The Streets

We got our hair did, after which Heba was nice enough to agree to a partial walk home. During our walk, we received a few polite, albeit very curious looks but no one said anything. Pray this continues because I’m planning on walking my ass everywhere now on.

But not if I can take a tuk-tuk. Again, Heba humoured me when I requested we pop into a tuk-tuk part way home, 100% ignoring my father’s instructions that I: Absolutely not take a tuk-tuk. Our tuk-tuk driver had a mannequin’s hand suspended from his front window for good luck. Because no rabbits could be found.

Sandwiched between the walk and the tuk-tuk was a local (partially subsidised) 3eesh (bread) bakery. Heba, ever the consummate hostess, didn’t hesitate when this foreigner wanted to stand in the line to buy the bread. When I took a photo, bakery-owner curiosity anchored, and when Heba asked him if I could go to the back to see the process, he was more than gracious. This particular bakery produces over 20,000 pitas a day, and as soon as we popped out, I stuffed my face with a full pita and was happier than a little piglet in mud.

Dinner was on the Nile. A small family gathering of 20+ that resulted in a dance party. After this, we popped out to Khaan Al-Khaleeli, where I purchased a beautiful hand-carved oud wood rosary. From there, we met back up with Heba & Kareem’s five cousins and had a late supper in the hipper area of town.

I remain heart-filled from this day and all of its ‘Welcome to the family’-s.

Today, I am grateful for:
1. The sound of the call to prayer.
2. Feeling safe.
3. Clean, fresh water.

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