In search of Mohammad
This is Gerardo Cavazos.
He arrived a few weeks after me, approached me at a party and drunkenly asked, “Who are you?” I gave him my name and country, but he wanted to take it existential. “No. WHO are yooou?” Drunkenly repeat. Every time I see him. For 3 weeks. “Who are YOU?”
Well dear Gerardo, screw me, I bet the state department really wants to know about you. Its just a matter of time before you cross their borders to become my illegal maid.
True things I know about Gerardo:
1. He was born in a Mexican city with a cement factory
2. He has pet names for his nanny
3. I never understand a damn thing he’s saying
4. Constantly is requesting for people to shower with him, offers soap
5. While dancing shoots uses his hands as pretend guns, shooting into the air like a cowboy. It’s beautiful.
6. Shares my love of Rilo Kiley, and will have to fight me to sleep with her
7. Every Egyptian company that has employed him immediately financially implodes.
Which leads me to believe:
8. Gerardo is involved in high-level embezzlement, CIA-like precision recon work
9. He can afford to buy me lunch every now and again. Cheapskate
The final true fact:
10. Gerardo is a total dude. And I will miss him.
As many readers may have noticed I am a girl, and for some reason Gerardo thought I would know what girls like. This led us on a trek to Khan Ah Khalili, the very touristy market in the middle of Islamic Cairo yesterday.
At the bar the night before, Gerardo tried to buy the chair he was sitting on. Horeyiah’s waiters intelligently refused to sell. The chairs are pretty cool, but they are the standard wood chair at every coffee shop in the city. Still a business needs chairs, I wouldn’t let it go without a fight either. The one Gerardo wanted had the seat with pyramids on it, and his little burrito-filled heart would break if he didn’t have it.
And so, the quest for Mohammad began.
The street leading to Khan Ah Khalili is filled with cookwares and furniture. The waiters had told us to look there. Within ten minutes we had found and purchased a Cleopatra seat, but Gerardo wanted the Pyramids. We were told to go down a dark alley to find more designs.
What followed was a treasure hunt that Cairo alone could provide. We walked around the Wood Beveling District (oh it exists) holding the Cleopatra Seat and asking “Where? “Where?” over and over again. Everyone kept directing us to “Mohammad”* but, just like with the real prophet, no one had a clear idea on his life and whereabouts.
At one store Mohammad was an easy third street on the right, turn left then left again.
At the place that sells doors, Mohammad was one right and an ala tuul (straight ahead).
Everywhere we went it went like this:
Gerardo, pointing at the seat “This, Where? Where?” (Arabic) “I want Pyramids!” (English)
Egyptian man: “Rapid-fire Arabic, Mohammad, Rapid-fire Arabic, left-right-right-left” (Wild but entirely unhelpful hand directions)
(A dedicated explorer)
Eventually we found a man who seemed to think he could help. Gerardo began speaking foreigner-using-limited-language-to-explain-a-complex-want Arabic. It looked like we were getting results.
The man started scribbling on scrap paper. I assumed it would be a map, but instead, he was taking our order. Gerardo had just accidentally bargained the price of four pounds per piece for this man to do something, What? We don’t know. Eventually the man got a better idea of what we wanted, wrote something in Arabic on a piece of paper and sent us off.
( Chair found during search, that is made in typical chair style. Note: Lacks Pyramids.)
We added the paper into our routine of asking, pointing and wandering, but had no idea what it said. Eventually I also drew the pyramids on another sheet of paper because we realized we didn’t know if “pyramids” was pyramids in Arabic.
After about two hours we found the man who made the designs on seat covers. MOHAMMAD! He could offer us flowers and Nefertiti, but no Pyramids.
(Looking for a cheap Kofta and Kebab place for lunch, it seems our friendship centers around heartbreakingly fruitless searches)
At Khan Khalili I convinced Gerardo his girlfriend would go crazy with lust if he bought her a rug made out of rabbit pelts as a souvenir. I’ll make sure to post the angry e-mails from her when they start rolling in.
*Mohammad is the name of every 1 out of 3 Arabs. Don’t believe me? Go to your nearest Egyptian embassy, scream out Mohammad and watch the staff stampede.
He arrived a few weeks after me, approached me at a party and drunkenly asked, “Who are you?” I gave him my name and country, but he wanted to take it existential. “No. WHO are yooou?” Drunkenly repeat. Every time I see him. For 3 weeks. “Who are YOU?”
