A Foreigner In My Country (أجنبي في بلدي)

I can’t believe I’m standing here. I can’t believe I made it to the final stage. 

When I registered to take the exam, I didn’t think I stood a chance. Granted, I’m a good student, good with languages, good at the sciences. But, so were all the other students at the exam. Now I’m here in front of this private school, one of the top private schools in the region, only one day away from being offered a full scholarship to complete my last two years of school here. Then, who knows what this may bring me, my family. This could set us up for life.

I’ve been waiting here for 35 minutes. The time to think isn’t helping. It’s just underlining that I don’t belong here. I know I don’t. The reason I’m early is because of how I had to get here. Microbus with more people than seats, Metro with smelly armpits pressing up against your face and clothes, walking through the dusty smog of Cairo. I bet everyone here takes an airconditioned private car with a private driver. I see the BMWs and Mercedes Benzes parked all over this school. I had to wake up extra early to make sure I got here on time. Just my luck that the buses and metro weren’t delayed on the one day I would have liked for them to be. Now I’m standing in front of what seems like a fortress with nothing to do but think about how I’m dressed, how I smell, what they’ll think.

I hope I make it through this trial day.

_____________________

Finally, I can enter. The black gates tucked between the five meter tall beige stone walls slowly open. Behind the gate are four security guards in beige uniforms standing by a metal detector. They look like me and they see I look like them.

Two of them harmoniously step towards me and ask,

بتعمل ايه هنا؟

“What are you doing here?”

داخل المدرسة.

“I’m here for school.” 

The third security guard smirks and says,

مانتاش طالب هنا.

“You’re not a student here,” 

 I explain with a shakiness in my throat,

لا لسه، النهارده يوم الاختبار.

“No, not yet. I’m here for the trial day.”

One security guard looks at me funny and asks,

اختبار؟ اختبار ايه؟

“Trial day? What trial day?”

The fourth security guard steps forward with tightened eyebrows.

تبع برنامج المنح لطلاب المدارس الحكومية. ابني حضر الامتحان بس ماعداش. فتشوا الواد وشنطته.

“The new scholarship program for kids from public schools to come here for free. My son was at the exam, but didn’t make it. Frisk him and check his bag.”

They drag me to the side and have me lift my arms up and place them against a wall. 

جرى ايه؟!

“What’s going on?” I ask.

One guard takes my bag and starts emptying it while the other starts gripping every bit of my legs and pockets and arms. It’s like that one time my friends and I were passing through the Shahid Ahmad Hamdi checkpoint to Sinai. 

Other students arrive and look over at the scene. The teenaged boys giggle, the girls scurry away, the younger kids are scared. 

هتأخر كده! ماينفعش أتأخر!

“I’m gonna be late! I can’t be late!” I yell.

One girl, one beautiful brown-skinned girl with curls like mine stops and stands there looking at me quite curiously. A few moments later, she walks over. 

عمل ايه؟

“What did he do?” she asks the security guard frisking me.

صباح الفل يا أستاذة مريم. ولا حاجة بنفتشه بس.

“Good morning, Miss Mariam. Nothing, we’re just checking him.”

هو كان بيقتحم المدرسة يعني؟

“Was he breaking in?” she asks.

لأ! أنا هنا عشان يوم الاختبار! تبع برنامج المنح بتاع مدرستكم!

“No!” I exclaim. “I’m here for a trial day! It’s this new scholarship program your school launched!”

شنطته تمام.

“His bag’s fine!” says another security guard behind me.

اه، أنت ولد الاختبار؟

“Oh you’re the trial boy?” she asks in surprise.

ايوه!

“Yes,” I say.

سيبوه!

“Let him go!” the girl insists.

هو تمام؟

“Is he clear?” the bitter guard whose son didn’t make it asks. 

The other security guard nods.

تمام يا أستاذة مريم. ممكن يمشي.

“Okay, Miss Mariam. He can go.”

She starts telling the guards off while I rushedly pick up my bag and put everything back in it then scurry away.

_____________________

I’m a bit lost here and not sure where I should be going. They had said to meet at a building by the main entrance but all the entrances are massive and there are buildings everywhere. This place is huge. The football pitch is probably as big as a stadium’s and has real grass. The goals have nets. There’s a massive swimming pool. And so many buildings. And food stands. It’s like a sporting club.

A hand on my shoulder pulls at me. It’s that pretty girl, Mariam.

رايح فين؟

“Where are you going?” she asks

بدور على نقطة الالتقاء.

“I’m looking for the meeting point.”

طب أنا هوصلك. أنا واحدة من المنظمين. تعالى ورايا.

“I can take you. I’m one of the organizers. Follow me.”

She walks ahead and I follow.

تقصدي ايه بمنظمين؟

“What do you mean organizers?”

