I’ll never forget my first taste of Egypt.

Brad and I had just arrived in Cairo after traveling for nearly a day and were struggling to stay awake in order to reset our internal clocks to the local time, so we decided to venture out and find some dinner. We were staying in Zamalek, a relatively “quiet ” district of Western Cairo located on an island in the Nile River, where a majority of foreign embassies and consulates are located. As we wandered down the street, we happened upon a small family-run eatery and decided to sample some of the local cuisine. No formal menu was offered, so we ordered the only items offered, which was falafel in a pita, pickled turnips, and fresh fruit juice. Our presence in their little shop caused quite a stir among the family, who were quick to show us to some low stools surrounding a makeshift table. Children scurried out to greet us with what little English they knew and to take pictures, while mom and dad prepared our food in a kitchen that contained little more than a few hot plates containing a vat of boiling oil and a skillet. Pulling our bread out of a small stone oven, they assembled our meal and proudly brought it over to us. We said, “Shukran”, which is Arabic for “Thank You”, and the dad covered his heart with his hand and responded, “Afwan”, which is synonymous with the expression, “You’re Welcome”. We waited for the family to leave us to eat, but they stood by expectantly, presumably to see if the food was to our liking. We each took bites of our piping hot falafel and pantomimed our delight with the truly delicious food which had been prepared for us. The delight and pride that was displayed on their faces is one of my fondest memories of that trip and seemed to exemplify the rest of my experiences with the majority of Egyptians I encountered. Most were eager to help however they could, whether it was using broken English and gestures to point you in the direction of where you wanted to go, or to warmly welcome you to their country, or, in this case, preparing you a meal from the heart.

All of this made me realize that even with our cultural differences, we were more alike than different. More inherently good than bad.

As we finished our meal and paid what turned out to be about $3, we again expressed how delicious dinner was, causing the man to guide us to a back corner of the room, where an elderly man, presumably the patriarch, sat on a cushion in the corner brandishing a machete, making quick work of an enormous eggplant, which was the main ingredient in our falafel. We took turns expressing our gratitude to him, and as we said our goodbyes and turned to leave, I happened to give one final glance back to the bearded gentleman. It was then that I realized he was holding that eggplant between his feet.

His bare feet.

I still remember his toothless grin as he went back to work on that eggplant, chopping away for the next round of falafel. Business as usual. Nothing to see here.

Although that memory is 8 years old, it seems like yesterday when I experienced the dusty, friendly, chaotic, endearing Egypt, with its residents’ quick smiles, along with a disconcerting level of scrutiny directed at us, an anomaly of light skin and hair.

Fast forward to present day, when I find myself in the fortunate position to once again accompany Brad on another business trip to Cairo. This time it is post-revolution and I’ve been warned that the mood is not so light-hearted as before, due largely to a marked decrease in the tourist industry, which is the lifeblood of the Egyptian economy.

If I have gleaned one thing about the Egyptian populace, it’s their resiliency in the face of adversity. Soon after our last visit, the people rose up and protested, at the cost of economic stability, and overthrew the 30 year tyrannical “reign” of President Hosni Mubarak. Even when faced with the prospect of great uncertainty, Egyptians chose to embrace a step towards a freer, more democratic state. Although that path has been fraught with failed leaders, a depressed economy, and violent militarism, my sincere hope is that the proud, welcoming spirit of the people has not been extinguished, but continues to endure.