
[1] Doodlebugger – the name given to people who work on geophysical seismic survey crews. The work used to involve drilling holes in the ground and putting dynamite inside. Similar to what doodlebugs do, without the dynamite. We didn’t drill in Egypt, we had four gigantic vehicles that each lowered 4,000-pound steel plates that vibrated at a specific frequency to create the seismic info needed.