She walks and talks, explaining,

المبادرة دي بدأت بسبب شوية طلاب. شوية دوليين وشوية مصريين. بس أهالينا كلنا شغالين في منظمات وشركات بتدفع تمن التعليم. برنامج الأمم المتحدة الإنمائي، مدرسين فالمدرسة دي إلخ. يعني رسمياً أهالينا ما يقدروش على رسوم المدرسة دي.

“this initiative was kicked off by a handful of students, some internationals, some Egyptians. We’re all students whose parents work for organizations that cover our expenses. UNDP, teachers at this school, etcetera. So we’re not paying out of pocket. Technically, our parents can’t afford this school.”

بس ايه علاقة الكلام ده بالبرنامج؟

“But what does that have to do with this program?”

"احنا حظنا كان في صفنا. لكن معظم الناس زيك وحظهم وحش. المدرسة دي بتخشلها فلوس كتيرة جداً وتقدر توفر منح لولاد الحظ الوحش. عشان كده شوية مننا قررنا نحاول نعمل البرنامج ده وعرفنا نقنع الإدارة بتجربة البرنامج. ودلوقتي بنجربه. فيك أنت. هناك نقطة الالتقاء."

“We were just lucky and got a free ride. But most people, like yourself, aren’t so lucky. This school makes so much money that it can afford to offer some scholarships to the less fortunate. So we built a case for the clever students in public Egyptian schools and presented it. Now we’re testing it. On you. There’s the meeting point.”

Mariam points at another indistinguishable beige building about 20 meters away where a curly-haired woman in a beige blazer and pants is standing looking at her watch.

دي ميس نسرين.

“That’s Ms. Nesrine.”

I hurry over to Ms. Nesrine.

صباح الخير يا ميس نسرين.

“Good morning, Ms. Nesrine.”

أخيراً! أنت اتأخرت يابني مش كده؟

“Finally ! You’re a bit late, aren’t you son?”

الأمن رخموا عليه.

“The security guards gave him a hard time,” Mariam interjects.

رخموا عليه؟

“A hard time?” Ms. Nesrine asks.

ايوه، هم -

“Yeah, they -”

مش مهم، هو متأخر!

“Doesn’t matter now. He’s late!”

أروح فين؟!

“Where should I go?” I beg.

عندك حصة بيولوجي بس لازم أقول لك كلمتين قبل ما تمشي. مريم سيبينا دلوقتي.

“You have to be in biology class. But, before you go, we need to have a word. Mariam, leave us.”

I look over to Mariam concerned.

أشوفك فالفصل.

“I’ll see you in class,” she says before jogging away.

I turn back to face Ms. Nesrine.

لازم تكون محترم.

“You have to be respectful,” she says.

محترم؟

“Respectful?” 

ايوه محترم، مفهوم؟

“Yes, respectful. Understood?”

مش اوي يا ميس. تقصدي ايه؟

“Not really. What do you mean?”

أقصد تتكلم عادي. التلامذة هنا بيخافوا. بالذات المصريين.

“I mean, speak normally. Kids here scare easily. Especially the Egyptians.”

عادي؟

“Normally?”

ايوه يعني ماتتكلمش بطريقتك المعتادة. اتكلم انجليزي أكتر من عربي. لو هتتكلم عربي استخدم مصطلحات أسهل. الناس هنا مابيفهموش وأنت عايز تندمج. مريم الاستثناء. يالله امشي قبل ما تتأخر!

“Yes, don’t speak as you normally would. Speak more English, less Arabic. If Arabic, stick to easier, more common terms. People here don’t understand and you want to blend in. Mariam is an exception. Now, go to class, otherwise you’ll be late.”

Ms. Nesrine starts walking away. I’m not sure what to make of what she just said to me. But, she hasn’t told me where the class is.

ميس نسرين الحصة فين؟

“Ms. Nesrine! Where’s class?!”

She turns to face me again. 

اه صحيح، شايف المبنى اللي هناك؟ على بعد ١٥٠ متر؟ مريم داخلة دلوقتي الحقها! بسرعة!

“Yes, right. See that building over there? About 150 meters away? You can still see Mariam entering. Go there and follow her. Quickly!”

I run over as fast as I can and catch up with Mariam.

يا مريم!

“Mariam!” 

She jumps and turns to find me panting.

خضيتني! ماتخافش احنا في معادنا.

“You scared me!” she says. Don’t worry, we’re good on time.” 

_____________________

They’re talking about sex quite explicitly in Biology class. I’ve never taken Biology in English. I’m not following a lot of this, but I’m trying to take as many notes as possible. People keep looking over at me though. Mostly the Egyptians, less so the foreigners. Mariam’s sitting to my left and is also taking notes. I can’t help wondering whether she’s taking notes on me as well as the material.

