Egypt

By Adam J. Weise © 2011

There are few situations more guilt inducing for a healthy young man of a middle class upbringing than being asked by a sickly old man to move your poolside lawn chair so that he can continue his job of laying bricks. It made it all the worse that he kept referring to me as "Mr. Adam" and "sir" as if at any moment I might throw a tantrum because he interrupted my sunbathing.

Moving on from my lawn chair, I now sit at a table with a sole fly alternating positions between my left knee and right shoulder. Two of his friends must have witnessed what an enjoyable time he's having walking up and down my bicep and have come to join in the fun. The flies here are at the top of their game. They are bred to be fearless and adventurous; they'll sit on your face taunting you. Attempts at swatting them have only ended with me slapping myself in the face. Even in Tanzania whenever I try to show off by catching a fly in my bare hands like my dad taught me I end up just grasping at air and getting laughed at by the boys. Now I know that flies are just a part of African life and the quicker one accepts it the better as they are everywhere. There are days when in order to ward off the flies in Dar es Salaam I'll eat with my right hand while waving my left hand over the food for the entire meal. The mere concept of a person chasing a sole fly around the house with a fly swatter is laughable to Africans. I remember seeing those commercials about starving African children with a fly sitting on their eyeball and thinking how can they be so malnourished that they don't even blink to get the fly to move? I still can't understand that but I am willing to cede my body to a fly if it will just sit nicely, behave itself and stay away from my face. I do think there is some sort of reverse racism with bugs as last week I woke up with nine mosquito bites on my left forearm, which went nicely with the other five already on my body. Innocent, my roommate, sleeps with no shirt and no mosquito netting but claimed to have not a single bite on him at the time. I thought it might have been due to the fact that I wear the same clothes everyday but I've only been doing that for a week while Billy, who says there is no truth to my racist bugs theory, has been alternating between the only two shirts he owns for the better part of the three years he's been in Africa.

Due to this fact Billy will never over pack like I did this trip, it wasn't over packing in that I packed five pairs of shoes and both my hair dryers but more that I did not anticipate how much room I would need for Egyptian purchases. Then again who could have foreseen I'd buy a life-size evil cat made of stone? Billy chastises me each time I buy any non-necessity so his criticism on my cat statue has been incessant.

After haggling in the Caribbean, Egypt and other African countries I'm comfortable proclaiming myself as an expert in negotiating. If you are ever planning to travel to a foreign country and buy something other than food, you should read this next part.

1. Never act as if you're truly interested or excited about a product because if you do the shop owner knows you're more than likely willing to pay a premium for it. Even if you just spotted that one thing you've been looking for, whether it be a life sized Egyptian cat or something else, don't show anything more than a passing interest.

2. Play the shops and their prices against one another by comparison shopping everything but the most unique items, understand that there are very few truly unique items. That painting of elephants was most likely created in bulk and not by the shop owner, no matter what they claim.

3. Always have them tell you their price first. If nothing else, it prevents you from offering them a ridiculous prize which they'll happily take.

4. Never take their first offer as they'll always come down.

5. Once you've got a fair price in your head just repeat it and make them come to your price. Do not start splitting the difference like they will as this is what they want you to do. An example of a conversation I had at an alabaster bazaar in Luxor: Shop owner "I'll make you a special price of 500 just for you." I say "250." He says "400." Now this is the key as he expects you to go to 350 or 300 but instead I just say "250" again. He (it is almost always a man) will make a big show of how you're insulting him and how unfair you're being but don't let him put a guilt trip on you no matter how many kids he claims to have to feed tonight. Eventually he'll come down again but generally he will stop before he reaches your price. This is when you defer to your most useful tool.

6. Walk away, if he lets you go, then that last price he offered was as low as he will go and you can take it or leave it but you know it was a fair price. What usually happens though is that he will give chase and drop to your price or at least very close to your price. Make sure you actually step foot outside the shop so they actually think you're leaving.

Billy and I have been joined by Melissa a fellow University of Miami alumnus. She has an eager to please attitude and a nice predisposition as well as a propensity to apologize for absolutely everything she does. I have yet to learn to look both ways before I cross the street, a rule mastered by three year olds the world over, and so when I attempted to stride confidently into an oncoming horse driven carriage in Aswan, Melissa grabbed my shirt preventing me from being trampled. She then quickly apologized and attempted to justify her outrageous action.

