People ask me a lot why I came to Egypt. I’ve never really given a coherent answer – I used to study Arabic, I’ll say, or I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt;, or I wanted to do human rights work – and every time I answer I feel like I’m faking. Which makes sense, because none of those were really why I came.
Last year was awful for me. I was miserable for most of the year, especially the first half, and even when things began to improve in the spring my life in the States seemed, generally, to possess a patina of sadness. And, so, I decided to leave, hoping that being far away from my life would give me perspective and new, better things to think about. Where I went mattered much less, and I ended up choosing Egypt because it was far away where I knew no one, but it was somewhere that I could, at least rudimentarily, communicate.
I can’t articulate what being here meant to me because I don’t know myself, but it’s obvious to me, now, that it affected me profoundly. So much in this city and country is broken, and life here is full of constant, daily frustrations. I can’t say that I’d recommend to most people that they visit Cairo. And, yet, I’m happier here than I have been in a year. I haven’t been here long, really, but it feels as though it’s my home already. But I’m leaving tonight.
I miss a lot of people and things back in the States, but there is no part of me that wants to leave here. And even though I’m excited to get back to New York, and knowing things will be great here, I have never in my life been so sad about leaving a place.
For a few more hours, Cairo is home. If I could stay, I would.
