Lowlands Some-Sort-of Homelands

Touch down in the land of Delfts Blue in the middle of an Indian Summer as I felt it was time to touch base again with the country of my birth and creatures called family and friends. After having left the country for almost a decade I feel like a tourist at home or at home as a tourist. I speak the language, I know my way around- sort of- but when it comes to culture, which is ever evolving, Lowlands culture has been slipping through my fingers for several years and the grasp is ever loosening. I immediately felt lost in cultural translation when I sat down in café I used to frequent fairly regularly back in the days to meet Moona in a few hours time. I ordered a caffe latte, which in Dutch we call ‘coffee wrong’. When my coffee was served in the tiniest of coffee glasses and I witnessed a group at another table drinking something that looked pretty similar to a ‘coffee wrong’ in a more decent sized glass I asked the waiter if he ran out of large glasses. He informed me that I had been served a standard ‘coffee wrong’ glass and that ‘the others’ were drinking a ‘latte macchiato’. “A what?!” I asked. I know what a latte is, I know what a macchiato is and a latte macchiato does not make sense to me. The waiter explained to me in a slightly amusing-how-come-you-don’t-know-this-woman manner that a latte macchiato contains more coffee and more milk. While thanking him for the information I realised it’s just a larger-sized ‘coffee wrong’ with a fancy name. In the following days I learnt that this latte macchiato businesses has been the latest coffee fad. We have an old concept, we give it a fancy new name that makes no sense but sounds nice and everyone is buying into it.

Besides rather small drinks sizes in cafés and bars drinking and eating out has become rather expensive especially with a rising euro rate compared to good ol’ sterling. And I get what the Americans, among others, were always whining about: Service is often inefficient and pretty average at best. No wonder my sister never leaves a tip.

But while reconnecting with Lowlands café culture, the weather gods were with us and I enjoyed fabulous quality herbs in Moona’s fabulous crib overlooking the canal. Then there was pleasant family time in my home town of Noviomagum, catching up with girlfriends and o yeah, some deadlines to meet.

I had planned to make that week a working holiday. Catch up with my reading and research and progressing with the execution of my master plans. Although I did some work the to-do list has not been ticked off, which is okay. I’ve only been able to meet up with a few people, but touching base is about quality rather than quantity. I believe my heart to be in London Town and I don’t like Lowlands Country as it is now. There have been some events in the past 10 years that have hardened and polarised society considerably and it is most definitely no longer the model country I used to brag about in the early days of the last decade. Despite being a proud Dutchie in London Town I don’t feel part of Dutchness when I am in Lowlands Country. It is a rather odd sensation. Country of birth, mother tongue, family and old friends. There is only a tiny bit of sea between that and my adopted city and history seems to be repeating itself in reverse. It no longer seems British or London culture I (still) need to get used to, it’s that culture I left behind that seems foreign. I was always considered a foreigner in Lowlands Country. It seems that I have finally become one.

image: amsterdam-culture.com

On And On

It seems autumn has arrived. The romantic idea of autumn conjures ideas of colourful trees, falling leaves, strolls in woods, fields and parks, warming autumn sunshine and the lead up to winter and what Americans call the ‘holiday season’.

I have to say I seldom experienced an autumn like this in the UK or Lowlands country. After a freak winter in Europe, which I happily did not experience and proper summer weather in July, elhamduliah, it’s back to that type of weather we are so familiar with in this corner of Europe and we secretly love to whine about; Wet, grey and windy. I have to admit I had kind of forgotten about this sort of weather. There is a lot of b*llocks to be said about Masr, but it’s ‘blessed’ with funky weather. Not every sunny day has to be enjoyed to the max ’cause it’s very likely that tomorrow will be sunny as well. In the 10 months I spend there I don’t think I have ever woken up in the dark even when I felt disciplined enough to do early morning yoga or studying. The skin problems I developed in my beloved London did not occur in Egypt which, I think, is due to a combination of sun, sea and the right degree of humidity. The vast majority of people in Egypt is fasting at the moment since it’s Ramadan. (Re)defining -or (re)finding- ones religious and/or spiritual self by eating nor drinking during daylight hours cannot be easy when the days are long and the temperature (in Alex) is around 35 degrees. But the point is the days are long(er) and sunnier and the temperature is around 35 degrees!

