I'm Sinking...

When I first saw this commercial it really made me laugh, but now that I am trying every single day to be understood in Arabic…well, it's taken on a whole new kind of funny.

I was talking with a woman who had zero English.  This (as others tell me) is a great thing because it forces me to use any and all Arabic words that I have pulled into my proverbial "iceberg" of vocabulary knowledge.  Great theory.

She and I were discussing what day she would be free to come to my house.  I was trying to ask what days she worked, where she lived, etc. We continued back and forth with our best efforts, however I just couldn't understand a portion of what was being said.

She kept saying that she "had" something, but I couldn't figure out what.  Time? Issues? A cold? Extreme dislike for non-Arabic speakers?

Finally I asked her, "Exactly what do you have? I don't understand."

She looked at me puzzled.  I returned the expression.

Finally she smiled.  Not "andee" as in ("I have"), but "Andy" as in one of our mutual friends.  She suggested that we talk with "Andy" who could do a bit of translation for us.

When we finally figured out the whole "Who's On First?" routine that had just taken place, we laughed and laughed.

Ah, language.  You gotta have it, but I definitely need more of it.  And that's what I'm sinking about today...

Autumn Comes Swiftly in Egypt

 With sweat trickling down the side of my red face, the thermometer reading 108, I declared it to be "Autumn in Egypt!"  In our former life, I had always loved living in Missouri where all four seasons are fully celebrated. But here seasons are different.  There is the hot season, the windy season, the really hot season and the somewhat cooler season.  I think we are somewhere between the hot and windy season which (I've been told) leads to the cool season. (Let it be so.)

This place is also different than the seasons in S*dan where one man told me, "In S*dan, there are two seasons:  Summer and Hell."  I have to say I laughed really hard at that statement.

So upon my declaration, I made myself a pumpkin spice steamer from syrup that we had carefully transported from the US to Kenya to Sudan to Kenya and finally to Egypt.  We are still gathering necessary items for our kitchen here, so I scrounged up a mug left behind by a former tenant.  Too perfect.

Pretty perfect, huh?

I sipped my hot drink while sorting through pictures I had taken in the US last Autumn.  Nice.  I had also been experimenting with sour dough bread recipes and had two loaves rising.  This might turn out to be a good morning.

About halfway through my drink, I heard loud thuds and chopping noises.  Sometimes the men who operate the fishing boats load their equipment nearby so I didn't think too much about it.  A few minutes later I caught something falling in my peripheral vision.  That was not normal.  I went to the window to see a man in our tree standing on a branch jumping up and down on it. I was stunned and not quite sure what to do. John was out of town and I have a man attacking our tree with a very dull axe and brute force.

Soon I received a knock at the door.  It was our neighbors who were panicked over the tree decimation taking place.  It seems that they had asked the landlord to trim a tree so they could have a view of the water.  The landlord said he had hired an expert arborist to come.

They explained that the tree that they had requested be trimmed was not the tree that was being chopped.  They spoke to the man in the tree and asked him to stop working.  He had already done most of the "shaping" so he agreed to sit for a bit and drink some water while we all waited on the landlord to weigh in on this.

Sour dough rising

The "arborist" asked me for some water.  He said, "But make it cold.  I am not like others.  I like to drink cold water when I work."  He is referring to a long held belief here that if you drink cold water you will actually become sick and get a cold.  I appreciated his progressive attitude so I went inside and filled up his empty soda bottle with the requested cold water.

Phone calls were made and discussions were held over the tree.  It seems that the landlord's mama told the man to chop it all down.  We were kind of hoping it could stay.  We are still very much in awe to be in a place with trees at all so removing them seems almost criminal.  After about 2 hours and several bottles of cold water, it was decided:  half of it would stay.  The man picked up his axe and his water bottle and left.

John returned from his travels and as he walked down the sidewalk he saw the tree.  John said, "Do I even dare ask about this?" 

I smiled and said, "You can, but you'll only end up shaking your head."  

