Jenyfer Matthews

When we left the US ten years ago and moved to the Middle East, one of the first Arabic phrases I learned to say was “post office” because I spent a fair amount of time going there in taxis to pick up packages. Those experiences were fairly stressful – imagine walking into a hot, loud, crowded bureaucratic office where you don’t know the language and no one stands in line. Though it was a great training ground for learning to be pushy and standing my ground, in the years since I’ve done what I could to avoid going to the post office. I would rather pay inflated courier service prices than try to mail a package regular mail!

Cairo is the first place I’ve lived abroad where they do actually have home mail delivery – though I’ve never figured out exactly what their system is. I’ve had large packages delivered to my doorstep with the carrier only too happy to collect the import duty (and tip!) – sometimes coming back multiple times in one day if I’m not home the first time they try to make delivery. Other times they simply leave a package notice in my box for something small like an envelope containing a CD of photos as they did this week.

I’ve been to the post office here once before – to pick up a different CD of photos. Not sure why they make such a fuss about discs, but they do. The post office is only about a twenty minute walk away, but I might as well have been in a different city, the atmosphere of the street changes so dramatically as you cross over an invisible barrier from expat-land to local Cairo. I was the *only* Westerner on the street and though no one around me made any special fuss, I felt fairly conspicuous in a way that I don’t often feel this close to my neighborhood.

The post office set-up has changed a little since I was last there but I waved my pink notice and found the window where I needed to be – manned by the same woman as was there the last time I visited, three years ago. I showed her my notice and she asked me who I was since my husband’s name was on the notice. She then asked to see my passport. Huh? Once she asked me, I vaguely remembered that nearly every time I have been to the post office I am asked to produce my passport which always strikes me as ridiculous since I didn’t even need my passport to get into the US Embassy when I went to meet my friend for dinner earlier in the week.

Needless to say, I didn’t have my passport handy. She asked for another ID. I gave her an old driver’s license I still have from my time in the United Arab Emirates. What? It’s not yet expired and better yet, has some Arabic writing on it. Funnier still, she accepted it immediately. (Note: That is the real reason I never remember to bring my passport – because I can get away with giving them my gym membership card and still get what I came for)

The duty on the CD came to 7 Egyptian pounds, 85 piastres. Three years ago when I went to claim the CD, the duty was 7 pounds and when I gave her a 10 pound note and she claimed she had no change. Right. Lack of change is a national epidemic apparently. This time the duty was slightly higher, but one thing you have to know about Egyptian money is that though the amount for a transaction could be any amount, usually the cashier will either round up or down to the nearest .25 piastre. One Egyptian pound is only worth about US$0.18 so they don’t produce small coinage anymore, the only current notes / coins being quarter and half a pound increments.

I thought I would be clever this time around so I gave her seven pounds and seventy-five piastres in notes and I dug what I thought was an old 10-piastre coin out of my purse. My triumph was short-lived though because it turns out it wasn’t an Egyptian coin afterall! She wasn’t the sort to round down so I ended up giving her eight pounds. No small coins means no change this time either!

I did at least get the package. And an even greater appreciation of the overall efficiency of the US postal system

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