‘On an on it seems to go, but you don’t know what you got ’till it’s gone’. Last winter I was well aware of and grateful for the fact that Egypt -Alex that is- experienced an extremely mild (ca 20 degrees) winter with plenty of sunshine while the whole continent of Europe was freezing their arses off. Good weather, great, but I missed my freedom. Now those freedoms, which were lacking, are present and have become completely normal again and autumn has made its entrance I miss the sunshine and heat. Maybe it’s  high time I find myself a very good compromise. And while I have been whining the last 300 words the weather gods have granted us some sunshine. Elhamdulilah.

Orange Fever; Only in My World

 

 

No Orange Fever in Alex

For weeks – if not months- there has been a lot of excitement about the World Cup in South Africa. On foreign television (news) channels and among foreigners that is. Although it is a big deal that the World Cup is held on African soil, Egypt is not competing and seems therefore not too fussed about the tournament and Masr does not consider itself to be African anyway. Only when they win the Africa Cup, which they did early this year, then the national team is the pride of the nation and the continent. Another thing is that you can’t watch the matches in the comfort of your own home if you’re not subscribed to certain channels. The broadcasting rights are expensive and the government is not willing to pay if no one is interested. Even in our mansion, which we vacated Monday night and Tuesday morning respectively, with 400 + channels the matches were not available, which kind of pissed me off. I watched England versus the US in a bar/ restaurant with the boys while enjoying some Egyptian rose – I am very grateful it’s available, but pretty sure I’m not gonna miss that once I’m back in Europe- and both the match as well as the atmosphere in the bar were a very tame affair. The first performance of the the Boys of Orange was due on Monday afternoon against Denmark and I was horribly excited. Jameela knew an ‘ahwa in an area called khamsa wa arbaeen, which just means 45, where we could watch the match. Jameela’s ‘adopted brother’ Osman, who grew up in Denmark and also studies at Marleybone uni and Tobias, a knowledgeable and entertaining journalist who used to be in our class at the centre, joined us. Tobias being Austrian supported Holland for the reason that the enemy (Holland) of your enemy (Germany) is your (his) friend. The ‘ahwa is called Arabian Nights and is right on the Corniche. It is big, kitsch looking and supposed to look like a cave. I guess it has to remind you of Alibaba and the 40 thieves. It would have been cute if it were the set for a school musical. The sheesha is very average and they are sneaky enough to change the head when you’re not watching,  which contains the tobacco and will be charged as a second sheesha. It was not busy and our company seemed the only one remotely interested in the match. But there was a big fat tellie and we were in good company, so I wasn’t complaining.

 

As we know now the match had some exciting moments, attacking game from our Boys and a very strong defence from the Danes. We obviously want our team to win, but the own goal was rather naff. I felt for Poulsen, poor bugger. As I never really followed the Dutch league and very much missed out on European football the last year I completely missed out on Elia. But I quickly discovered that he is eager and well dangerous and I expect him to cause much more excitement in the course of the tournament. After 90 minutes I felt entertained and well pleased with the Boys’s victory. Straight after the match, people and god himself (Johan Cruijff) started whining, that despite the 2-0 win the Boys could have done a lot better. Maybe so. But it was the very first match and we won. Let’s kick some ass on Saturday and hopefully my favourite Orange Boy Boulahrouz will be allowed to get into action. And although I seem the only Dutchie in the whole of Alex it’s my party and I cheer if I want to.

image: missmix.wordpress.com

Can the Real Egypt Please Stand Up?

Since my homey the Helms is very much in the known we get around a lot more then we used to. (F*cking typical that you tend to meet these people towards the end of your stay and not in the first few months but malesh, never mind). A few days ago the Helms took us, Anna, sister Dutchie Saskia and me to Cairo for a Big Fat Party. We were staying in a charming villa in Mansooreeya just outside Cairo, which belonged to his cousin and we went to one of the fanciest bars in town – reservations only- right on the Nile, where the prices for drinks can rival with those of a fancy West End establishment. We had some good food, a few drinks a good laugh and a proper boogie. When we were ‘kicked out’ of the club we had a nightly felucca trip on the Nile and when we returned to the Cousin’s mansion we enjoyed an early morning smoke with great views over the garden and surrounding grounds . After a few hours sleep it was time for ‘breakfast’. As there was no food whatsoever in the house we went to a cafeteria with Lebanese food in a newly constructed upmarket suburb of Cairo. As the weather was pretty hot we chilled at a pool in one of those gated communities, where you’re allowed to forget you’re in Egypt. One of the residents of this community, who is a friend of the Helms, arranged some tickets for a freestyle motocross event at the pyramids sponsored by a popular energy drink. Top entertainment in magnificent settings; we had an absolute ball.