"Ah, then never mind."

So on this morning, I make myself another steamer, cut a slice of sour dough bread (success!) and stare at the sad little tree whose Autumn came swiftly and suddenly.

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Today's BOGO Blog:  Street Vendors

The remainder of the tree

Village Life

The entrance to the village 

 John and I often enjoy a walk through our village in the mornings or after the sun sets.  We've tried the mid hours and discovered that: 1) we didn't get very far before the extreme heat melted our brains 2) nothing is open and 3) there is no one out to talk to… So we've adjusted our schedules to match that of our local friends.

The gate to our apartment

This morning we left around 9:30 am and made our way through the dusty streets.  It's a school day so there weren't the usual entourage of small people surrounding us.  I saw some of my new friends and greeted each one with a handshake and 2-4 kisses…I tried to follow their lead although it is awkward when you go for the third kiss and they don't.

We smiled and greeted our way toward the entrance of the village.  John talking to the men and I to the ladies.  I checked on LuLu to see how her knee was doing.  She said that it's getting better and I talked with her little granddaughter who is up and about after a week of fever.

We had just said all our goodbyes when a man in his thirties approached John and said, "Ah, I see that you live in my village.  I live here, too. We need to feed each other."

Unsure of where the conversation was going, John engaged.  "My name is John.  What is yours?"  

"Eman," he answered.  "I am a driver.  I will drive you wherever you want to go.  You pay me 5 or 10 pounds…whatever you wish.  I won't complain."

Most everyone's inside...it's hot!

John smiled and said, "That is good to know.  What is your phone number?" Eman wasn't done.

"I want you to come to a wedding tonight and two nights from now.  Big party in the village.  You come."  He then pointed to the street and the approximate location of the shindig.

John thanked him and I said, "Are you getting married?"

He laughed a loud laugh.  "No, no.  I already have three wives!  It is my friend getting married.  But I would like for you to come and drink tea to meet my family."

He continued with all that he hoped the friendship would become even listing points.  John talked some more and then took Eman's number.  John told him, "I'm sorry, Eman.  I'm out of phone credit, but as soon as I have some I will call you." (That shows that you are serious about the friendship.)

Eman said, "Me, too! I don't have phone credit either!"

They both laughed and slapped hands at their similar circumstances.

He patted John on the shoulder and said, "See you again, my friend."

We made our walk through town checking off our list of errands and returned after a couple miles' walk.  We were almost to the entrance of our village when two high school girls greeted us like they knew us.  One girl said, "Hello, Zhohn!"  John did a double-take.  He asked, "How did you know my name?"

She laughed, "You live in my village!"  Then she got so embarrassed that she pulled her headscarf completely over her face and walked that way the rest of the way.  

Rounding the corner...

Since it was later in the day and the heat was rising, most everyone had gone inside.  School for the younger children had just released so a group of boys (around 7 years old) in khaki uniforms followed us and began singing "Alouette" except in Arabic.  

One boy asked if I had a pen.  I told him that I did not.  Another boy asked for my ring.  I told him no and he smiled.  They joined back in the singing and ran down another path.

We made it back in time to prepare lunch and sit under the cooler while catching up on some work. Village life is certainly never dull…

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Today's BOGO Blog:  Table for Four?

  

John's Haircut

John is pretty much able to blend into any of the cultures where we've lived because guys in this region of the world wear khakis, sandals and buttoned-down shirts, too.  Even his gelled-spiked hair fits in.  He's been accused of being Egyptian several times now.  Only I give away our foreign roots…

John & Sadik

It was time for him to search out a barber so he turned to Sadik* for help.  Sadik knew right away the place he wanted to take him.  They pulled up and Sadik went inside with him to make sure he was treated right.

John was greeted by a man who ushered him to the styling chair.  He began to ask John the normal Egyptian greetings:

"How are you?"
"Good. Good.  You?"
"Good. Are you good today?"
"Yes, I am well.  How is your family?"
"My family is well.  How is your family?"
"All of my family is well.  So you are well?"
"Yes, I am well."

