Divine Intervention

I was walking down Road 87 absentmindedly kicking bits of trash and grumbling under my breath about infrastructure when I saw him. He was about my height, maybe a little taller if you include his ears.

"¿Que onda guero?" He asked in a distinctly chilango accent.
"Pues, nada perro." I replied. I must admit that it felt good to be addressed in Spanish. Although my Spanish is not, and never was, very good - I enjoy Spanish and tend to feel better when people are speaking it. He had been leaning against a wall in a nonchalant manner. He shifted, stood taller, and walked beside me down the road.

I have been in a bit of a funk lately, spending too much time asking difficult (virtually rhetorical) questions and failing to notice, failing to engage in the marvels of daily life. Now, taking a stroll with a man who was wearing nothing but sandals and a linen mini-skirt, I had a feeling that things were taking a turn in an interesting direction. The curious thing is that despite the street being very crowded, as is typical in Cairo, if anybody noticed us - a chubby American in a guayabera and a nearly naked young man with the head of a jackal-  nobody said anything or even looked at us askance.

And so we walked. "¿Como ves?" He asked, his arm making a wide gesture as if referring to all of Egypt, perhaps the world.
"That's a big question, brother. You have time for a cup of tea?"
We were approaching Rd 9, main street if you will. There is a brilliant little outdoor tea house at the corner where the old men play endless rounds of dominoes and backgammon while drinking tea and smoking sheesha. It seemed like a good place to unload with my new friend. I don't really like smoking sheesha. It is smelly, numbs my tongue, and makes my head swim. But I figured, if I was going to spend the afternoon with the ancient Egyptian god of the dead, what harm would a little smoke do? It turned out that as well as being virtually unbeatable at backgammon, Anubis is a pretty good listener. He patiently followed along as I griped about Cairo, about traffic and garbage. After a while a thought crossed my mind. "So, this is a bit of an awkward question... um, am I dead?" I was after all, having tea with Anubis. He laughed and shook his head slightly. "Just checking."

At some point there was a lull in the conversation. That is to say that I quit yammering on self indulgently long enough for Anubis to get in a word. He cocked his head slightly in that curious way that dogs (and jackals, I suppose) do, paused a moment, and asked, "Que quieres, guero? ