An Issue with Tissue

I am have always been nonplussed by how much Egyptians love tissues. You can find it most everywhere. It is used in place of napkins at the table. Everyone carries it around as if it is their security blankets. In the winter it is used for colds and in the summer it is used to dab beads from sweaty palms or foreheads. On several occasions, after sneezing in a taxi, I have been offered a small, cherished, personal package of tissues and told, out of generosity, that I must keep it. Two of these times I didn't even needed to blow my nose but pretended to because I felt so obligated. The reason I said "most times" is because 9 out of 10 times there will be no paper of any kind in the WC (ladies room). Everyday, I am offered tissues to buy from the very lowest class of society here. They purchase their supply at about 9 cents a packet and then sell it to people, like myself, for about 18 cents a packet(Not to bad on the return in my opinion).

This leads me to my story about Sara. I first met this charming little 5 year old girl when looking for a flat to rent about 5 months ago. She had no tissues at the time to offer me but kindly extended a hand and a smile. Unfortunately, I didn't have a penny, yet alone a pound, to offer her. She didn't seem to mind and we started a conversation about my family and her family, school, babies, any subject I had the Arabic words for. I forgot about her until about a week ago. Joe kindly relieved me from a well needed rest from Mommyland to run some errands around town. On stepping out of the taxi at my first stop, I turned around and there was Sara and a packet of tissue. We both smiled at each other in recognition and started chit-chatting. I asked her were her mother was and she told me she was about a mile away on another street and asked if I would buy her tissue. I told her not today, but next time I would and that it was good to see her and went on my way.

About 3 hours and 4 errands later, in a different location entirely, there was Sara again with another little girl about 3 years old. Her smile was the biggest I had seen so far because she remembered that I had said that the "next time" I would buy her tissue and she only had one left. Knowing she had a good point, I bought her last packet of tissue and finished the last of my shopping.

Walking home that evening I was lost in thought about Sara and what her life must be like. I wondered why I hadn't bought her tissue the first time I saw her. I looked down at the ground only to see a brand new little scarf on the dirt road beside my feet. No one was around to claim it so I kept walking. Then half a block down I saw Sara, for the third time that day, with her little friend who was in tears. I knew at once that the little scarf was hers. I told her not to cry and pointed to the scarf. She dried her eyes, smiled and ran to it. I continued walking in the other direction towards home. I couldn't help but feel that I had been some sort of character in one of God's docudramas. On the surface, it wasn't anything life changing. It was just a packet of tissue, a scarf, and 19 cents but in reality, it was much more. It was at this moment that began to understand why Egyptians love tissue.