Hemingway Parody

I wrote a parody of Hemingway's style by relating my first day in Cairo, Egypt. Send me your thoughts.

“Marwa, where are we going,” I asked.
“To a café,” she shrugged. It was normal for her.
Costa was the name of the café. I considered it the equivalent of Starbucks. David arrived soon with his host brothers Mahmoud and Nehad. The atmosphere was nice.
“Low samaht, low samaht ,” Marwa said tittering to get the waiter’s attention. I scanned the menu and ordered what I was familiar with, aseer manga . It came in a small glass; sweet and fresh.
“Let’s take a picture,” Marwa said, “Runda let’s slide over beside the boys. I’ll have the waiter take it.” He took five or six pictures. He was young looking, enthusiastic. Five hours passed, or it seemed so to me. I wasn’t much accustomed to sitting in cafés. Seven songs by Enrique Iglesias and the Backstreet Boys played on loop the entire time. It was cute, then annoying.
I walked with them across the street to the AFS office. It was more of one large room and two or three smaller ones. The sun in Cairo was hot. The window units inside were cool and refreshing. Our visit wasn’t long. We left with a couple volunteers and went to the metro.
“Runda, buy the tickets. You need to practice your Arabic,” Marwa giggled.
I gritted my teeth. “Taskarra itneyn ,” I told the guy at the counter. I had to shove my way to get to the window. He was balding. He shoved the tickets through without looking up. I was proud of myself, it wasn’t so hard. The metro was terrifying, maybe more so than the traffic. I tried not to think about danger, this was their culture.
Downtown was a mess, but I liked it. People walked everywhere. It was noisy. We entered a Koshary shop to eat lunch. It was at 5 pm. The food was good; hot and filling. I refused to leave the country without the recipe. After lunch we went to a café. It was called Al Naeem. Soon it became my favorite. Smoke from sheesha filled the room. I didn’t smoke, I just ignored it.
“Autumn, you have to smoke it like this,” Medo gestured, forming his lips into an O.
“You’re doing great,” the others chimed in.
I watched from the distance, amused. The waiter came around. I told him what I wanted, “Aseer manga min fadlak .”
He nodded, trying hard not to laugh at my accent or my obvious Americaness. More and more people had joined the group. We walked along the Nile and climbed aboard a Felucca boat. Instead of Enrique and the Backstreet Boys loud Arabic music was blasted. Amr Diab I think. The ride was short. There was an apparently drunk guy dancing on the felucca. I know he wasn’t though, it was Cairo, maybe it was just the strong coffee. He mimicked playing the guitar, an attempt to cheer up the Americans aboard. We looked like death. I had never stayed awake so long. Marwa and I took a Microbus home. I was looking forward to my bed.
At the flat my host mother was waiting, she was fully dressed and holding her car keys. “Are you ready to go,” she asked.
“Go where,” I wondered, it was so late I couldn’t believe we were going out again. I wanted to sleep.
“We’re ready,” Marwa said, “Runda you are going to meet my uncle and his kids!”
I resigned the thought of sleep, but went along excitedly. It’s not every day you are in Cairo. I again found myself on a felucca boat. This time though it was docked and quiet. Marwa’s uncle dropped off the family and went to get food. He brought back Koshary for dinner. It was 1 am. The food was great. I was tired, but happy.
“Your name is Runda,” my host uncle’s wife asked me.
“Yes, it is,” I said speaking clearly.
“So is mine! Do you know what it means in English?”
“No, I’ve never been sure.”
“It’s the name of a branch of a certain type of tree. It’s a very beautiful branch.”
I nodded, pinching myself to stay awake. I heard Marwa giggle. I opened my eyes to realize I had been asleep.
“It’s time to go,” she laughed, “My baby American sister can’t handle staying up late.”
I laughed feeling a little guilty, but relieved.
(Image credit: http://hurghadatrips.com/1.jpg)