Now, there is a lot of ‘western-style fun’ to be had in this country. That is, if you’re willing to forget you’re in Egypt. All those ‘posh’ friends of ours kind of complain that we have a ‘wrong image’ of Egypt. They claim that there are plenty of people who ‘get the western lifestyle’; women and men can be just friends, showing a bit of flesh or drinking alcohol does not make you loose and it is indeed very uncool to verbally harass a woman. We are aware that that side of Egypt exists. An Egypt with way too much money and tight connections for whom the country is their playground. The point is that that is not the ‘real Egypt’, where half the women can’t read or write, an average monthly salary is 500 Egyptian Pound (ca £60), people never leave the country and drinking alcohol is deemed very uncool. Now, I very much like ‘Playground Egypt’. You can live like a queen for a fraction of what it would cost at home and, as we do know now, if you have the right connections and live in a ‘good’ neighbourhood you don’t have to deal with the Egypt that we all find such hard work. The question is, is that a just thing to do? Although our friends, who are all from good (read wealthy and connected) families are incredible good and kind people -they wouldn’t be our friends otherwise- they also very much contribute to maintaining the status quo of inequality and corruption. And by joining them in their playground we are silently approving. But, just like our friends say, what can we do? And then it all comes back again to (self-) responsibility. If it is always up to someone else to solve it, nothing will be done and the country will keep on deteriorating and although we would like to believe otherwise, we foreigners are not complete outsiders to this.

What Dark Fairy Thought Next

Health consciousness, self-help info, self-development and long term planning don’t seem to be part of Egyptian culture. Egypt after all is a Third World country and people in general are too busy fulfilling their basic needs. But even if you do have money you eat what you can, any form of exercise is associated with poverty and therefore uncool and who needs self-help, inner peace or goal setting. You live your life, god willing and then you die. People here turn old quickly. The phenomena ‘yummy mummy’ is virtually non-existent and although people do care about their appearance the dream of eternal youth does not seem to be chased as frantically as it is in the West, which is quite ironic in a way since kids up until their mid 20′s or so seem far less grown up than their western counter parts. Mummy and daddy take care of you, then your husband or wife will, then you die and it’s all up to god. In the West it is not unusual for people in their 60′s and 70′s to be very active. Many feel full of life , travel the world and keep their brains involved with all sorts of mental stimulus. Being that same age in the Third World means you’ve got one foot in the grave. Is it a blessing that so many of our needs are fulfilled that we can choose to eat wheat-free, get inspired by any self-help guru and contemplate if bikram yoga is really our thing? Yes, yes, yes, ’cause choice is good. Choice also means responsibility. Here in Egypt, there doesn’t seem to be an awful lot of choice. The political structure,  society, nor Egyptian culture give you any. Therefore no one feels responsible. So you can whine, complain, hope and pray and something mind change, god willing ,but it’s up to someone else. And when it’s always somebody else not an awful lot does change.

And while I analyse and whine about Egyptian culture I wonder how I will cope once I get back to London, ’cause although there I can wear what I want, do whatever I want day or night and it’s not considered to be pc for men to treat you like prey, it’s back to grey, rainy weather most times of the year, no two-weekly lunches at 5-star hotels, no taxis to uni , no weekly massages and definitely no mansion with almost-sea view. I’ve had a taste of it and there is no way back. Expat life doesn’t broaden you horizon, makes you experience and appreciate other cultures or makes you homesick, it just makes you greedy.

West Side Story

 Five months down the line and it feels like I have been here for an eternity. Three to four months up the line and I’m back in the Big Smoke or Lowlands country or both. I mean, when I leave Alex I will be homeless and I was thinking to go to the country of my birth to reconnect with family and friends. I’ve noticed a few things about myself during my adventure: One: I’ve become a snob. Two: I am really not as open-minded to other cultures as I thought. As I mentioned in a previous post Egyptian society is very classist. Now, I was born and raised in a country where the national motto is ‘just act normal, that’s outrageous enough’. So even if you’ve got heaps of money there is really no need to flaunt it and you just take public transport just like anyone else. Anna being from Scandi land is very familiar with this mentality so in the beginning we took the tram to uni, which is known to be very slow but dead cheap and being from Lowlands country and Scandi land we sure can be stingy. After dealing with too many smelly Egyptians – it’s the polyester clothing, I’m telling you- the stares of f*ckwits who’ve never seem to have seen a dark and a blond fairy on the tram and other signs of backwardness we’ve been taking taxi’s to uni. Even micro buses, which are not too bad, cheap and quick, are a no no. I haven’t been out for a drink for a while but I’m only going to places where they’re used to foreigners and these tend to be more upmarket places.

