Ten Insights From My First Year in Cairo

All first-person accounts reflect the views and experiences of the author, not the publication.

Ten months ago, CairoScene published a piece I’d written about my first two months in Cairo. I was new to the city, and it absolutely showed. Little things made me question if Cairo was the right place for me—the AC backwash raining down on my head as I walked along the sidewalk, the comments section of my videos where people debated if I’m really Arab, and the Egyptian dialect that nearly erased two years of dedication to the Levantine.

Much of what I wrote 10 months ago still stands, but I must make some serious updates.

Here are 10 more insights written from the vantage point of one entire year into Cairo.

1) The Egyptian dialect will always win.

I have fully switched my ج from ‘ja’ to ‘ga’, despite my best efforts to stay true to my shami roots. I used to consciously replace ‘ana baddi’ with ‘ana 3ayza’, but now the latter often feels more natural than the former. I blame having such amazing Egyptian friends who I couldn’t help but learn from.

2) Never quit riding Uber scooters.

The more risky Uber option, to hop on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle, is still my primary mode of transportation. Why would I take a taxi when I can be in the middle of a movie scene? A horse-drawn carriage galloping to my right, and a microbus swerving to cut us off ahead, all played to the soundtrack of Shabjdeed under noise cancelling headphones.

3) Stop trying to ‘go home and change’ between things.

This is never going to happen. Stop trying to make it happen. Working and having a full social life in Cairo means that you are leaving the house in the morning and not coming back until midnight, at the earliest. And you cannot leave home with a tiny, cute little purse. No. Your big Cairo bag must zip all the way shut and contain the following: deodorant, perfume, cash, a phone charger, and, if you’re extra, a change of clothes.

4) Your bawab is one of the most important people in your life.

The best advice I can give to anyone moving to Cairo is to prioritise your relationship with your bawab, the man who sits in front of your building door and makes it his life’s mission to protect you. An ‘3amel eh?’ or ‘sabah el kheir’ (with a smile) goes a very long way in letting you come and go as you please, with whomever you’d like—almost as far as a generous tip at the beginning of the month.

5) Your stomach may never quite adjust to ta'ameya.

Mine definitely hasn’t, but I take back what I said about ta’ameya. It still isn’t the falafel my Lebanese stomach is used to, but the fava beans in place of chickpeas have grown on me. I still haven’t gone a full week without some sort of stomach issue, but this is also my fault—I like to combine two separate ful and ta’ameya sandwiches into one mouthwatering combo, extra spicy and topped with fries.

6) If someone says ‘please don’t pay’, they don’t mean it.

You arrive at your house after both you and your taxi driver have covered your life stories. He won’t let you pay. ‘No please,’ you insist. Don’t get out of the car and leave after that. It won’t end well.

7) The traffic is still no joke, but you get used to it, and find ways to pass the time.

I use the hour-long drive from Zamalek to Maadi on a Thursday evening to answer my 50 to 100 unread WhatsApp messages, a consequence of using my one personal phone number for all communication purposes. I call my mother. Sometimes I even write an article. If you save an activity for these excruciatingly long, bumper-to-bumper journeys, you arrive feeling productive, not annoyed.

8) Cairo transcends time.

In Cairo, a day is a week, a week is a month, and a month is a year.

You will experience your full range of emotions on a near daily basis, but you will also move through them, the good ones and the bad ones, much quicker than you would anywhere else—out of sheer necessity. Cairo doesn’t pause when you’re going through it. But that also means you get to the other side faster.

9) Cairo might break your heart, but it will also send friends to carry the pieces.

It will break your heart once. Then it will happen again. And you will never be able to escape your ex because this city might have 20 million plus inhabitants, but somehow, everybody knows each other.

The silver lining is that your friends (like the ones I found this year, the other loves of my life) make heartbreak manageable. They pick you back up and piece you together.

10) Home isn’t your apartment, it is your people.

The people make the place. In one year, I have created a community crafted of every fabric known to man, and I found a version of myself that could have only surfaced with their nurture. Living in Cairo means accepting that the city will always be an active participant in your life, and if you let her, she’ll find you your people.