Sunday, July 18, 2010

Babalouq

The mango juice here is divine. It’s everywhere, safe and relatively inexpensive. For my first few days here, I consumed little else. It’s not because I didn’t trust he food and it’s not because good food is hard to come by. It’s mainly because I’m as of yet routineless. I’m still looking for my Ft. Defiance, my Sunny’s and my Sweet Melissa’s. I don’t even have the place that I walk by and say… “I hate this place… I never eat here.” When I’m hungry I go looking for something to eat and find myself sitting at a juice bar and ordering a(n) ” ‘aseer mange.” In an attempt to put an end to any potential malnutrition, I decided to go to my local food souq and stock up. It’s called Babalouq (Egyptians pronounce it without the “q,” like the Ricky Ricardo song). My expensive friends go to the American style Alpha Supermarket in Zamalek and buy Pringles and Oreos. My sha’aby (of the people) friends go to their local markets and buy seasonal vegetables and meat cut off the hanging leg of a recently slaughtered animal. I didn’t come to Egypt to live like an American, so of course, I chose the Babalouq.


Smell must travel faster than light, because I could smell the place way before I could see it. Now, it’s not a bad smell, it’s what meat stuffs smell like before they’re, properly bled, inspected, stamped, refrigerated, packaged and made pretty for white people. There’s no adjective that describes this place better than “raw.” Lots of small booths with hanging racks of meat and what Americans would call by-products. The produce stands had the dozen or so types of vegetables and fruits that are in season. There were a couple of shops that had cleaning products and dry goods. I remember idealistically thinking that I too could easily and proudly go sha’aby. All that is needed could be found here and everything else was extreme excess.

I wasn’t ten yards into Babalouq, before my right leg fell, knee deep, through some spread out cardboard into an open sewer filled with the most wrenched, vile, disgusting soup of rotting animal guts. The three or four witnesses were silent, eyes wide open… jaws hanging and these are seasoned Babalouq’ers. I too was silent, with the exception of calmly asking for a hose, I said nothing. I was given a bucket and shown to a 50 gallon drum of water. I took off my shoe and proceeded to empty the entire contents of the drum onto my right leg and into my shoe. I wasn’t in shock. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t upset. I held no emotion other than disgust. I put my shoe back on, walked the block back to my apartment, scrubbed myself with Dettol, called my friend Maryum and asked for directions to Alpha Supermarket in Zamalek.

6 comments:

  1. Sam: I am loving this. Reminds me of my last life when I was a "shawami". Keep writing. Stay safe. Howie

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  2. Sam you are a terrific writer and I am loving your stories. I read the previous "whether to be Arab" entry while away on vacation.. okay, honeymoon. My brand-new wife asked why I was laughing out loud, and I couldn't describe it. "I don't know how to tell it better than Sam did," I told her. "Here, read it yourself." She LOL'd too!

    I hope you came home from the Alpha Supermarket without any disgusting goo on you and a bag full of Oreos and Pringles.

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  3. It keeps getting better. The things we take for granted and worlds that exist only in blogs and stories, all of which you are sharing, takes me on your wacky ride from the safe setting of my desk at home. Love it!

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  4. I love your adventures!!! I cleaning story was funny. You also must remember how poor they really are. So be aware of crooks.

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  5. LOL @ Dettol! Dettol could kill the swine flu.

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  6. Sam -- many thanks for this -- from Veronika of Carroll Gardens. Our hearts are with you and all the good Egyptian people who want freedom and democracy.

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