THEN and only then may your proceed to the next part of the conversation which includes your real question or request.  It does take time, but it does remind us to be mindful of genuinely engaging in their well-being.

The barber asked John to describe how he would like his hair.  John told him the clipper blade numbers that he likes and the cutter went to work.

Meticulous cutting...

John said the man paid GREAT detail to each section of his head and was using scissors to clip, snip, shape and form.  When John thought the man was almost done he pulled out the clippers (not the numbers that John had mentioned) and shaved the sides until pink showed.

John was preparing to exit the chair when the man pulled out 2 strings.  The barber used them to groom John's eyebrows, sideburns and tear-evoking nose hairs.

The man patted John's face down with a hot cloth and pronounced him finished.  John thanked the man and paid him.  He was complimented by Sadik when he exited the door.  "You look good," he said.

John not yet realizing the pinkness of his head, thanked him and smiled.  

I smiled as he walked back in the door and knew he wouldn't be needing a haircut again for a while.

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Today's BOGO Blog:  Stay Tuned

Village People

Hot sauce guy

Before you start singing the song that probably started when you saw the title of this entry, let me distract you with a few details of my recent walk through our neighborhood.  

My expat friend, Sarah*, called me and asked if I would like to walk with her through the village to meet some of the women.  I asked what time and she said 9 am.  9 am?!  That is pretty early for most Egyptians, but I was certainly game.

We first walked out from our homes and were met by 2 women sitting on a small stoop talking.  We greeted them with the usual kisses (right, left, right, left) and shook their hands.  Sarah introduced me and I tried to answer all the ensuing questions.

From around the corner this teeny, tiny old woman came walking up the road.  She was dressed in all black with just a small opening for her face.  Faouza had no teeth and looked like the apple dolls they sell at Silver Dollar City.  When she saw Sarah, her face lit up into a gigantic gummy smile.  She hadn't seen Sarah for a while so they gave extra kisses.

She shook my hand and gave me a hug and told me, "Welcome to the village!"  We chatted a bit more before bidding them goodbye.  

We walked up the dusty road and were greeted by a number of children shouting, "'ello!" "'ow are you?" "What ees your name?"

I tried to answer them and ask them their names as well.  One boy shouted, "Backsheesh!  Backsheesh!" (Sort of like, "Give me a tip!") I said in Arabic, "Your name is Backsheesh? That is the first time I have heard that!" He smiled and laughed.  I think I gained a friend.

Various vendors come through the village during the day and shout their commercial to all within earshot (which is a long way).  You've got your veggie guy, bread guy, propane guy and hot sauce guy.  Yes, a hot sauce guy that only does hot sauce.  Egyptians take their sauces seriously and eat it with every meal.  I've tried it and it WILL melt your face off.

We stopped at the first dukon (small store) on the street and Sarah greeted the lady owner.  They hugged and kissed.  We were then introduced to her daughters and grandchildren.  She showed us her inventory and told us to come by anytime.  I told her if she began to carry Bebsi Dieet or Coca Light, she would see even more of me.

Past the dukon, there is a walled area that has a long stoop.  Today the stoop became seats for two women and one older gentlemen.  Sarah greeted each one of them and introduced me.  They asked where I was from and thankfully did not begin asking me questions about our government.  (I try to avoid political discussions in settings like this.)  

We continued past the mahkwagee.  This is a man who has an ironing service.  You drop off your clothes and he irons them and puts them on hangars.  Egyptians are always very well-pressed in their dress.  You rarely see anyone wearing anything wrinkled.  He wasn't open yet and I've discovered he runs his hours a lot like the artsy folks in Eureka Springs, AR who had a sign, "When we're here, we're open.  When we're not, we aren't."  

We had almost reached the edge of the village when we came to a large tree with benches underneath.  Three women were seated in its shade.  Sarah greeted them and we were received warmly.  These ladies are kind of like the Neighborhood Watch Program.  Since they are at the entrance of the village they pretty much see and hear everything that happens.