One Egyptian boy wearing some fancy brands and a clearly expensive watch sitting to my right keeps looking at his phone and scrolling through instagram. He’s watching some weird videos of women dancing. Most of the Egyptian students seem to be on their phones. But that’s it, no more disturbances. My school’s classrooms aren’t usually this quiet. Then again, they don’t have this many phones to keep the students quiet. The Egyptian boy to my right taps me on the shoulder.

“Where are you from?” he asks in English.

تقصد ايه؟

“What do you mean?” I reply in Arabic.

“I know أنت مصري (you’re Egyptian). But from where? 6th of October, تجمع (Fifth Settlement)? Degla?”

I don’t really know what to say. This kid’s only mentioning suburbs and fancy neighborhoods.

“لا أنا من عابدين."

“No, I’m from Abdeen.”



"Where?”

“عابدين. يعني مشيها وسط البلد."

"Abdeen, consider it a part of downtown Cairo.”

"Oh, okay.. And جيت هنا ازاي (how did you get here)?”

I don’t understand the question so I answer it factually and say, 

".بالمترو"

“With the Metro.”

He smirks then continues texting on his phone.

Mariam leans over to me and whispers,

"نفض له."

“Ignore him.” 

I don’t fully understand what that was, but I’m not sure how to ignore him if he won’t ignore me.

The teacher is playing a scientific sexual film. I’m not sure what’s more surprising; that they have a TV in this classroom or that they’re playing a sexual film on it. That said, I’m definitely learning.

_____________________

The breaks here are like a bazaar. Food stands open, barbeques, boys and girls chatting and flirting with each other. I’m here eating the Sakalans sandwich my mother made me. I bet they wouldn’t know what ‘Sakalans’ even means.

The only familiar activity is that some kids are playing football here. But, setting aside the football pitch itself, they even play differently. They say ‘Penalty’ instead of ‘Belen’ and ‘Handball’ instead of ‘Handes.’

Mariam and some friends of hers keep looking over at me. It’s getting weird so I’m just trying to keep my eyes on the ground and enjoy the sun on my head.

But suddenly it gets breezy and dark. I look up and find a group of boys, all Egyptian, towering over me. They’re all wearing shiny white sneakers and semi-glowing sweatpants and expensive football shirts. But none of them are playing football. One of them is the kid with the fancy watch that was sitting to my right in Biology class. Actually, they’re all wearing the same fancy watch. 

I wish this school had uniforms.

“You’re the trial boy, صح (right)?” the one in the center asks in a mixture of English and Arabic.

I inhale some patience then say, 

اه.

“Yes.”

“سمعت (I heard) you’re from Abdeen?”

ايوه.

“Yes.”

“تعرف أي (you know any) good drug dealers?”

I have no idea why he’s talking like that.

ايه؟

“What?”

“Drug dealers. عايزين (we want) good hash بس (but) our drivers aren’t getting us the good stuff. بيعيشوا (they live) in those parts, don’t they?”

هو أنت روحت عابدين قبل كده؟

“Have you ever been to Abdeen?”

“أكيد لأ (of course not),” he says smirkingly while his entourage giggles.

"لا ماعرفش تجار مخدرات لا عندنا ولا عند أي حد."

“No, I don’t know of any drug dealers there or elsewhere.” 

I pierce his eyes with mine.

The group seeks an explanation from their counterparts’ faces before reverting their gaze back to me. 

“Let’s go,” says the leader.

As they walk away, the guy that was sitting next to me in biology class stays behind for a moment and leans in then whispers, 

“بلاش تهزر معاه (I wouldn’t mess with him.) He rents بلطجية (thugs) to fight for him.”

ايه؟

“What?” 

“I said, he rents بلطجية (thugs.) هو كمان (So does that guy over there.)” 

He points at another slightly older guy dressed in black.

أنت بتقول لي الكلام ده ليه؟

“Why’re you telling me this?”

The boy shrugs then leaves to catch up with his group who seem to be approaching the exit.

I can’t believe they thought there were drug dealers all over Abdeen. There are governmental buildings everywhere there. And what the hell does he mean by renting thugs?

_____________________

Finally, Arabic class. Something I’ve definitely taken before. There are very few students here. I counted 8.

I realize each class has a different assortment of students. It’s like they choose which classes they attend. Maybe they specialize earlier here.

The teacher, a mid-height man with a beige shirt atop an arched back, brown pants over quite a round behind paired with jiggling legs, and a thick mustache the same shade of brown as his pants, enters the classroom. His half-shut eyes are coated with massive round glasses resting on a droopy nose. I stand up to greet him, but no one else does. 

What I know is we’re expected to stand until the teacher says, 

'السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته'

'Al Salam Aleikum W Rahmet Allah W Barakatuh'

And we harmoniously respond with, 

'وعليكم السلام ورحمة الله وبركاته'

'W Aleikum Al Salam W Rahmet Allah W Barakatuh.'

