Days like today

I'm at an impasse. It is decision time. I have until January 9 to sign next year's contract, and that's pretty much tomorrow. Sometimes I think that I really want to stay here a third year, and enjoy this country and all it's charm. And travel some more. And live cheaply. And attend an amazing church. And hang out with wonderful friends. And learn more about the Middle East. And learn more Arabic.

And then I have a day like today.

I spent the weekend exploring Aswan and Abu Simbel (more on that in a happier post) and arrived home after taking the Red Eye flight up the Nile. I walked into my apartment at 9am, and stopped dead in my tracks. I heard running water.

Now, if you have ever walked into your place of residence after an extended absence and heard running water, you will know why my heart was in my throat, and why I was immediately grabbing for my phone.

I tip-toed into the kitchen. No water. I walked cautiously into the living room, which was dry. As I turned the corner into the bathroom, I was relieved to find the source of my panic. The bath tub faucet was spewing water full blast. Fortunately, it was only into ... the bath tub. I tried to turn off the faucet, but much to my dismay it was already off. What the !@#$?

Here's where the fun begins. I have a tap I can't turn off, it's first thing in the Egyptian morning, and I have to find my Arabic-only boab and ask for help. Here's a rough translation of what I come up with:

"Good morning Rabeya. Water. Not good." (Imagine wide eyes, lots of pointing to my apartment and hands motioning for him to come, with a sense of urgency).

Rabeya inspects the tap, and wanders into the kitchen where he turns off the water source to my apartment. He speaks super quick to me in Arabic, and ends by slowly saying "miya, la'a" (water, no.)

Crap. I've been backpacking for 2 days in the desert, and now I have no running water. I woke up at 5am to catch a flight back to Cairo and I cannot shower.

I call the landlord, and hand the phone to Rabeya. They talk for a while, and the phone is given to me. The Landlord says "miss Shannon, Rabeya will fix, God willing." I know what this means. This means I will be staying with friends until next Thursday, because I will not have running water. This means if God wills it, Rabeya will find a friend who knows more about plumbing than he, and they'll smoke in my bathroom and maybe, if God wills it, eventually fix the pipe.

So I say good-bye to Rabeya and I set about doing all the things you try to do when you are back from vacation: dishes, laundry, cleaning floors. But wait, I don't have water. Hours pass. I go to Rabeya and I say "he coming?" The best I can do. I say plumber, thinking it might be a cognate, but I'm wrong. Rabeya's response? "Key."

I leave the key to my apartment and I go out for lunch with friends, greasy hair and all. At 4pm I return home, thinking maybe, just maybe, the pipes will be fixed. I search out my key, and the boab's wife is pointing at the apartment. "Rabeya fee" (=in). I knock on my own door, and am greeted by the cutest 4 years old boy you've ever seen. He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bathroom, where his dad Rabeya is standing in his bare feet, covered in water, with my broken faucet. Smoking a cigarette. In my apartment.

Rabeya gives me his phone. It is the landlord, and he explains that Sunday is a day off for many service people, and that he cannot find a plumber today. In a city of 28 million people, we do not have a plumber working on Sunday. Then he says that the water must stay off until it is fixed. "Have a good night miss Shannon."

I head to Devin and Ryan's for dinner and a shower, and fill up more water bottles with tap water, so that I can have a water bottle shower in the morning.

At the end of days like today, there are 2 thoughts that will not leave me:

I chose this. I chose this. I chose this.

and,

Can I really do this for another entire school year???