Sarah introduced us, but they already knew who I was and also knew John's name.  Pretty good.  I met LuLu a woman about my age.  Lulu then introduced me to one of her daughters (a recent high school graduate) and her mother-in-law who looked very similar to Faouza.  

Lulu also told us about her other children including Alia who had worked at the Old Cataract Hotel, but had to find other employment due to lack of tourists.  She was now working at a Beauty Saloon (salon for us, but pronounced suh-LOON here.)  Lulu's daughter sitting on the bench piped up and said, "She does henna too! Do you like henna?"  I told her I did and thought it was a very beautiful form of art.  

Lulu said, "You should have it done by my daughter!"

I was now getting in deep water.  Henna lasts a long time.  Emileigh, Aria and I had had henna work done on our arms and legs one time before departing S*dan.  It was beautiful, however, Aria had an allergic reaction and swelled like crazy.  Even 3 years later you can still see faint signs of the design when she's out in the sun.

I smiled and tried to divert the conversation, "I had henna in S*dan.  The henna ladies would sometime come to your house for a party…"

This was the only opening the daughter needed.  "She can come to your house!"  Lulu interrupted and said, "Oh, she can go to the saloon!"

Her daughter gave her a look that said, "Why-would-you-suggest-the-saloon-when-we-would-get-a-chance-to-see-the-inside-of-a-foreigner's-house?"

Lulu finally caught on and said, "She can come any time!"

Of course, I want these ladies to come into my home anyway so I most likely will be hosting a Henna and Tea Party in the very near future.  It's just that in this culture it is most honoring to them for me to visit in their homes first before extending an invitation to mine.  So I'll try to play it by ear.

We talked of other things including their families, our daughters and the state of Egypt.  We concluded our time together.  Sarah had an appointment and the bread man had just arrived.  Sarah walked on, but I asked Lulu's daughter if I could walk with her to buy bread.

She laughed like that was the funniest thing she ever heard.  I went over my question in my head.  No, I had said it correctly.  She just thought it was funny that a foreigner wanted to buy bread.  I was like, "You think this physique comes easy? No, it takes bread, honey."  (If only my Arabic were that good!)

We walked together to the many stares of the other village people who couldn't figure out what we were doing together.  A crowd had formed around the bread cart and everyone simultaneously froze as I approached.  They asked Lulu's daughter who I was and all forms of questions.  She replied and apparently said something very, very funny.  They all laughed very hard.  I, of course, did not capture the nuance of the joke and just smiled.

I told the bread guy that I wanted 5 pieces of bread.  I handed him one Egyptian pound (15 cents) and waited for my change.  Yep.  I got 7.5 cents back.  The government subsidizes the bread prices here so you can buy a lot of bread for very little dough. (bdomp bomp ching).

Everyone at the cart returned to their purchases and I said goodbye to my new friend.  I walked back toward our apartment with my little bag of bread feeling quite happy.  As I reached our starting point, I saw Faouza and the other ladies.  I took out one piece of bread and handed them the rest.  One said, "I can get bread."  I told her, "I know, but I bought too much.  Please take it while it's still warm."

They smiled and accepted the bag.  My new little village.  Wonderful people and so welcoming.  And every time I pass through, I get to do all the greetings again.  It's the cultural thing to do and it's also the right thing to do…to acknowledge people in all stations of life, to greet them and just listen...village people.

You may now return to the melody bouncing around in your head, "It's fun to stay at the Y…M…C…A!"

* Not their real names

Winston Churchill and I Had Tea...Sort of...

What do Winston Churchill, Agatha Christie, Aga Khan, Jimmy Carter, and Lady Diana all have in common?  They each have visited our fair city, Asw@n, and have stayed at the historic Old Cataract Hotel.  

