Under-the-ground

I am in the metro, with no friend to talk to, no book to read and no music to listen to! Normally, I would die of boredom, curse the weather, or the smell or whatever reason I’m in a metro instead of in a car… This time however, I decided to write!

My first thought is to write down what I need to get done and what my schedule is for the next couple of days, and for a while, I do. But then, I look around me and feel that there are more important things that I could write about…

I am sitting in one of the cars, a woman with two children was there when I came in, along with other men….but she got off at the following station. So, two stations later, I realize I’m in a car packed FULL with men and I’m the only girl :s

It is at times like these that I thank God for giving me the inner strength and confidence to face such a situation without panicking, and I feel grateful for my father for pushing me to experience things like public transportation, going to places where people aren’t as fortunate or as classy and mixing with different kinds of people with no fear whatsoever. It is also at those times that I dwell upon other issues; like trust and respect. For when I trust the chivalry and morals of men, or people in general, it’s difficult for them to show me their bad side. And when I have respect for myself and those around me, they’d be obliged to respect me right back (not talking about the metro specifically, but in general)…

What makes me upset though is looking around and seeing the solemn faces of men. Apart from a bunch of boys laughing about something and an old man with thick glasses talking very loudly on his cell, almost everyone one else has a long face and a sad distant look. An old man beside me is carrying a bag filled with bread, which he hasn’t moved his eyes from since he sat down. Another kid, with an ice cap and slippers (weird) has the same look, the look of someone in deep thought with all the world’s problems roaming around in his head. Men in different types of clothes, carrying totally different luggage and bags all have that exact look. I wonder...

Isn’t this the same look that most people on the Egyptian streets are wearing all day long? The one they have when they’re driving their cars in the morning or afternoon? Or walking to and from their work? The look that makes them burst out at the smallest incident; a car passing by too quickly not waiting for them to cross the street, the men fighting nearby, or the ones shouting nasty words as a means of harassment, the endless beggars who try to sell useless stuff that they couldn’t possibly need but they end up paying the money for to escape the nagging and of course, the constant horrible traffic!

I sit still for a few moments, not writing, wondering about those things...

*Distraction; someone’s mobile is ringing……Hossam Habib! :s

*Distress; people keep crowding in, it’s getting harder to breathe :s:s:s:s

*Relief; more women now, thank God! :D

I hear someone saying “What can I do?” (in English) as someone tries to squeeze himself beside him. I look up to find a “shab waseem” with an eighty’s style suit, moustache and hair parted from the side. The hair is almost blond and the eyes I think green. Funny thing is, for the next five minutes he talks in complete and utter suburban accent (fala7y)…… I wonder where the “English” came from :)

I barely made it through the crowd and out of the car before the door shut on my arm!!

God, I love you Cairo!