Hard of Hearing

In a television show called I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here, celebrity contestants battle it out to see who can survive living in harsh jungle conditions during a set period. Those who cannot stand it can bail out and go back to civilization.

This is pretty much the plot of my frequent visits to the land of the pharaohs, where I have been spending part of my time over the past four years. Except that I am not a celebrity and I do not have a “get out of jail” card handy.

Most people I meet, who have not been to Egypt, tend to have a somewhat romanticized vision of the place. When they learn I make frequent trips there to visit my husband and children, they tend to respond with “Oh, it must be lovely over there”. I thought so too at first, but then the novelty of “visiting” wore off and the reality of “living” and “settling in” descended.

Illustration by Martin Dima

I am not one who usually complains about being in a foreign country. In fact, as the daughter of a former diplomat, I quite liked moving from country to country and learning about the local people and their culture. As an adult, I continued to travel for both business and pleasure. So I was taken aback when I first landed in Cairo and given the grand tour of my would-be neighborhood.

Touted as the enclave for expatriates, I expected something like Kemang or Menteng in Jakarta or Holland Village in Singapore. Instead, I saw an area where most residential places were apartment buildings built too close to each other and stores were akin to ones found in Blok M or Pasar Minggu back in the 1970s. I kept hoping that I would find a place more modern and on par with places in Southeast Asia, but I never did, at least not in the neighborhood I ended up living in.

As the years passed and my frequent flyer miles accrued, my jaunts to Egypt became less and less bearable. Noise pollution, for one, would rank top-most on my list of things that drive me crazy in Cairo. Coming from the fifth most populous country in the world, I am quite used to noise permeating my daily life; however, the noise in Cairo is seriously deafening.

I kid you not. I don’t recall a day when I am not woken up by some kind of noise. Usually it is either construction noise or the sound of cars honking and, strangely, these two types of noises are persistent regardless of the time of day or night. Construction is always going on, although many buildings are left unfinished, and honking, I’m convinced, must be a national pastime.

Even living on the fourth floor of an apartment building, noise pollution is ever present. There are many moments when the sheer repetitive sound of drivers honking and construction noises drove me mad with frustration. I concluded that perhaps this is the Egyptian version of water torture. So serious is the matter, however, The New York Times ran a report last year citing research that found living in Cairo is like living with a running lawn mower next to one’s head.

With the city’s average noise level at 85 decibels, it is slightly louder than a freight train 15 feet away and goes on for about 15 hours. Every day. The report also found that the noise level is even higher in other locations, such as downtown Tahrir square or Ramsis square, where, at 95 decibels, it is just a notch below the sound of a jackhammer or a chain saw.

In the long run, such high levels of noise surely must have some kind of effect on health outcomes — if not physical health, then most likely mental health — because I truly do not know anyone who enjoys the grating noise of freight trains, jackhammers and chainsaws. My idea of waking up in the mornings is by the gentle kisses of the morning sun, rather than by being rudely jolted into semi-consciousness. In fact, waking up in Cairo brings new meaning to the phrase “waking up on the wrong side of the bed”, because there is no wrong side of the bed in Cairo. One almost always starts the day in an irritable mood, because of the noise.

Sadly though, noise is not the only disturbing thing in Cairo. Local drivers are certifiably both suicidal and homicidal. One of the first car rides I had was particularly memorable, because the driver decided to reverse into oncoming traffic after missing an exit on the highway.

Most roads in Cairo do not have lanes and most drivers ignore them anyway. If Asian drivers think traffic signs are suggestions, then Egyptian drivers think traffic signs are decorative. Red lights are meaningless and roundabouts are special free-for-all zones, where cars are parked and people picnic on the roundabout itself. Switching off headlights is also a quirky thing that many drivers do. Only they keep them off at night. Accidents do happen. A lot. Conserving battery power is commendable, but I do not think that is what the green movement had in mind.

As a result of avoiding traffic, I usually walk to places around my neighborhood or just stay home, but even staying inside the apartment can be hazardous as well. Only a couple of weeks ago my husband scalded himself when he used cold water to wash his hands. We later found out that the water heater was set so high that it melted bolts inside the water pipes and caused a leak inside the walls. Electrical zapping is another frequent occurrence in Egypt, because electrical outlets are not grounded and because one can also find the odd live wire sticking out from said outlets. When I decided to plug in a power surge protector device, rather than working, it exploded instead.

I do not want to come across like a brat with all this whining, because I do appreciate the beauty that Cairo has to offer. Like taking in the sights around Old Cairo, sitting on a felucca on the Nile, or enjoying a camel ride around the pyramids in the early morning. But living in Cairo is not all about sight-seeing and doing the fun touristy things. It boils down to leading some semblance of quality living.

Minor annoyances for tourists become major challenges for foreign residents: the noise, the super congested traffic, the dust, the corruption, the inefficiency, the lack of hygiene in public places, and so on and so forth. Even my last few weeks helping my family pack their belongings for relocation, I was still desperately screaming inside “Get me out of here!”

+ Indira Pintak

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