I’m back in Cairo and there’s no mistaking the fact. Heat and dust, grime and greys (skies and buildings when the latter aren’t brown) and pollution in its plurality (air and noise most noticable but other forms too) all attest to my location. The soles of my feet are black already (and I haven’t walked anywhere except on my own floors, my eyes are red and feel gritty, and there is the incessant loud droning of the unfinished symphony that is the contruction going on behind my building, and pumps of some sort on the side. Vienna seems like a distant world, a wonderful dream that I was not ready to wake up from, and I haven’t been back a full day yet.

But despite all my whining, its good to be back reconnecting with the Cairene comrades, trading summer stories and getting ready for the first iftaar. I have arrived on the first day of Ramadan to city full of fast-and-feasters. And hey, I’m back where the laundry bills won’t bankrupt me.

So while I’ve put this post into the horrors categories, it’s not quite the disaster I thought I’d be writing about – just some good old-fashioned complaining. But I believe the campus move has plenty of genuine tales to offer in the horror genre. More on that as the stories surface.

Meanwhile, Mae ‘salaama and Ramadan Karim everyone.

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