Only then are we told to be seated. I ignored this in the last few classes because the teachers were foreigners. This one is as Egyptian as can be.

But I’m just standing here while everyone else is seated. Mariam’s sitting next to me. 

The teacher looks over at me. 

"بتعمل ايه يابني؟"

“What’re you doing, son?”

Mariam tugs on my shirt but I remain standing.

The teacher takes a closer look at me, scanning my whole body.

"أنت مين يابني؟ وشك غريب."

“Who are you, son? I haven’t seen you before.”

Mariam interjects, saying, 

"ده ولد الاختبار."

“He’s the trial boy.”

اه صح. منطقي بردو. على العموم أنا الأستاذ إسلام.

“Oh, yes, that makes sense. Anyway, I’m Mr. Islam.”

"السلام عليكم يا أستاذ إسلام فرصة سعيدة."

“Al Salam Aleikum Mr. Islam, pleasure meeting you.”

He chuckles before saying,

"وعليكم السلام. اتفضل قعد."

“W aleikum al salam son. Sit down.” 

And so I do. All the classmates look at me for a few moments before turning to face the teacher. I can’t tell what their eyes are saying, but it’s likely nothing good.

"النهارده هنناقش الفيلم اللي كنت قلت لكم تتفرجوا عليه."

“Today we will talk about the movie I asked you all to watch as homework.”

A movie for Arabic class. That’s definitely not in the curriculum. But I won’t say anything.

"اتفرجتم عليه؟"

“Did you watch it?” he asks the students.

No one answers except for Mariam who nods.

خسارة، كده هتفرجوا مريم على الفيلم تاني.

“Well, that’s a shame. Now, we have to make Mariam rewatch.”

Mr. Islam then grabs the remote, turns on the television, opens the Shahid application, and plays the movie. I don’t know what’s going on here.

________________

The bell rings before the film ends. I wait for the students to leave before approaching Mr. Islam. He is still lost in the film.

"أستاذ إسلام."

“Mr. Islam.” 

He jitters then pauses the film before facing me.

"ايوه في ايه؟ خضيتني."

“Yes, what? You scared me.”

"يا أستاذ إسلام أنت ليه مابتدرسش المنهج؟"

“Mr. Islam, why aren’t you teaching us the curriculum?”

"انهي منهح؟ الحكومي؟"

“What curriculum? The governmental one?” 

He chuckles before continuing. 

"مافيش منهح هنا. هو بيتشكل هنا بشكل مستقل."

“There’s no curriculum for Arabic here. It’s more of an independently constructed one.”

"بس ليه؟"

“But, why?”

"يابني ماحدش هنا مهتم بالعربي. بياخدوه عشان مادة سهلة. العيال دول مابيتكلموش عربي. مش محتاجين."

“Son, no one cares about Arabic here. They just take it because it’s an easy class. These kids don’t speak Arabic. They don’t need to.”

"مش فاهم."

“I don’t understand.”

"ولا أنا وحياتك. بس شوف، وعد مني ليك لو نجحت اختبار النهارده هناولك واجبات أصعب."

“Neither do I, son. But, if you make it through the day, I can give you more challenging tasks.”

I feel a bit lost in his words.

"هو في مسجد هنا يا أستاذ إسلام؟"

“Is there a mosque here, Mr. Islam?”

"مسجد؟" 

“A mosque?”

He chuckles again. 

"لا يابني. بصلي فالفصل هنا. تحب تصلي معايا؟"

“No, no mosque here. I just pray in this classroom. You want to join me for prayers?”

"اه."

“Yes.”

________________________

I just finished my closing session with Ms. Nesrine. She had to discuss the day with me and told me she will be receiving input from all the teachers of all the classes I attended. Apparently, they deliberately put me in all the subjects Mariam takes so she can ‘guide’ me. I’m not sure what that means but I reckon I wasn’t wrong about her taking notes on me. 

I’m relieved the day is over, but I’m not sure how I performed. I did speak Arabic with the Egyptians. I couldn’t help it. I’m pretty sure they didn’t understand most of what I said. Or maybe it was how I said it. But, they squeezed a lot of English into every sentence. And when they used Arabic, they often used the wrong term at the wrong time. A lot of them kept referring to classes as classrooms. Like they didn’t know the difference between the two words.

When they heard me speaking English in English class, they gazed at me. I counted around seven seconds of the Egyptians staring at me. The foreigners didn’t stare at all. This place makes me feel like a foreigner in my country.

I’m outside of the same gate I was waiting in front of this morning. The security guards are still there staring me down like those territorial stray dogs all over the city. The gates are letting the rest of the students out. All of them are climbing into their BMWs and Mercedes Benzes. I’ll be walking to the Metro station soon. 

I’d like to see Mariam again.