The final night of the cruise through the Nile I arduously defended the masculinity of men who order gin and tonics, cosmopolitans, or light beers to an Australian female bartender who claims all she drinks is absinthe; eventually I realized it was 2:00 AM and I’d been in the middle of a stupid conversation for an hour so I stumbled into my room, intoxicated from my girlie drinks. 5:45 AM the next morning Melissa, Billy and I met our chain smoking guide Hossam at for a hot air balloon ride. Once we had reached a safe height where I was confident the captain would not throw me off, I launched into a complete lie about my owning a hot air balloon driver's license in the U.S. and that “yes, I realize you just got done telling us not to ask to drive but that I would love to compare this engine to my dad's Honda KX-430 model.” I thought I had lost all believability when I told him not to worry about the Egyptian certification because I also have an international license but to the surprise of anyone on the balloon who could differentiate between an utter lie and the truth I was shooting six foot flames into the belly of the balloon seconds later. It took the pilot approximately twenty seconds to realize I had absolutely no clue what I was doing but that was long enough to scare the hell out of half the passengers and grab one of my all time favorite pictures.

Later that day on the way down the steps from one of the seemingly endless parade of temples we visited I noticed these Muslim girls looking at me. I mentioned this to Melissa and she said that I didn't look that much like Brad Pitt, an allude to a backhanded compliment given to me during a conversation with some Russians. These gentlemen were in the early stages of getting removed from the airport because they were convinced the Kenyan Air staff hated their Russian blood and would have let them smoke in the midst of the airplane cabin during takeoff if they were American and looked like me. As I skipped down the final flight of stairs back towards Hossam and his omnipresent cigarette, I had already wrote off my prior thoughts to narcissism when one of the scarf adorned teenage girls asked to take a picture with me. Flattered and feeling vindicated, I assured her that I would be happy to. Soon an onslaught of similar looking girls with 500 dollar Nokia camera phones surrounded me, each taking an individual photo with me. I then strutted back to Billy and Melissa rather self satisfied when a girl asked Melissa to take a picture with her. My ego was further deflated when two nights later I witnessed a group of giggly Asian girls taking pictures with what had to be the lankiest man I've ever seen. He looked like a forty year old going through puberty. Eventually they even convinced him to stand behind one of the smaller girls with his arms above her head and his fingers outstretched like the Nosferatu version of Dracula.

We leave for Tanzania and the island paradise of Zanzibar tonight.


Adam Weise splits his time between Milwaukee, WI and Austin, TX. The organization described in the writing has become the House of Blue Hope, which Adam and Billy now sit on the board of. Adam is also a co-founder of Ex Fabula, a Milwaukee storytelling group.

Dar es Salaam

By Adam J. Weise © 2010

As I sit on the outdoor patio of the most expensive hotel in Dar es Salaam, the same one President Bush vacated two days ago after renting out every room, I wonder how it is possible for my new $30 five-countries-in-one portable power converter can break while Billy's $5 converter trudges through its third year in Tanzania. I am now completely without all my electronics except for this laptop whose battery is quickly depleting as the only outlets available here are for British devices only. Billy, who is currently pecking away furiously at his five year old laptop, has taught me how to use being white to garner every advantage and free amenity possible. Being white has not been all that pleasant, though, as it has caused me to become quite jaded with anything connected to money. Immediately upon arrival I went to buy two bottles of water and after the vendor overcharged me Billy loudly demanded an explanation in Swahili to which her reply was that she didn't have the correct change so she figured shortchanging me was a completely legitimate thing to do. For good reason white people are the target of beggars and street children and many a friendly conversation devolves into an outstretched hand and word "please" being repeated over and over while awkwardness ensues. I learned while volunteering at a Miami homeless shelter that money should not be given to beggars as it only serves to sustain their lifestyle and it leads to little positive change. Now you are absolved of any guilt you have ever felt about refusing change to the homeless, especially in the United States, where there are numerous shelters and organizations where the disenfranchised can access. In a third world country, these avenues for assistance either don't exist or are there but to a far lesser degree. I'm not sure if I can condemn charity given towards the old woman with no legs or the quadriplegic dwarf that I see every time I walk past the post office in downtown Dar es Salaam. Where are these people to go? In a country like this who will help them?

We are going to take the boys on a beach retreat and by retreat I mean a beach day peppered with one or two serious activities not involving water or the recently purchased soccer ball that has become the center of attention with the boys. This means I am wearing swimming trunks while Billy wears his only non-school teacher pair of pants which are plagued with five holes nearly all of which are in unseemly places. Despite our decidedly informal attire we are allowed to use the posh hotel's free wireless Internet due to the pigment of our skin. Being white and 6'2'' I differ from 99.9% of the people I meet. I have seen one man in Africa thus far that is both taller than I and of the same ethnicity. Wherever I walk in Mabibo, the section of Dar Es Salaam's urban sprawl where I reside, children will gawk at me like I'm the Loch Ness monster; something they've read and heard about but up until now had never quite believed existed. Jaws agape and only a few of the braver ones will address me but it is usually only with a cry from afar of "mzungu" which means white person. Some scream it from the top of their lungs while others whisper greetings underneath their breath. Many will hold my hand as I walk even if we are going in opposite directions and if I sit or bend down to their level their hands almost instinctively go to the top of my head. My long blond hair has become a sensational hit among the children, who boy or girl are forced to shave their heads up until college to prevent lice from entering the schools.

