Farewell

I quickly throw my laundry into the washing machine trying not to make much noise. I hit a few buttons hoping for the right settings. I’m trying to make my time in shared areas as brief as possible to avoid contact with my housemate.

All of a sudden, I hear the steps. My stomach churns. She walks into our shared kitchen in all her glory: in her pajamas, messy hair, her eyes are half open and her face is a painting named “wrath”.

“Ahmed, what are you doing?” blurts Kora, my housemate.

“I’m just washing…” I reply as I point to the washing machine.

“It is 10 am on Sunday” she says. “In THIS country,” she continues, “that is very early to start making lots of noise. It is actually rude to do that”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I say, while again vaguely pointing at the washing machine.

She turns and heads back to her room yelling “fuck sake” and slams her door.

“These are going to be a few long months” I think to myself about the 4 months I’m going to spend in this property. I look at the washing machine to make sure nothing sinister is happening to my clothes. I had picked the settings willy-nilly and never understood how it really worked. My washing machine back home in Cairo was just much easier to operate.

After a few days, we meet again in the kitchen. I had just finished a long shift and was not prepared to deal with her. 

“Hiya” I say without looking at her. Kora responds in a friendly way. She asks how I am doing. She asks about work and is generally being nice. We even have a laugh. It is too late. I’ve already sent an email to the accommodation managers asking for a transfer. She asks about my country and I’m only giving her brief answers. 

Later that same week, I go back home and try to clean my room. I take a small bag of trash and put it in the big rubbish bin in the kitchen. The bin is about 80-85% full. I should probably take out the rubbish but I’m tired. I will do it tomorrow.

In the morning, I go to wash a few dishes in the kitchen. As usual, trying to be quick before I head back to my room. Kora just appears from nowhere and immediately starts shouting. I’m taken aback. Shouting usually sends me into fight or flight mood so I’m likely to say something stupid. Therefore, I shut my mouth and let her vent. I take a deep breath and try to calm down but she is getting more and more crazy. In as calm a voice as possible, I ask her to stop shouting.

“I’m not shouting. THIS IS SHOUTING” she screams.

Now, I am almost certain the neighbors will either knock on our door or call the police by this point. Even worse, I’m sure our new housemate, Sam, is listening to this conversation. He just arrived yesterday. Understandably, he doesn’t leave his room.

I tell her, this time in a more firm and grumpy tone: “I’m not having this conversation unless you lower your voice, don’t talk to me like that and I don’t care if you call it shouting or not”. I then turn my back and continue washing a dish!

I don’t actually know what I’m doing. She is either going to have a stroke or maybe things will escalate further. To my surprise, non of these things happen.

Kora yells again but this time in a lower tone:

“Don’t turn your back on me! It is so disrespectful”

“No, I’m just giving you time to calm down”. Although I’m literally shaking at this point and can feel the palpitations, I won’t let her “win” this. 

I try to meet her half way: “Listen, I didn’t mean to leave the rubbish bin like that. I was planning to take it out anyway. You could take it out too!”

She gets really offended. 

“I came back late last night. I can’t throw the rubbish at night. Did you know a girl was abducted and raped in the area a few weeks ago? Do you want me to get raped?”

It is hard to believe that I’m having this conversation with a rational adult, let alone a professional with her level of education (PhD).

“What? No! Listen, I didn’t mean to leave it. I will take it now”  I say in shock.

“Ok, thank you!”. And off she disappears.

I meet our new housemate, Sam, the next day at work and we have lunch together with a colleague. The colleague comments about Kora:  “I can’t imagine how you are coping with her!” but I just shrug my shoulders.

Sam tells me he heard what happened yesterday and I tell him Kora is just a prick. He says something about what is between us felt like “a bit more than just that”. What an idiot. Does he think we have a thing going on? I wish it was you living there for the last 2 months. He is only going to be here for a week. Lucky bastard!

It is the end of rotation. Kora tells me she is leaving tomorrow. She is blabbering about moving and having too much stuff. She is being nice and even wishes me good luck. She never apologized about anything though.

The next morning. I can hear her grunting and moving stuff. Through the peephole. Several suitecases, boxes and bags. Of course, she is struggling. I get a strong urge to help her but I make a conscious decision not to, just out of spite. Sam doesn’t leave his room either. Part of me says she deserves to suffer, while the other part feels bad. Bad for not helping and bad for betraying my cultural values. I know I should take the high road. I let myself down, but I’m OK with that today.