savoring the marketplace.

As I was doing Brazilian dance aerobics on a persian rug in my Cairo apartment, looking in on the office of Egypt's most famous novelist from the living room window, I had a sudden appreciation for how unique--and charming--my lifestyle and position in Egypt really is. 

Yesterday I played surrogate mother for my roommate Kirsten, who hasn't been able to knock a cold that's been at her for weeks now. After getting her fruit and vegetable ramen, I made a pan of vegan brownies using smushed kidney beans instead of oil and eggs. Now, I'm not sure kidney bean brownies are really any help in fighting a cold, but we managed to polish off the pan regardless.

In the afternoon, though, I took the metro a few stops to the legendary, anarchical local market of Ataba. Even if the rest of Cairo is peacefully slumbering away the afternoon hours, this sprawl of markets, alleys, courtyards and window-front streets is the place to be if you're searching for any conceivable kind of household good. Picking through items inside shops and displayed on sidewalks, tens of thousands of Egyptians crush against each other to peruse everything from shower curtains to lingerie to 80's old school boomboxes to thermoses. 

Ataba is also at the melting point between the fading grandeur of Cairo's European facades and the sturdy, enduring intricacy of its medieval Islamic district. Dusty windowboxes and gawdy neo-classical statues top buildings still carrying signs from European import companies long out of business, while veiled worshippers jostle with tourists to enter the towering Our Lord Hussein and Al-Azhar mosques. And everything and everyone is covered with a layer of dust. 

I got off at the Ataba metro stop and was immediately thrust into a living current of shoppers funneled through a row of bookshops and Galibaya vendors. Galibayas are the traditional dress for men here, in North Africa, and the Gulf. They look something like men's button down shirts, but they go all the way to the ankles. One of Nod's friends had requested that I bring him one in Ethiopia, so I stopped the bargain with a portly, bearded man with a dark mark on his forehead from his prayer prostrations. We were having difficulty deciding the right size to buy, so the Galibaya vendor maneuvered his large belly past his cart to call his friends over. "Is your friend this tall, like him, or shorter, like that guy?" We picked the closest size we could find, and I went on my way. He didn't bat an eyelash at a white, foreign woman coming to buy a traditional Galibaya at a local market. I appreciated his discretion.

I took my time picking through the crowd toward the more tourist-friendly Khan al-Khalili--site of a small bomb a few weeks ago. While the open-air markets of Cairo make it difficult to shop efficiently when you have something specific in mind, it's beautiful for impulse buys. Whether from a vendor on the metro selling plastic aprons or super glue or stapler keychains, or a woman with a blanket spread out on the sidewalk with baby toys or sandals, you inevitably will pass by someone selling the exact thing you were just telling yourself you needed to get for the house. It's easy to feel suffocated by the crowd and just want to push through, but when I'm not in a rush, I love to let my eyes wander over all the Chinese-imported goods. Hmm, do I need that? I almost bought a pair of white reading glasses for $3, but decided they were too wide for my face.

I finally made it to the Khan al-Khalili, where I spent some time shopping for a few gifts to bring with me to Ethiopia. When I was finished, I sat down at al-Fishawi's, an open-air coffee shop in the heart of the market that's been serving coffee, mint tea and sheesha to customers for more than 200 years. With a gentle breeze coming through the market stalls, I read a history book on Iran and studied Arabic.

It was with sudden sadness that I realized the uniqueness of my stay here. When studying history and Arabic in grad school next year, I won't be able to sit in the heart of one of the region's greatest cities, where history and significance are evident in each dusty stone and in each intonation of the Muezzin's call to prayer. 

And again this morning, spying on Alaa al-Aswanny as he apparently came into the office on his day off to work on some project or another, dancing on a Persian rug, I remember once again that there are many aspects of my life here to be savored and enjoyed. It's a good realization to come to right before my parents come, when I will be able to look through their eyes to get a fresh perspective on Egypt once again.