This morning on my taxi ride to uni along the Corniche, the eight-lane boulevard that divides the city from the Med, I wondered why they don’t give this ‘Pearl of the Mediterranean’ a proper polish. Why does everything look like no one gives a damn about this ancient city with all its legends and myths? Why do Alexandrians behave like peasants with no culture while their city used to be the most cultured of all? Why do people have such incredible conservative ideas about marriage, gender, sex and a whole load of other b*llocks?  Has no one told them we’re entered the 21^st century quite some time ago?! I left Lowlands country ’cause I had big dreams to be made come true in London. I loved London but everything was still better where I came from. I kind of got over that, luckily. Enough people in both the East and West dislike or are horrified with western society. I can understand why. I mean, mass obesity, neglecting the elderly and the over-sexualisation of society are not particular funky aspects of our culture. Obviously it’s not perfect like nothing is, but at least there is choice and there is organisation.

But then, this is not my country and I’m just a guest. I am by no means treated badly and while I like to wander around the house and discover all its treasures, I guess it’s just really not my kind of party.

It’s their party (and they whine if they want to)

Visiting a country as a tourist -or a traveller if you’ve got too much edge to call yourself a tourist- is most definitely a very different experience than residing in one. Aspects like cuisine, music, way of interacting and all that jazz concerning culture, which seem cute and exotic when you’re visiting can be quite annoying when you’re in the place on a more permanent basis. I always wondered why expats often tend to stick to their own little community and are trying as much as possible to make a duplicate of home away from home. They don’t learn the language, send their kids to ‘expat schools’ and many interact with the natives as little as possible. What then is the point of living abroad? In the city’s neighbourhood of Kafr Abdu, which is an affluent part of Alex with a fair amount of leafy trees, consulates and foreigners, is a club frequented by expats. We used to go fairly often in the first few weeks. The location is pleasant; it has a nice courtyard and the actual building is a colonial style construction with several spacious rooms. The vibe however can be quite depressing because what many expats are very good at is whining. Whining about the country and its people and that they don’t sell they’re favourite beer at Carrefour. It seems contagious this vibe. Being rather appalled by the negative attitude of these expat-losers at first it looks like that we have been here long enough to suffer from it too. And I’m not liking it. Since last week I feel I’ve been emerged in this vibe of whining people who can’t stop talking about that their fed up with being stared at, harassed or just made uncomfortable. I understand why one may be fed up with all these nuisances, I really do. I don’t understand why people don’t get a grip and just get over it. That really annoys me, probably even more than the nuisances themselves. I find the whining so self-centred; they’re the only ones who are experiencing these nuisances and if not their suffering is the greatest of all. They’re annoyed by a native’s action -or inaction- but don’t have the balls to say something about it to that particular person. I’d like to say that every woman in this country is suffering from harassment. Not only them. I’d like to say that as a dark fairy when you’re not in a big city-and sometimes even if you are- you get stared at all the time almost everywhere in the world. I would like to say that they should make an effort to learn Masree so they can say something back instead of muttering under their breath and let me pick up the bad vibe. I would like to say that the sun is shinning, that life is a lot cheaper than at home, that we lead a good life and are surrounded by good people while some people in the same country don’t have access to clean drinking water and others elsewhere die of hunger.

But why would I, it’s a free world. If people want to whine they’re very free to do so. I just shouldn’t make to it my problem. If they want to give themselves a hard time that’s their prerogative. It doesn’t have to effect me, especially if I don’t want it to. I’m here to take the very best out of the experience and let other people’s vibe not effect me. I guess whining can be nice. It’s a way of letting off steam ’cause one can’t always be positive and upbeat about the expat experience. But it is what we make of it and my choice is to make it good. And let nobody give me no bad vibes.