Well dear Gerardo, screw me, I bet the state department really wants to know about you. Its just a matter of time before you cross their borders to become my illegal maid.
True things I know about Gerardo:
1. He was born in a Mexican city with a cement factory
2. He has pet names for his nanny
3. I never understand a damn thing he’s saying
4. Constantly is requesting for people to shower with him, offers soap
5. While dancing shoots uses his hands as pretend guns, shooting into the air like a cowboy. It’s beautiful.
6. Shares my love of Rilo Kiley, and will have to fight me to sleep with her
7. Every Egyptian company that has employed him immediately financially implodes.
Which leads me to believe:
8. Gerardo is involved in high-level embezzlement, CIA-like precision recon work
9. He can afford to buy me lunch every now and again. Cheapskate
The final true fact:
10. Gerardo is a total dude. And I will miss him.
As many readers may have noticed I am a girl, and for some reason Gerardo thought I would know what girls like. This led us on a trek to Khan Ah Khalili, the very touristy market in the middle of Islamic Cairo yesterday.
At the bar the night before, Gerardo tried to buy the chair he was sitting on. Horeyiah’s waiters intelligently refused to sell. The chairs are pretty cool, but they are the standard wood chair at every coffee shop in the city. Still a business needs chairs, I wouldn’t let it go without a fight either. The one Gerardo wanted had the seat with pyramids on it, and his little burrito-filled heart would break if he didn’t have it.
And so, the quest for Mohammad began.
The street leading to Khan Ah Khalili is filled with cookwares and furniture. The waiters had told us to look there. Within ten minutes we had found and purchased a Cleopatra seat, but Gerardo wanted the Pyramids. We were told to go down a dark alley to find more designs.
What followed was a treasure hunt that Cairo alone could provide. We walked around the Wood Beveling District (oh it exists) holding the Cleopatra Seat and asking “Where? “Where?” over and over again. Everyone kept directing us to “Mohammad”* but, just like with the real prophet, no one had a clear idea on his life and whereabouts.
At one store Mohammad was an easy third street on the right, turn left then left again.
At the place that sells doors, Mohammad was one right and an ala tuul (straight ahead).
Everywhere we went it went like this:
Gerardo, pointing at the seat “This, Where? Where?” (Arabic) “I want Pyramids!” (English)
Egyptian man: “Rapid-fire Arabic, Mohammad, Rapid-fire Arabic, left-right-right-left” (Wild but entirely unhelpful hand directions)
(A dedicated explorer)
Eventually we found a man who seemed to think he could help. Gerardo began speaking foreigner-using-limited-language-to-explain-a-complex-want Arabic. It looked like we were getting results.
The man started scribbling on scrap paper. I assumed it would be a map, but instead, he was taking our order. Gerardo had just accidentally bargained the price of four pounds per piece for this man to do something, What? We don’t know. Eventually the man got a better idea of what we wanted, wrote something in Arabic on a piece of paper and sent us off.
( Chair found during search, that is made in typical chair style. Note: Lacks Pyramids.)
We added the paper into our routine of asking, pointing and wandering, but had no idea what it said. Eventually I also drew the pyramids on another sheet of paper because we realized we didn’t know if “pyramids” was pyramids in Arabic.
After about two hours we found the man who made the designs on seat covers. MOHAMMAD! He could offer us flowers and Nefertiti, but no Pyramids.
(Looking for a cheap Kofta and Kebab place for lunch, it seems our friendship centers around heartbreakingly fruitless searches)
At Khan Khalili I convinced Gerardo his girlfriend would go crazy with lust if he bought her a rug made out of rabbit pelts as a souvenir. I’ll make sure to post the angry e-mails from her when they start rolling in.
*Mohammad is the name of every 1 out of 3 Arabs. Don’t believe me? Go to your nearest Egyptian embassy, scream out Mohammad and watch the staff stampede.
3 Comments:
I am almost afraid to leave a comment here, after Kent scolded me for "taking your business to other people's blogs", however I must tell you how pleased I am that you are writing again. I absolutely love your writing style!!!
I would love to meet you someday.
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Ahhh glad to see my sweatshirt stills gets a round at Horaya now and again. As for Gerardo, he better stay in Egypt until the tortilla crisis settles.
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