Killing time at Cairo airport

Yaaaawn I’m so tired. There’s a twelve-hour sleep looming in the imminent future, but not quite yet...

My last morning in Alex was a bit rushed. I only made it onto the 8 am Cairo train when it had started to move – something I thought only happened in movies.

I must be fitting in because I’ve been told I walk like an Egyptian. Which I think means that I waddle like a pregnant hippo in a tent. But walk like an Egyptian - isn’t that a song by the Cure? Or am I thinking about Killing an Arab?

Speaking about killing, I’ve picked up on this morbid joke favoured by central and southern Africans. “After New Year’s, anybody who organises a conference should be shot”, the head of African science policy told me in a taxi. It was a joke, I realised when everybody else laughed. And of course it was, albeit a very poor one in my opinion.

I heard it again, this time by an equally senior person in the African Union. So-and-so should be killed if they try this again. Ha ha ha. Er? Culture clash, I think it’s called. Although, if I make the same joke when I get home, you’ll at least understand.

I finally, at least, got a chance to visit the Egyptian museum that I missed last time I was in Cairo – about 13 years ago. Tutankhamen’s mask… I mean, have we advanced since then? At all? Really? Well, they didn't have battery powered nose hair trimmers, did they? So that's settled.

Right, time to board the flight to Kenya. I hope all works well, I’ll land in Nairobi tomorrow at 4.30 am. Urrrgh. Then to Joburg and home on Wednesday morning. It had better all work out, or I’ll kill all air traffic controllers in Africa. Er.