Week 3, 2026: Kazouza
Monday was Medo’s birthday. Capricorn season. He went to the office that day and I sort of sat around, waiting by the phone. I opened the windows, let light into the flat, sat by the phone waiting for it to ring while I sipped on a Turkish coffee. In the evening, the three of us went to a New Cairo arcades, H and Medo and me. Bowling and axe-throwing and basketball. They had fun I think. We washed it down with a K-BBQ and donuts.
I’m learning about a new way that traffic lights work. If it’s red, you stop. Unless you’re in a big rush, then you can go. And it turns out that one in five cars in Cairo are in a big rush. Busy bees, the Egyptians. They don’t stick to lanes either, they just find a space where they can fit. Six cars on a three-lane road, next-door driver exhaling cigarette smoke while staring down my soul. Traffic lights and lanes are both sort of optional here. That's why car horns are so well-utilised. These are merely the observations of a jaywalker.
On Tuesday evening, after hours of watching my brother chainsmoke in meetings, we braved the traffic and went to Talaat Harb square. I took him to Al-Koukh, one of my favorite downtown spots. All old-style and cute, covered in newspaper clippings and trinkets and strange rugs. You have to enter this strange old building that looks like it’s been abandoned since we first learned of Wuhan. Whenever I’m in a cute dining place, one of my first five thoughts is ‘would this make a good date spot?’. This one would. It’s got secluded areas and you can have a little balcony area all to yourself. Good to have cute date spots in your back pocket, you can never have too many but you can always run out.
One of my favorite feelings is turning to somebody who is game with spontaneity and saying ‘I know a spot’. I tried to recreate it again with Cafe Riche. Took Medo there and saw his eyes linger on a menu list that I haven’t entertained since making a vow to sobriety. A sneer of a smile, familiar and wanting, one I felt on my face many a time standing outside a bar in the rain when I decided I was going to turn around a Tuesday night. Numbers churning, an age-old math problem, a genetic deficit, the least amount of calories and pounds to be spared for a good night. I saw it in his eyes and felt myself get hot, felt like I was sent back in time and had to relive it all as penance. I said I have to leave and was outside before he could put his jacket back on. He said do you want to talk about what just happened and I said no I want to be in my bed. So we went home and I got in my bed and cried until it was Wednesday.
I woke up on Wednesday with a weird cough, all phlegmy and bad. The traffic and the African Cup match anticipation made it hard to leave the flat but I did anyway. Left the flat alone for the first time to get groceries. Hiking with Kevin clips and sushi for dinner. Egypt didn’t pass the semifinals. It was a good run.
I took it even further on Thursday, the solo adventuring, an Uber all the way to Al Horreya Garden. The plan is a botanical garden wander and then the 24/7 pizzeria. An hour into my park walk, I noticed that the man that was standing before me in the ticket line was sitting not too far from me, watching me closely. Fifteen minutes later, I realized he had been following me around the park.
There’s a validity to wondering if you’d be allowed into Habermas’s coffeehouse and to that, I raise: how safe does it feel on the walk over there, with your command of the local language, pocket money, everyday clothes, presumed genitals, apparent status, ease of movement? How safe does it feel for you to walk alone in the streets, in the public arena? That's my litmus test for privilege.
Back at home, chicken salad instead of a pizza. Conan’s Oxford Union interview is an excellent watch. The cough is getting worse but I’m doing a good job of ignoring it. I basically paid £E400 to get followed around a park.
Observations from the Heliopolis flat:
- There are three balconies here. So many balconies for an averagely-sized flat. One of those things that your eyes take in long before your brain does.
- The lack of lamps is impeding my reading streak and sleeping schedule. I’ve given up on my book and the hope for pre-midnight sleep.
- There are more balconies than lamps in this flat.
On Friday afternoon, I caught up with a friend I haven’t spoken to in nearly five years over Facetime. I told her that I finally got around to reading the book she recommended all those years ago and she reminded me that we once considered getting a flat together in Cardiff. We can’t seem to remember how we first met. If you’re reading this, salut Sophie :-)
The weekend started with stand-up in Garden City. The bad was terrible, I mean dead silence for an entire set terrible, and the good was clever. I felt responsible for how much fun my relatives had because I was the stand-up fanatic but it turns out that my view that bad stand-up is still fun to watch was not a popular sentiment. We walked along the Nile afterwards, drinking chickpea broth.
On the weekend, the coughing could no longer be ignored. It came with a migraine and blocked ears and glued-shut eyes. I took long naps and woke up each time still smelling like death. Woke up long enough to order breakfast from Gad and text my aunt that I won’t be making lunch. Medo brought leftovers from her flat. Cough syrup as my drink of choice.
I noticed at some point on Sunday evening that fifteen minutes had passed without a cough or a sneeze, so I hopped in the shower before I could get drowsy again. We went to Zamalek for a saunter. Sipping hot cider while watching two middle-aged men fight for having bumped into each other. One threatens with ‘I’m [redacted government job]’ and sunglasses guy, cold as ice, responds with ‘fuck your mother’. What a guy, quick on his feet. Can’t believe I nearly missed out on all of this while camped out sick over the weekend.
Bread and circus. Hungry for bread after the circus. When the fight was over, we went to Thomas Maison for a pizza and a kazouza. Kazouza can mean any soda drink but I think Egyptians mostly mean cola. It comes from the French ‘eau gazeuse’, or soda water. Hope this helps you in your next pub quiz. H picked us up and dropped us off and the three of us sat in the dark of the Heliopolis flat and talked about where we’d like to settle when we’re older. I offered him a kazouza but he said he has to call in an early night.