“Welcome to Hurghada,” Mondi, my host, greeted me.
“Hello my friend, want to see the temples?” said a smiling bald-headed man.
True Egyptian-styled hospitality.
“No problem,” Mohammed said when I asked if he could help me explain to the folks at the train station about a possible barter.
“Not possible,” the soldier said.
“Inshallah we help you,” Assad kept repeating in the morning when I arrived early to what was now a bus-filled, people-crowded terminal.
“La wen?” asked the just-arrived officer in plainclothes.
“Allah Wakbar,” the muezzin woke me up at sunrise.
When I saw him smile at me from the road I knew he’d stop.
“No problem,” said the station manager. “You will ride, free of charge.”
What’s the point of having wings if you can’t fly?
As we rode, I managed to explain about my penniless ways which they scratched their heads around but seemed to accept.
“Come on, let me help you,” Abdu offered from the bajaj.
“Rumble,” my stomach rumbled me awake.
Harnessing the positive masculine.