I'm a history nerd so facts like these are too intriguing for me not to follow up in inspection.  When we were deciding accommodations while in southern Egypt, we found one named the "Old Cataract Hotel" built in 1899 by Thomas Cook.

 

"Oooooooo," I said out loud to John, "This could be really cool."

I began investigating and found out that this hotel was built for the European tourists who traveled the Nile via boat during the turn of the 20th century.  Accommodations were few for travelers and even fewer for those considered "elite class."

The hotel was built on the common pink granite found here overlooking the Nile which includes several cataracts, thus the name.

The Old Cataract's first newspaper advertisement appeared in The Egyptian Gazette on 11 December 1899 and promised: "Every modern comfort. Large and small apartment rooms, library, billiard room, fireplaces in hall (what?!), salons and the main rooms. Electrical lights running all night. Perfect sanitary arrangements approved by the authorities. Can accommodate 60 visitors." 

The popularity of the hotel grew and additional buildings have been added through the years.  The Old Cataract Hotel became the place to stay while in Egypt even rivaling the infamous Mena House located by the pyramids in Cairo.

After reading all the information, I told John that this is a MUST see.  We weren't sure of prices or even if they would allow common folk like us inside, but we thought we would go try and drink tea.  (Always a safe proposal when lofty prices are expected.)

The Courtyard

We were greeted by a very friendly security guard who escorted us through the entry courtyard and into the main dining hall.  He handed us off to someone else who in turn took us to a maitre' d.  He seated us on the veranda which has a spectacular panoramic view of the river.

The view from the Veranda

Yet another person came and presented us with menus.  We perused the selections and then checked the prices.  Oooooooookay…looks like it still caters to those with serious expendable income.  Tea and pastries for us.

We enjoyed our time together and couldn't believe that this place existed in a place like Asw@n.  Seriously.  We live one block from this hotel and you would NEVER know that that kind of construction and design was possible.  We have dirt/sand roads and donkey traffic.  I felt transported.

One of the dining halls

I was already scheming about an extended tour so I asked the waiter if it would be possible.  He nodded and said he would get someone to help us.

We paid our bill and told ourselves that we weren't just paying for the tea, but for the experience.  It worked a little.

A man dressed in a black vest and red fez greeted us and indicated to follow him.  He took us through the beautiful arched hallways, up marble staircases until we reached the Winston Churchill Suite. He was one of the first famous visitors to stay at the hotel in 1902 for the inauguration of the Asw@n High Dam.

The Room!

It was opulent even for someone who has seen a documentary on Donald Trump's lifestyle.  I snapped pictures like a good tourist.  Our guide was patient.

Next he took us to the Agatha Christie Suite.  She had visited this location to do research for her book, "Death on the Nile."  A subsequent movie of the same name had portions shot at the hotel on location in 1978.

Exquisite indeed.  The hotel has seen many renovations since its earliest glory days, but still it held an old world charm and I felt as if we were stepping back into time.

Our guide led us through other areas such as the spa and club room before concluding the tour and waiting for his tip.

Agatha Christie's Room

John took care of him as I began to inquire how much it would cost to stay here.  John looked at me as if I were crazy.  "We can only afford tea here.  What are you thinking?" his eyes said.  I thought, "Hey, it's a revolution right now.  Maybe my $50 is looking pret-ty good right now."

I was wrong.  Very, very wrong.  It's $10,000 USD to stay one night in either suite.  No, I did not say one year.  One night.  I can't even tell you how far my mouth dropped open or how long I stood in shock.  I was paralyzed.  Did you say pesos?! Are the bones of Winston Churchill actually in the room gift-wrapped as a souvenir?!

John brought me back to my senses and said, "We should go now." 

The Old Cataract Hotel present day

We thanked our guide and walked out of this historic, magnificent structure that had been built during a completely different world and a very different Egypt.

Aesthetically I deeply appreciated its beauty.  Economically, I think they have lost touch with reality.

Ahhh, but for one morning it was beautiful to step back into such an elegant era.

