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Friday, November 9, 2018

Lessons of Egypt...

I knew Yousef slept late, but six in the evening was high time to roll out of bed. We had important business to attend to! I dialed his number for the third time. This time, someone actually picked up.
“Yousef naeem”, Yousef is sleeping, she said.
It took a little coercion, but finally his mother, or whoever, put him on the phone. With a sleepy voice, Yousef told me the meeting with the singer Little Saad and the movie producer would be at eight.
Like a foreign idiot, I hastily slapped on some makeup, and rushed to get out of the house. Indeed, I got to the meeting point at eight. Everyone else arrived an hour and half later. It was a long time to kill by myself, lingering out on Cairo streets, and second-guessing my rather plain outfit.
The building, where the producer had his office, looked inconspicuous. It didn’t get any fancier inside: there was just a simple desk and a few chairs. Yet, this fellow was loaded. His last name was synonymous with Egyptian comedy. A new film produced by him or his brothers hit cinemas every few months.
The producer, the screenwriter, and Little Saad did the talking, Yousef the listening, and the translator the translating. I did the sitting pretty. The plot of our upcoming flick was laid out. A gang of amateur bank robbers, including Little Saad's character, accidentally wound up with a hostage situation. Among the hostages was me, an American tourist, who just happened to be a bellydancer. All kinds of chaos and razzle-dazzle followed. Despite the tourist's lack of Arabic, and the bank robber's speech impairment, a romance ensued. The famous bellydancer Nura would make an appearance in the film as well. The production would begin right after Ramadan, which was approaching fast.
After the meeting wrapped up, I got into Yousef's car and we headed towards my neighborhood. I asked what his impressions were. Yousef felt the screenwriter was apprehensive about my involvement. However, he wasn't the one calling the shots.
“If Little Saad says you’re in the movie, then you’re in the movie.”
It sounded reassuring.
“Who picked up your phone today?” I asked.
“My wife.”
It took me a good while to recover from my astonishment. Our conversations were crippled to begin with. Now, with my blindsided Arabic, I had to get to the bottom of this.
“Why didn't you tell me you were married?”
“You didn't ask.”
Touché.
An excerpt of Fire In The Belly, a memoir by Zaina Brown, set to be released in January 2019. For publication updates, follow on Facebook and Instagram!
Photo by Simon Matzinger