Sand

The snow was 2 feet deep in Cedar Rapids on the day we interviewed for the Cairo job. During a frigid midwestern winter, the Middle East sounds compellingly warm and exotic. Our interviewer understood that quite well, and that's why he made sure to tell us that sand was everywhere in Cairo.

Then he paused for effect, looked me in the eyes, and repeated, "Everywhere." 

I've since wondered if he suspected me of being an inveterate housekeeper, and that sand would be the reason I'd eventually insist we leave Egypt. When we toured apartments on our first trip, I kept telling myself that Egyptians must have different standards of cleanliness. The place we eventually leased had a thick coating of dust on every surface, and at the time I wondered why anyone would show an apartment that hadn't been cleaned for months. I now know better.

One morning's sand from the living room floor.

Cairo's breezes bring not only warmth, but sand. The grains enter your dwelling via window and door frames, vents, and the tread on your shoes. This photo (right) shows one morning's sweeping of sand from the tile floors of our living room, which measures about 15 by 20 feet. Sweeping again that afternoon will yield less sand, but still enough to make an annoying crunch when you walk on it. We've quickly adjusted to the idea of daily mopping.

Sand is the reason we see housekeepers shaking out rugs from balconies every morning in our compound. Sand is the reason people who can afford it have housekeepers in the first place. Sand is the reason I decided to wear slippers around the apartment, to keep my feet clean. And then sand became the reason I eventually set aside those slippers, after I slid several times and got nervous that I'd fall and crack my head open on the tile. Sand is everywhere.