We began walking toward home, turned the block and dodged a donkey cart trotting up our dirt road.  Such a funny, weird contrast of worlds.  That's Egypt then and now.

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Today's BOGO Blog:  Tarek Tours

The pool

Disembarking to go to the hotel.  Notice the name of the boat.

The giant bathroom

Winston's living room

Agatha Christie with friends at the hotel

The hotel in the early years

Another view of A.C.'s suite

Sitting at Agatha Christie's desk

Cries in the Night

Two nights ago, John and I were just about ready to "close up shop" when he received a call.  It was Abdel*, a man he had met briefly at Yah-Yah's wedding.  Abdel had just returned from his travels and wanted to know if John would like to meet for tea.  John checked the time…10:15 pm.  

"Sure," John replied.  (If anyone knows John at all, they will laugh at him venturing out so late.)

He headed out the door and I prepared to go to sleep.  Around 11:30 pm, he returned quite glad that he took the time to go.  Abdel is a physicist with quite an interesting life.  He told me about their time together and finally around 1 am we were settling in to sleep.

I had just fallen into a deep state when I was startled by a loud sound.  I rose up and at first thought I had been dreaming.  The screaming continued which woke John also.  We looked at each other trying to figure out what was happening.  It was coming from the building next to us where the landlord's extended family was staying.

We jumped up and ran to the window.  One of the children was outside screaming hysterically.  We weren't sure what to do.  The father came out to see what was the matter.  The little girl had found her kitten in the jaws of a dog.  Once the other children saw it, they too began screaming.  Three kittens had to be accounted for and checked for good health before they finally calmed down.  

All was well, but I do believe I would need the paddles to get my heart going again.

Everyone went back inside and we tried to go back to sleep.  

The following day, we saw our friends who live a couple buildings away.  I asked, "Did you hear the screaming last night?"

She nodded and said, "Yes, we found out one of the ladies behind us died."

"What?! I was talking about the kittens that had been attacked last night.  What are you talking about?"

She said, "I don't know about the cats, but around 2 am we heard women wailing and continued all through the night.  We asked one of our local friends what had happened and he said that a lady from this village had gone to Cairo for surgery but didn't make it through the procedure."

The village was in mourning.

The next day, women from around the area dressed in black and lined the streets where the deceased woman's family lived.  They would stay with the family through the time of burial (which in Islamic law is the same day) and days beyond.  

I breathed a prayer asking God to be with this family and to give us wisdom in the days to come.

Last night, I had the "big eye" and couldn't go to sleep.  I decided to get something to drink and walked into the kitchen.  That's when I heard the mourners.  They were once again "carrying" the grief of the family and were wailing all through the night.  I've never heard anything quite like it.  Women screaming, crying, moaning, yelling…all to demonstrate their sadness for the passing of this woman.

I felt tears in my eyes beginning to well.  Their grief was profound.  The family had lost someone dear.  In Islam, a follower is not guaranteed a place in paradise by Allah.  You must wait until you are judged following death.  Only then will you know if you did "enough."

They grieve unsure of this woman's final destiny.  I grieve wondering if this woman had one time in her life been given the opportunity to know Jesus.

Cries in the night…only this time they were mine.


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*Not his real name
** Stock photo, but very much what it looked like...

Today's BOGO Blog:  Parallel Parking: Cairo Style

Foreign Trade

Checking out the Nubian scarves...

Sunday afternoon, John and I joined two of our friends for a walk through the souk (market).  We were looking for a couple gifts and our friends knew of a vendor who had the items we were looking for.

The city we live in is almost completely dependent on tourism.  Since the revolution 2 years ago, economists have said that the tourism industry has declined by 90% in Egypt.  This hits areas where we live very hard.  

As we walked through the streets, different shop owners would call out to us, "Welcome to Aswan!" "Where are you from?" and "Friend…Friend…FRIEND!!!!"

One man noticing that my face was its usual bright red from the heat yelled, "Welcome to Alaska!"  We walked past vendors selling fresh dates, baskets of spices and of course lots and lots of little Pharaoh heads.

