Insight #34 into daily life in Cairo.

Now, when I call Cairo "the city of Sand," in truth, I could just as easily call it "the city of dust," "the city of mud puddles," or "the city of litter gently rustled by the breeze."
Now, I've seen some cities in my day that were less than hygienic. "Burning garbage" was the predominant scent in Quito, Ecuador—though the smell isn't quite as pungent as you'd think. Half submerged bicycles poked out of the Chicago river behind an old apartment in the Albany Park neighborhood, and steely urban squirrels terrorized us from garbage dumpsters.

The problem with Cairo isn't so much that it has some litter around—and, in reality, a lot of neighborhoods here are very clean. It's that the dust and sand gets in your shoes, coats your feet and legs, bathes your furniture, and settles into your lungs. Garden City having paved roads, I'm not breathing it in and developing the black lung to the extent that I did when I was living in the rustic district of Maasara. But even just walking 20 minutes to and from work on a wide sidewalk—which looks deceptively clean—my feet are several shades darker than when I began. Walking anywhere else in the city, they're black. Nevermind if you're wearing shoes and socks, it still finds a way to get there. Wearing a skirt only makes it worse. Not much of a skirt wearer in the States, skirts are not only better for the culture here, but they keep you much cooler than you would be wearing pants. The problem is that it gives the dust even greater skin access than it would otherwise have.
On the plus side, nightly foot washing can be a surprisingly soothing activity. On the other side, as I was engaging in my weekly leg-shaving ritual last Friday, I was definitely removing equal parts dirt and hair from my legs.
Sandals end up being the best way to go. The dust is going to get you anyway—you might as well give it an escape route. Wearing shoes traps the dust and dirt inside, and the result is less than pleasant.