The combination of the children using their permanently dust laden hands to constantly grab at or play with my hair and the lack of access to running water has led to me being quite filthy by American standards but since I have occasional access to the upscale gym's shower I am quite clean in comparison to the boys in the orphanage. Although I alone have developed a series of rash like bumps on my hands and feet, I fear the Sponge Bob Square Pants sheets on my bed may not be as clean as they appear to be.

Whether Sponge Bob is clean or not, sleep is hard to come by as we now have a generator, which is spectacular in that it allows us to tutor the boys and me to utilize the computers I brought, but this same generator is very loud and its use has led the boys to stay up quite late which prevents my attempts at sleep. Each night I tuck in my mosquito netting and crank up my iPod to full blast and hope not to wake before the Muslim Call to Prayer which is broadcast by a megaphone from the local mosque. This message is supposed to occur at dawn but the mosque's overzealous announcer begins far earlier than the set time as he channels a both the enthusiasm of Robin Williams from Good Morning Vietnam and the vigor of a professional wrestling announcer. As the call to prayer draws out, I lie in bed sweating profusely quickly losing any hope of returning to sleep and I think of how much money I would pay to an imaginary wind God for a cool breeze. On a particularly sweltering hot morning I settled on $27, which is enough money to feed myself here for weeks, but I stand by this number nevertheless.

Billy and I recently went to Subway where we spent the equivalent of $5 on a huge meal; yet he still chastised my opulence as we could have had our usual $1 chips myai. Chips/fries, ugali, a very simple tasteless carbohydrate, or rice are combined with either soda served in a refillable glass bottle circa 1950 in the United States or one of the four African beers. I've learned from the boys not to think of eating as an enjoyable activity but simply as a necessary daily task like brushing one's teeth.

I recently set up an art project where each boy creates a piece of art with supplies we provided with the end result being everyone's art being displayed on the walls, a best drawing being crowned and a prize awarded to the most popular piece. After explaining this to the boys and not revealing the prize Justin asked me if the prize could be "we get to come home to America with you?" Not only was this heartbreaking but it made me realize that the Air Qatar travel kit with the mini toothbrush would not suffice as the prize. Later that night Haji, the smallest boy, asked me to stay here and become the new Mr. Bill. They are aware that Billy and I plan on leaving on April 25th and 29th respectively. I am giving the option of staying in Tanzania indefinitely a lot of thought as it would be an easy transition for me as I could take Billy's motorcycle, his room and his responsibilities.

I already have a job lined up as I worked two days this past week with Billy at a preschool/daycare run out of a wealthy Indian woman's house. The nannies of these wealthy German, American and Japanese expatriates drop off the four year olds at 8 a.m. and pick them up at 11:30 a.m. each weekday. The children are quite spoiled by both African and American standards but it reminded me of my college job at the Hales Corners Recreation Department which I adored. While a little fussy, none truly misbehaved except for little Zead whose family owns the sole milk provider to Dar es Salaam. Billy introduced him as his favorite and I could see why as during the first few minutes Zaed was painfully shy, clutching to Billy's pant legs with one hand and his empty bear shaped backpack with the other. I took him to see Billy's motorcycle and even though he was the only child who spoke strictly Swahili his timidity faded. Little did I know this would snowball into him spilling water on me, attempting to spit on me and his eventual metamorphosis into a full blown terror. His greatest feat was a whirlwind punching attack which made use of both his fists and his mouth which bit at the air in anticipation of his target: my leg. The second day the little Arabian hell spawn came in just as reserved and apprehensive as on the first day but before long he was trying to reenact his own hit and run with an tricycle and an unsuspecting Japanese boy named Nishi. His cuteness helped him immensely in the eyes of the other counselors as his greatest punishment was downgraded to a two minute timeout. By the end of the day he had won me over to some degree by lying next to me and draping my arm, which had to equal or surpass his body in size and weight, around his little shoulders while we listened to Billy tell us whether Gus the Goose would find K.C. the Cat's picnic. The owner of the day care center offered me Billy's job once he leaves and she wants a reply soon.


Adam Weise splits his time between Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Austin, Texas. The organization described in the writing has become the House of Blue Hope, which Adam and Billy now sit on the board of. Adam is also a co-founder of Ex Fabula, a Milwaukee storytelling group.