On a nearly bungled wooing.

Those of you who know me well are undoubtedly wondering how it is that Alissa—in all her full-fledged awkwardness, with credentials like "history club president" and lifetime orchestra membership—managed to summon up enough womanly wiles to snag a half-Japanese, half-Iranian Seattle hipster, Farsi/Japanese/Amharic/Oromifa speaking Peace Corps Volunteer/health worker/yoga instructor/massage therapist/classical pianist/mountain climber with known talents for making homemade lemon meringue pie and truffles.

Lest you think that I suddenly found my inner suave seductress while in Cairo—rest assured, dear readers, that my recent change in relationship status happened more or less in spite of my clumsy attempts at boy-snagging, not because of it.

Never the queen of subtlety, I decided early on that whatever I lacked in charms I could make up through sheer persistence (a strategy, I'm happy to say, worked better here than it currently is for McCain). Now, most anyone would suggest that maintaining contact with the esteemed Mr. Razi during his stint in Ethiopia would be necessary to get my foot in the figurative door. Not one for moderation, however, I hoped that my daily 8 page emails and $40-in-postage care packages wouldn't reveal my cards.

Once Nod was safely within Egypt, I knew I had one shot to win him to the cause. This was not a time to be shy. Time to pull out the big guns.

Smooth wooing tactic #1: dehydrate him and feed him greasy, fried pigeon in the hopes of weakening his defenses.
Honest to God, the first night Nod was in Egypt, we went for a walk through downtown Cairo. Now, this might sound romantic, but in reality, involves dodging death as you run head-on through traffic, shouting at each other over the roar of traffic, sidestepping dust, garbage, and stray cats, and realizing that—genius, Alissa—I had no actual destination in mind when we set out. At the end of it all, we had walked for two hours in a high-stress environment without any food or water (thanks, Ramadan), and did nothing more than make a big circle. Smooth.
Nod was beginning to wilt from starvation, so we set out for some authentic, Egyptian food. Now, I hardly ever eat out at restaurants in Egypt, so I had a very short list in mind of places we could go to. Oh, right, and all of those restaurants were closed for the entire month of Ramadan, even in the evenings.
Wandering around downtown, Nod spotted a colorful tent with tables lined up to serve sprawling plates of Egyptian street food to those breaking the fast. "Let's go there," he suggested. My stomach clenched. I had never eaten as a tent like this, and didn't know protocol. But, not wanting to seem anything less than a fierce and independent woman, I fronted nonchalance. It was only after my earlier blog post about this dinner (see below) that I found out Nod was dry heaving in the bathroom after ingesting too much greasy pigeon skin. Way to go, Alissa.

Suave moment #2: My host family in Maasara knew that Nod was coming and that I had had my eye on him for months. To my Egyptian family, though, there was no framework to communicate things like, "crush" "dating" or "a non-relative boy is coming to visit me so that we can travel together." So, to put things in terms they could understand, I told them that he was visiting so that we could see if we wanted to "get engaged." I bit my lip, hoping this wouldn't blow up in my face once Nod arrived, but I didn't really have any other options if Nod was going to get to meet my family.
I thought I'd better pave the way for Nod before he actually arrived in Maasara and started fielding questions about our would-be marriage. So, day #2 in Cairo, after we hadn't seen each other for one year and were still getting used to each other..
"So, Nod, you should probably know that the family thinks we're getting married." Points to Nod for not choking on his baklava right then. "Um, you see, they don't really have a framework to understand a guy friend coming to visit—because, right, we are just friends—so I had to tell them that you were coming to propose. But don't worry—I told them it was a secret and that we hadn't actually discussed marriage yet, so hopefully they won't ask us any questions to our face about it at dinner."
Riiight. Smooth again. Nod took it all in stride, thankfully. Considering that the family set up a full-blown engagement dinner for us and my host sister Sara pelted Nod with questions like, "So, do you have a girlfriend?" "No? That's interesting…what kind of qualities would you want in a girlfriend?" "What age do you think is best to marry at?" all the while winking at me furiously—I was glad that I had prepared Nod for this a little bit.
In the meantime, my host mother kept hissing at me to put more food on Nod's plate, chastised me for not wearing more make-up, and told me that I should have worn new clothes. My host father took Nod out on the balcony for a manly heart-to-heart…never mind the fact that it was all in Arabic and Nod couldn't understand a word he was saying. The whole time the family kept flashing me thumbs up signs. If you ever wanted an Egyptian family to act as your wingman, I have excellent contacts in Maasara.

Add to the fact that I may or may not have played a small role in Nod losing both his iPod and a hat during our busrides, and at one point made him stay in a hotel room with my completely crazy Egyptian friends (who, under the influence, woke him up at 4am to pelt him with questions about his personal life and make him sing eminem)—and I can safely say that, without any doubt, all the credit belongs to Nod for putting up with a complete lack of class or charm.

It only improved from here. Day #3, we boarded an evening bus for Siwa, a desert oasis in western Egypt. I might deserve slight points here for having brains enough to realize that a desert oasis under the stars in the Saharan might be a setting romantic enough to make further in roads into the affection of Mr. Razi. 12 hours of travel later, we showed up sleepless and bedraggled at 7am to the small town of Siwa. The streets were empty, save one kind soul riding around on a golf cart who directed us to the illustrious Palm Hostel.

After--I kid you not--a one hour nap, I thought it would be a good idea to wake Nod up and go for a walk in the blistering heat. Siwa hasn't become completely touristicized, however, making long sleeves and pants necessary for me to keep within the bounds of local modesty. Right. So now we have the perfect conditions: noon in the Saharan desert, Ramadan (no drinking or eating in public), stuffy, uncomfortable clothes--and lots and lots of mosquitos.

Happily, Nod took the reins a bit from there, and suggested that we spend the evening biking out to desert hot springs at sunset, where we watched the sun set and the stars come out. At least one of us knows how to pick a romantic setting, hey?
But, lest things go too smoothly-- once he popped the relationship question, I spent nearly two hours hemming and hawing, my penchant for over-analysis and overly thorough explanations making what should have been a 30-second DTR into a conversation that took us well into the early hours of the morning until I finally came to my senses and simply said, "yes."

All this to say, my friends, don't worry—I still remain the completely awkward prufrock crab you've always known and loved.