“Coffee or tea, my friend?”—out of all the questions that occur before you set foot in the ancient cradle of civilization that is Egypt, this is the one you better know your answer to. When faced with any other pertinent dilemma like “What silly pose should I do at the Sphinx? Pretend like I’m pinching its nose?” or “How will I make my mark on the pyramids? By peeing on them?” (possibly a bad idea, even to joke…), the one that you will find yourself answering the most is, “Which heated, caffeinated, dehydrating drink would you prefer in this land of desert and general anti-moisture?” Yet to refuse would be uncouth.
The inside of your mouth
After making your decision, prepare to be assaulted with the most simplistic and shameless wheeling-dealing which chafes slightly less than the rash you just developed in your moist zones from all the walking and the sweat. As soon as the shop owner/your host comes back with the drink, the bootleg “ancient” papyrus hanging precariously in the dingy store becomes the topic of conversation, its so-called antiquity undermined by its garish color scheme seemingly picked out by a kindergartner during finger-painting time.
So you sip the tea…or the coffee. “My friend” becomes your new name as you’re plied with old-fashioned Eastern niceties: “Blessings and welcomes to you, my friend!” In a way, it is mildly charming, and my heart has been known to swell at these effusive outpourings.
All the buildings are sand-colored
The Classical Arabic phrase for “welcome” is a truncated and rhyming version of a longer saying, and loosely translated, it’s: “Come as one of my people and comfortably”. Welcomed as such, it is rather beautiful, especially when one ponders the extra meaning that “my people” takes on in a culture which once put a serious and bloody emphasis on what tribe you belonged to. You have just been invited to untie the turban end covering your face to block out the billowing sand, enter the Bedouin tent, and repose cross-legged on the woven rug in the company of the wise, old sheikh, discussing caravan trade in hushed tones, while you sip sickly-sweet coffee out of a cup the size of a thimble.
Suddenly the winds pick up, and, oh man, get ready for the dusty shitstorm brewing on the desert horizon. Maybe you say it, maybe your face betrays that you are planning your escape, but the first hint of refusal, and the pleading begins. “Ah, but my friend, think of my family, my friend!”
A casualty of a typical Egyptian dusty shitstorm
This is where it would suit you to have your rebuttals planned in advance. Take your pick: I’m a student, I forgot my wallet, I spent it all at the last papyrus place, I donated everything to the mosque for the welfare of the orphans of Cairo! Not gonna work.
I guess this was the family he was talking about
And if you thought things couldn’t get worse, prepare for the most aggravating example of circular logic you might hear in your life: “But, my friend, you drank coffee and tea with me!” It takes about 5 seconds to rip yourself out of the weepy emotion he inspired with this manipulative faux-camaraderie, this ploy to make it seem like you just flaked on an afternoon lunch with grandpa, to realize, “You offered it, asshole!”
Advice? Stand firm. Keep making excuses, and slowly inch towards the door. One helpful thing is nauseous overuse of the word “respect”. For some reason, this word to Middle Eastern peoples holds some hardcore cultural gravitas, and like the analogous bald eagle in the redneck T-shirt section of K-Mart, you can never have enough. “I don’t mean to disrespect you, but if you respect me, and I do respect you, then you can respect that I need to go. Respect!” I didn’t really mean to say the last one, but maybe if you throw it in Ali-G style, it might confuse the guy long enough for you to make a break for it.
There is one more possibility, but it’s only for those with brass ovaries.
Let me preface this by saying I would never do this, and I disclaim all responsibility if, after using it, you find yourself facing a fast-flying ninja star of a shoe hurtling towards your face which you will need to slip with expertise like George W. Bush (the only impressive thing he ever did during his presidency).
Be careful…remember what happened to this guy. Hosni who?
I only have anecdotal evidence of an American living in Cairo using it to great avail, but here goes. The Arabic word “Halas!” is multi-functional and means something like “It’s finished!”, “Quit it!”, and “Shut up!” all rolled into one. Accent the second syllable, and make sure you pronounce that first “h” with the hocking sound that begins the word “Chanukah”, when it’s spelled that way. Linguistically, try to channel Adam Sandler; and yes, that is the first and last time I will ever say those words in my life.
Done with enough gusto and confidence, you instantly assume the air of a cultural insider, and you show that you may not know how to start an Egyptian bargain, but you definitely know how to finish one. You will be a God among mortals.
Using “Halas!” or not, if you hold your ground, you will eventually start to succeed. Your golden moment arrives at a pause in the conversation, when your opponent scratches his weathered chin, sprinkled with grey stubble, and then looks up at you and says, “OK, my friend….but are you happy?” Strange question, for sure, but you can only answer “yes”. The response without fail will be: “OK, my friend. Welcome to Egypt!” said with a beaming smile. And just like that, you are turned loose on the street again, ready to run the gauntlet of more aging shopkeepers ready to inquire of your dichotomous beverage preference. As always, be aware of the nearest bathroom…caffeine is an effective diuretic.
Once again: this is not a restroom!
Lesson learned: Stand your ground with hustlers. You know damn well you don’t even have enough space in your bag to buy everything.
-Mark (Canada), 21, walking the streets of Cairo, Egypt