July 8 Journal entry: time away

In the name of God, most Merciful. most Kind.

* * *

Alexandria, I've returned.

Your embrace is quick and careless, busy with others who have swarmed you. What little time you have for an old friend.

Pushing here and there to entertain guests from across the country, and the sea, and some from beyond that.

But I am satisfied with the caressing breeze you pass my way when you have a moment and which is rejuvenating after the darkened, stale air of air-conditioned sanctuaries.

Your balconies open onto life; where soothing voices of men who sound like old-style Quranic recitors mingle with the clanging of dishes, the yells of boys and incessant calls of street vendors on donkey carts down below. You are "Life" with the volume turned way up.

"Mama, if you are too comfortable, you will never get up," my five-year-old whispers in my ear, quite sensibly, as I lay motionless on the thin mattress.

Whispered to someone who rarely likes to stop moving, who usually scorns sleep and rest, preferring the satisfying fulfillment of intellectual or physical exertion. But with you, naps are irresistible, especially on a hot day, in a cool and shaded room with the sound of a twittering bird floating down through the window.

Too bad living here is otherwise so tough.