Cairo All-Stars: Farzina

A flattering picture, isn't it?

Farzina arrived about 2 months after I did. I remember coming home late one night, having hear a new trainee was in town, to see a body lying on the floor of all places. "I wonder who that is. I guess I'll found out in the morning," I thought.

I awoke to find Farzina hanging out on the couch. Salman and Miguel had already left for work. No doubt I was probably dressed in my normal in-house attire: no shirt, shorts. It wouldn't be the first time I met someone dressed like that, and I guarantee it won't be the last. Farzina was probably questioning my sanity, but, as time would tell, that introduction didn't have much of an effect on our friendship.

Over breakfast, Farzina and I engaged in some intelligent discussion. I was impressed to meet someone who could discuss religion with an open mind. Then the oddest thing happened. We were talking about favourite game shows and I just happened to say "Supermarket Sweep" when the question was posed to her. She gave me this shocked look and was like, "Ya, how did you know that?" What are the chances that both of us would like the same game show. Especially as one as obscure as Supermarket Sweep.

As I left for work, I somehow made the decision to take Farzina under my wing and teach her the baladi (local) ways that all Cairo Champions must possess. Later that day, I forwarded her an email on how to navigate the Cairo taxi system. She put it to use, but was quick to point out that, "contrary to the email, cabs will stop to pick other people up when you're sitting in the cab." Point taken.

And then there was the laundry incident. We must've tried four times to find an open laundry place. At last, we bundled up everything and walked down the street looking like a couple of crazy foreigners. When our laundry returned, it was immaculately folded and pressed. The best 10 bucks ever spent.

I did my best to drag Farzina around the lesser-known parts of Cairo. We shared 24 LE/kg kofta on "the other side of the tracks," ate chicken on Sudan St., wondered around Heliopolis, took microbuses, rode the tram, and cooked with ingredients bought from the most local of vendors. All it took to get her to do these things was a well-timed call right before she got up. You'd hear this voice on the phone that you would later know as Farzina's "morning voice." After some cajoling, she would usually say, "Dude, I need an hour." And then you'd be on your way.

Perhaps my fondest moment of the Bangladeshi is when her mom came. I had the honour of cooking with/for her mom, who is by default a master chef of Bengali cuisine. Talk about pressure. One little mistake and she would see past my disguise as an undercover desi. Everything turned out great. But later in the week, Farzina was scolded for not inviting me over for her mom's famous prawn curry. I would eventually get the famous dish, although made by Farzina on my second-to-last night.

Then Farzina went away. But came back a month-and-a-half later. It went by in a flash. So much so that I didn't see the importance in seeing her when she did get back to Cairo. She was none to happy about that. That didn't stop her from getting the ultimate revenge. After much postering, she finally created a Facebook account for me. My status: Worshipping Farzina. My interests: catering to Farzina's every need. Ouch.

There are countless other memories that would take a novel to explain. I'll spare you the marathon and tell you that Farzina was as important to me as a friend in Cairo as anyone. Who else would've planned my six leaving parties? Who else would ask me for cooking advice on MSN...while cooking? Who else would've dragged me to the Pyramids to ride horses at 4 AM? And who else would've moved so many times that she can't remember where she's lived anymore?

Farzina Alam. The Bangladeshi-Singaporean-but went to school in London-and seems to lack any sort of accent-but still uses British mannerisms. She is one person that I can guarantee I will see again.