The heat has not subsided yet even though I have declared it to be Autumn.  Every day the temp still tips around 110 or so.  This contributes to my need this particular day for the "grab and bag" method, but alas it was not to be.

We finally arrived at the correct booth and were greeted by a tall man in his early 30s.  He hugged our friends and welcomed them back from their vacation.  We shook his hand and introduced ourselves.  Ahmed* immediately brought out chairs for us and asked us what we would like to drink.  (I LOVE this part about Arab hospitality.  You always sit and sip before transacting any kind of business.)

He offered us a choice of water, tea or cold karkaday (hibiscus).  We all chose the latter, it sounded great.  One of his friends ran off to go prepare it and he turned to me to find out what I was looking for.  

I told him that I would like to look at some quilted pillow covers, fabric and scarves.  He transformed into SALESMAN and began pulling merchandise out, displaying it around the store while talking the entire time about the quality of the products.

Maybe he's rolling his eyes at me...

I'm accustomed to this now so his hurried attitude doesn't affect me nearly as much as it used to.  I took my time looking through the quilted pieces which the Egyptians do so very well.  The intricate detail is amazing.  He also pulled out cloth that's used to decorate during Ramadan.  I really like the patterns and was trying to decide if Emileigh and Aria would like some, too.

If I touched something to look at it, he immediately folded it and put it in the "definitely want" pile.  I hadn't said I wanted it, but he was helping me expedite the process.  I'm sure he was concerned about my red, sweaty face.

I moved to the scarves where he began to inform me which ones were made in Egypt, which ones were Nubian and which ones were "no good from China."  ("Why do you have them then?" I thought.  But I kept my mouth shut.)

John had been around letting me search through the items waiting for the final negotiations to begin.  I made my final selections and the haggling began.  At first, he repeated how each piece has special qualities and how they weren't cheap souvenirs.  I smiled and said, "Okay, how much for everything?"

He repeated something in Arabic that sounded like the price of a small car.  John repeated what he said.  The man nodded.  John laughed and said, "Friend, we live here remember?"

Ahmed said, "Yes, yes.  I know.  This is good quality.  What do you think is a good price?"

The three of us went round and round discussing terms.  I had finally had enough and said, "Let's just get the two things we absolutely need today and leave the rest."

Ahmed already had everything bagged and was trying to place them on my arms.  

"We have a budget, Ahmed."

"Yes, I know, but you can go to the machine and get more money."

We laughed.  "The 'machine' isn't magic.  We have to have money before it gives us money."

"You can borrow from your friends!"  He had an answer for everything.

Finally we made him understand that the lack of cash wasn't the issue, his prices were.

He began to recount all of the problems he has had since the revolution.  He has no money, no customers, no new stock.  We nodded in understanding.  

We thanked him for his time and tried to purchase the two items.  He countered, "Okay.  Okay.  I understand now.  You want a good price.  We are friends.  Give me this much and you can have it all."

He had just declared a Blue Light Special and had marked down the merchandise by 80%. (He had started the negotiations with an insanely high amount.)  Now he was in the ballpark.

John shook his hand and said, "Deal."  Even with Ahmed's huge discount, we were still paying a bit more than average, but it was a win-win for both of us.

Ahmed looked at me and said, "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I am happy."

"Are you sure you're happy?" We all nodded and he gave us parting handshakes while inviting us to return soon with more friends.

We made it back to the apartment and I began to peruse our purchases.  Ah, yes, the fabrics were beautiful.  I hope the girls like their gifts.  They know what bargaining does to their mother. I am not good at it.  I usually fold after the second counter offer, but today I held my ground.  I neatly put the items away.  I poured a tall Diet Coke and proceeded to sit under the air conditioner before taking a very long recovery nap.  This negotiator was wiped out.

A quilted square from our first time in Egypt.

Today's BOGO Blog:  AbouZekry