Nights over Egypt

Blessings. 2010 is our year

On the last day of the year I fled the relative boredom of Alex and went to Cairo to spend New Year’s Eve with my friend Moina and her friends. Now, I like Cairo. I am very fond of Cairo. This mad, dusty, dirty, exciting, way- too- big-a-town was my first meeting with Egypt and it was love at first sight. There is proper night life, proper culture, tourist attractions, proper shopping from upmarket malls  and the shops in Zamalek and Heliopolis to the souk (market) of Khan el-Khalili with its junk and its gems in islamic Cairo and then there are people from all over the world; Europe, the States, the East, Sub-Saharan Africa, the South Pole… Like with most capital cities Cairo is not Egypt, it’s a world of its own. I expected Alex to be like Cairo, only smaller and at the sea and therefore a bit funkier. But I’ve been rather disappointed. Alex is the second city of the country. Officially the city counts around 4 million inhabitants but Alexandrians speak of twice as much. Despite half of Cairo and the Gulf fleeing to Alex in summer and despite its size I find Alex very provincial.  Alex might be the summer breath of fresh air to many Cairenes Cairo is the  exciting breath of social and cultural fresh air to me. When Moina and I entered the streets to do some shopping no one bat an eye lid or shouted a word. We were just two chicks minding our business and preparing  for an eve of celebrations  No one was overly keen to try their English on us or was horribly surprised that we spoke  Arabic. We went to a New Year’s Eve Party at the Swiss Club, which is a social club of which there are many in Egypt. I hadn’t seen such an international and multiracial crowd since I left London. Foreigners and Egyptians alike, black, white, Arab, muslim,christian, spiritualist, atheist. It was one nation under a Cairenian groove. In Cairo you stumble on Egyptians who are interesting, educated, well travelled and not that impressed by you being foreign in comparison to Alex where they seem to be a rare species and once you find them you treasure them like they’ve been the best thing since sliced bread.

I told Moina that I didn’t want to go back to Alex. That I wanted to stay and live an expat life as I imagined it to be. Exciting, interesting. Socializing with Egyptians on a inter-personal level rather than a foreigner/expat one. A life in which you don’t have to keep up appearance because they know you do things slightly different and that’s okay. But I did board a train travelling to el-Iskandereeya and I am back at our mansion and I guess that’s all good. After all I have met some really nice people in this ‘Pearl of the Province’ and the distances are  not that big and the air far less polluted. I would only be distracted or horrible frustrated if I would be studying in Cairo. Distracted by all the cultural and social events and there would be no time left for studying or frustrated because there are so many things to do and I wouldn’t have time for them because I had to study. Now, if I choose to indulge in some escapism, want to be inspired or just want to have fun big-city style I can catch a train and within 3 hours I am in the city of cities.

Alex is loved by many and I do understand why. It could be that funky smaller version of Cairo at the sea. A true Pearl of the Mediterranean. I would say give it some time but perhaps those who love Alex have different ideas about what makes a pearl a pearl. It’s a free world. Each their own…

Yule is what you make of it

People who know me wouldn’t say that I am a miserable miser who’s got no friends. They would know that I’m not a big fan of Christmas, though. I absolutely loved it as kid. When I was little it wasn’t that popular in Lowlands Country to celebrate Christmas the way people celebrate it know. The feast of St Nicholas on the eve of 5 December was considered far more important. I think quite a lot has changed since then. Christmas became a bigger and (obviously) far more commercial event, I grew older and experienced more family stress then joy during Christmas  and on a spiritual level it seems the meaning of Christmas is completely lost to most people .

It would have been nice to see family and friends and to be able to communicate with people in  a culture and language we all  understand but for several reasons I decided to stay in Alex and I have to tell you; I like it. Firstly there is the weather. Europe is being plagued by fierce winter weather that brings whole societies to a stand still. It might be windy here in Alex but when the sun is shining one could consider it t-shirt-and-flip-flops weather. Secondly, Christmas doesn’t seem to exist. Egypt has a Christian minority, which does not celebrate Christmas on 24/25 December. With the exception of hotels and bars frequented by expats there are no signs of Christmas. No trees, no decoration, no tv-ads, no mayhem in the shops, no spend-money-you- don’t-have-on-stuff-other people-(don’t) say they-want-why?- because -it’s-Christmas,-innit?, no go-stuff-your-face- like- there- is- no-tomorrow-and-getting-stressed about-preparing- the-supper of-suppers, no be- prepared-for-the-day- that-the-whole-world-comes-to- a stand-still (in London all shops are closed by law and there is no public transport(!)).

