then flashed to the sign at the airport: DRUG USERS WILL EITHER BE EXECUTED OR IMPRISONED FOR LIFE. No matter what's coming down, this is not looking good, I thought. I have to get out of here. This is not a good thing.
I looked at my driver. He was looking at me, holding out the drawing tube to the hookah, offering it to me, waiting. My voice was paralyzed. My hands were sweating. I could neither speak nor move.
One night back home , I dreamt I was alone in a house that was about to be attacked by thieves . One of the doors was unsecured and could easily be accessed by anyone desiring entry . Three robbers stood outside planning and discussing the evil they intended to do . I saw the thieves . I heard them . But I couldn ' t speak and I couldn ' t get away . I felt helpless . I panicked . In my dream , I picked up the phone and dialed 911 , the emergency number . No response .
The phone rang into a void . I
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set the receiver in the cradle and just watched as the robbers discussed how they were going to enter through the unsecured door . They were laughing about the harm they intended to inflict once they entered . In my dream — just as at the pyramids and now in the souk — I watched , fully aware it was happening yet unable to speak up or protect myself " Help ," I screamed in my dream . At first my cry sounded weak : then my voice became louder . Finally , I screamed " Help !" so loudly I woke myself up and startled my bird . Minutes later , while I sat in my living room trying to make sense of the dream , I could still feel the resounding vibrations from my shriek .
Still back home , days later , I had a similar dream . In that dream , a woman entered my home uninvited . I knew she was not of good will : she meant harm . I didn ' t want her there , but she just walked into my house anyway , as though she had a right to be there . Again , I just watched , speechless and paralyzed .
Finally , I mustered up the courage , the energy , and the power to push through the block and speak the words stuck in my throat ." Get out ," I finally screamed , again waking myself up ." Get out !"
At home , my dreams then took me back to my childhood , and to one of several incidents that I wished were only dreams . When I was twelve years old , I often baby sat for the children of people who lived in my neighborhood . One family I frequently worked for was a well respected , friendly couple with three young children . I liked their house . It wasn ' t fancy ,
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but it was clean and pretty . I liked their children . And they paid me fifty cents an hour — good money at the time . One New Year ' s Eve when I was baby
sitting , they returned home late . I was asleep on the couch when they arrived . The woman disappeared into the bedroom . I was too tired , it was too late , I was too young to notice how drunk the man was — too drunk to drive me home . On the way home , instead of turning at the corner where I lived , he continued to drive . After a few blocks , he parked the car . In the next instant , he was on top of me , all over me , pulling off my clothes .'' Stop ,'' I wanted to scream ." Get off . Get away !" I couldn ' t . Those words had stuck in my throat , too . I lay there frozen , until he finished , zipped up his pants , and drove me home .
Now, in the secondfloor balcony in the small Arab shop in the heart of the souk in Cairo, Egypt, I forced myself to push words through that same block in my throat.
The words gurgled out weakly at first, like water just coming out of a rusty spigot. But they came out.
"Hashish?" I asked, pointing at the water pipe. "Is that hashish?"
The driver looked at me, leaned back in his chair, and started laughing. "Hashish? No!" he said. "Not hashish. Shisha ."
" Shisha ?"I said.
" Shisha ,"he said.
"What's shisha ?"I asked.
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"Egyptian tobacco. Soaked in honey. Smoke it in shisha ,"he said, pointing to the pipe. "It's good."
"Tobacco?" I said, pointing to
Charna Halpern, Del Close, Kim Johnson