Bad Ambassadors

In 1995, when I was eighteen years old, I began a gap year overseas. My experiences in Egypt were character-building to say the least, and I have many fond memories of attempted muggings, freight hopping, jumping off moving buses, being stranded in the Sahara Desert and narrowly avoiding molestation at the hands of a randy Arab − good times indeed!

I have supplemented the writing with primary sources, particularly letter extracts and photographs, and with poems in places, rather like the pharaonic statue that has been lying in pieces for centuries, which is finally restored with resins and prostheses to a semblance of its former glory.

I began this undertaking in 2004 when the details were quite distinct in my mind, but it was sidelined within a year in favour of other projects. Now, over twenty years from the events, it is even more of a challenge to recall them accurately. Thankfully, the accounts written then and the letters have served as a memory bridge, but it should be said that even the letters themselves fall short in providing a complete picture of my experiences. Since they were written to my mother, there was always an element of self-censorship about them: omissions of our wayward antics, the alarming predicaments that we found ourselves in or true feelings. Some of these have been revealed in what follows but behind a poetic veil. Therefore, this work is a confession of sorts. Mostly, however, it is an attempt to capture the cultural landscape of the time and the adventures we had in the hope that it may inspire others to travel overseas.

I have censored a couple of chapters, in accordance with Wattpad's guidelines on mature content, and placed them in Bad Ambassadors: Censored Chapters.

This is my recollection of events, but I acknowledge that others may remember them differently, and I intend no harm. I have changed some names and pixelated some faces in order to respect these people's privacies.

I dedicate this to all of my Egyptian friends.