The Daily Life of an Intrepid Intern.

My day begins at 7:20 a.m. to the soft chirping of my traveler's alarm clock. A slow moving ceiling fan is drying the sweat that has covered my body throughout the night—but the heat no longer keeps me awake at night. My roommates and I had the intention of following the Egyptian custom of having a kind of open bed rotation, sleeping in whichever room is open at the time that drowsiness finally overtakes you and your eyes close despite the Arabic pop music coming in through the open windows, the sound of children playing outside well after midnight, or the occasional unhappy donkey. Falling back into the American instinct for property rights, however, we've more or less claimed our own bed. I have a small bedroom all to myself, with a firm and lumpy but satisfactory mattress, bottom sheet, and thin blanket. The blanket rarely leaves the foot of my bed, however—though our apartment stays reasonably cool and has good circulation, it simply is too warm to be necessary.

I shake off the grogginess and make my way into the bathroom for a shower. Now, "shower" is a bit of a loose term here. We have a bath faucet that protrudes out of the wall about 3 feet off the ground. There isn't a tub or a stall or anything…the water simply comes onto the bathroom floor. We've put a large plastic tub on the ground (like something you might handwash clothes in, about 3 feet wide and 1 foot tall). We squat in the tub, letting the cold water run over us. We use a cup to pour the water over our hair. Now, this might sound a bit rustic, but it is blissful, blissful luxury. I actually prefer this to a normal shower fixture—having streams of cold water running over you after coming in from a hot walk home, or to have a cool, clean start to the morning—it's one of the absolute highlights of my day. I take 2 or 3 of these shower/baths a day, content as content can be. When we're done, we pour the water in the tub down a drain in the floor, and the bathroom actually stays fairly dry.
Now, most Egyptians don't shower in a tub like this….there is a shower fixture, but it's broken. But it is normal to have "efficiency showers" like this, where there is no tub and you just squeejee (sp?) the floor dry when you're done.

For breakfast, I purify and boil water for tea, eat a slice of watermelon I bought from a street vendor by the metro, drink some yogurt and eat some bread and cheese. It's so hot, I haven't had much of an appetite—I've actually lost quite a bit of weight already. But I know I'll be hungry once I'm sitting in my air conditioned office all day, so at the very least, I stuff some cheese or yogurt in my purse to eat later.

Now, this is the easy part. Once I'm showered, dressed, and ready for the day, the real adventure begins! First, I need to wake up my host family, who live in the apartment unit directly across from ours (lest you get the wrong mental picture, this "apartment building" is maybe 2 or 3 stories tall, and has only 4 units total, all of which are occupied by family members) so that they can unlock the padlock on the front door. I make my way down a flight of crumbling concrete steps in the dark, through the front door (kiss my host sisters on the cheek goodbye), and step out onto the dirt street.

Egyptians sleep late, stay in the house during the heat of the day, and then emerge at night, staying up until the early hours of the morning. So at 8am, the street is uncannily empty. It's peaceful. In the shade of the buildings and a few trees that line the road, I can stay fairly cool in the shade. The air smells pleasantly tangy from the mixture of people and livestock, cooking food, exhaust fumes from the cars and microbuses. A few people are milling around, opening up their small convenience shops or groceries for morning business. As I walk into the large marketplace (sooq), 2 women are herding a dozen or so goats down the road. People notice me walking by, but no one seems too ruffled, or even too curious. I appreciate that I can feel at ease and—if not inconspicuous, at least that I don't feel too on display.

A group of microbuses sit in the sooq. Microbuses are 12 passenger vans of various shades of quality—I was in one yesterday that was missing sections of its roof and had smoke rising out of the gear shift. The one I took this morning had nicely cushioned seats. It just kind of depends. The microbus system is another manifestation of this local economy-by-necessity. The metro stop is a 15 minute walk from the sooq. I could walk, or I could pay 10 cents to ride in one of these vans. There are enough people that would rather hitch a ride that 7 or 8 men have purchased these vehicles to get people back and forth. As soon as one fills up, it takes off, and people begin to fill up the next. First in, First out. The microbuses are microcosms of the whole neighborhood—Muslims and Christians, professionally dressed and those in rags, those commuting to work on the metro and those who just need a lift across the neighborhood. Some women will ask us where we're from and welcome us to Egypt, but for the most part, people ride in silence, and we don't seem to make people uncomfortable, provided we're dressed modestly, which we always do.

Outside the metro station, there are a dozen stands selling fruit, Doritos, Fanta, and cigarettes. I slide past the vendors, buy a metro ticket for 20 cents, and wait for it to arrive. The metro system doesn't reach a lot of Cairo, but it operates well where it does. A train arrives every 5 minutes, at least. Even still, they are CROWDED. There are women only cars, though some women occasionally ride in the men's cars without a problem. As a foreigner, though, I'm not really looking for the kind of attention I would get if I showed up in the men's car! So I go into one of the women's cars. In the morning, I start out with a big of standing room and space around me. At each stop, more women arrive until we are body to body, where even carrying a purse is a nuisance to those standing around me because there simply isn't room for it.
When we arrive at the central downtown station, the women in the car literally surge forward so that you sort of fall out of the train car and hope you land on your feet. Not the best feeling in the world.

The metro station is literally right next to my work, which saves me from needing to cross the chaotic and anarchical traffic lanes.
At work, I'm in a different world. All of my co-workers are fluent in English, having studied abroad or attended private elite schools in Egypt. You can have coffee, tea, or sandwiches delivered to you at any time simply by dialing the building's café's extension. I have my own desk (though that's fortunate…there are 2 other interns in my office who aren't so lucky and end up doing filing work on their laps) and computer, which is a blessing since my host family definitely does not have internet!

Work has been lovely…I really enjoy my work, and they keep me fairly busy with projects. When I don't have something specific to work on, I browse the news online. It's a good life!
I just signed up for Arabic classes, which I'll do three times a week for 2 hours at a time. Since my host family doesn't speak any English, this is a must! Already I've been improving and learning a lot.
Until next time…. Take care, habibi.