On Christmas Eve I will enjoy dinner with some newly made friends which I am very looking forward to. Then I can go about my business. Meet some friends, smoke sheesha, study, watch some films, enjoy the winter sunshine and, maybe most importantly, redefine Christmas. What does it mean to me? A time of contemplation of reflection. A time of looking back and looking ahead. Christmas is the pagan’s Mid Winter Feast, Yule, Feast of Light,  Feast of Hope, Feast of Abundance. Christmas is the the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the bringer of peace and justice, salvation and the Kingdom of God. I wish to celebrate this as I please without the social pressures attached to it. I wish this Christmas to be a time of light, of hope, of being grateful, of peace with yourself and others, of warmth, of love, of inspiration of renewed energy, of focus and pleasure. The only way is up, baby. For you and me, now.

Warm Yule Wishes,

How to solve a problem like Landlord

Our landlord is a kind man and looks after us as his tenants very well. Any problem we have he fixes almost immediately and he is definitely not money hungry as he always asks us if we are okay for money, offers us to pay the rent later of even offers us to lend us money. He is very open minded for Egyptian standards. He understands that two unmarried women can live on their own without their fathers and have male friends. Although since our arrival  Anna is ‘married’. She is engaged and her fiance is in the army so it makes it easy for her to say that she’s married and that her ‘husband’ is not able to join her in Egypt because of his work. I, on the other hand, have made clear that I am not married- I think  two married women living on their own without their husbands is more diffucult to make believable for the conservative lot in our building. People tend to look older than they are in this country but we guess our landlord is in his early 50′s. He is educated and doesn’t seem too poor, yet he is not married which seems a rarity in this country. In our first two months in Egypt we saw him at least once a week or so, but now we only tend to see him when the rent is due. Since we’re western women from the big city on a busy schedule we just want to go in(to his flat, which is next to ours but he spends most of his time in another flat in Camp Caesar not too far way from our neighbourhood), have a bit of chit chat, pay the rent and get out. Landlord seems to enjoy our company and expects us to hang around all evening. We always tend to see him together but I had two encounters with him when I was alone and on those occasions it seemed like hunting season had just opened. During the last encounter a few days ago I had to ask him something and he invited me into his flat. We sorted the matter out and had a little chit chat. I was just coming from uni and was carrying some assignments which he offered to help me with. I indeed needed some help so I politely accepted. When finished he started telling me that his family (which we met on a few occasions) really liked me, that he thought I was beautiful and if I considered staying in Egypt. He then kissed my hand. Thinking for a few seconds how to get out of this rather embarrassing situation I stood up and told him I had some more homework to do which he couldn’t help me with. He then stood up as well and held me by my upper arms as if he wanted to hug or kiss me. I resisted firmly by leaning backwards, thanked him very much for his help and ran for cover. Dealing with Landlord has now officially become a minefield. We do need his help occasionally and I am grateful for what he’s doing for us but I don’t want to be too friendly because that is giving him ideas, apparently. I am saddened by this whole matter; this is yet another aspect that is keeping me from living the life I am accustomed to in which I interact with middle aged men- or men of any age- on a professional or personal level rather than being forced to (non-)interact on a sexual one.

There are also things I don’t really understand. He doesn’t know me, but what makes him think I would swap my independent life in the funkiest city on the planet where I want to finish my studies and gain (self)-employment for a life with a middle aged man in a city where I feel I can’t really be myself because of all the social conventions, in a Third World country with an infrastructure to match. Anna and I have complained to him, when he asked us about our experience in Egypt, about annoying Egyptian men and how less free we feel here than we do at home. Maybe he thinks he is a good match, which I’m sure he might be for some Egyptian women. Maybe he thinks considering my age I must be desperate to get married since Egyptian women in general tend to marry young. Maybe he just wants a visa. Even if I wanted an Egyptian sugar daddy as an independent fairy with feminist tendencies I probably would make his life a living hell. He might be open-minded he’s still Egyptian and middle aged. Although he admires the Continent- in opposition to America which he does not seem to have a lot of respect for, he’s never been to Europe or the States so he can only guess what life would be like where we’re from.

 How to be polite and not too nice. If I will successfully dodge this minefield Landlord is gonna miss out on a great deal of my warmth and kindness. This fairy ain’t nice and smiley to you no more.