I consider myself traveled. Maybe not travel noire status, but I’ve been around. The greatest was during our trip back home to Eritrea, in ’92.
As humbling as it was getting to know about my roots, and forming a lifeline to where I’m from, the best part of that summer was our stay in Egypt. My parents wanted to make the most of our vacation, and therefore, planned a few days stay in Cairo.
Egypt. Where do I even begin? The country is so unforgettable. I was there at age 7, and remember it as if it happened yesterday. The generosity of its people. The smell of spices wafting through the warm air. The INSANE traffic; signs were merely suggestions. The food, oh Jesus, the food. There’s nothing like fresh food bought from the local souk (market), so fresh and delicious. Touring the ancient ruins of the Giza Necropolis on horseback. My father, who opted for a camel, rode next to me and thus, my fear of camels was born. A white keffiyeh, with a yellow threaded band, secured on my head, blocking the sun’s rays. Walking through the pyramids while hearing the stories of the slaves that built them (this, more than likely, is the cause of my fascination with cemeteries). My father almost falling into a pit because he was too busy recording everything on his massive camcorder (thank God for smartphones). Our ever-so-cute tour guide with the amazing accent & amethyst eyes (I’ve been impressionable from a very young age).
It’s been 23 summers since that trip, and years later, it has all stayed with me. On certain days, like today, I love mentally traveling back to that time, and reminiscing on one of the most historic moments of my life. When people talk of memories that last a lifetime, surely this is what they mean.
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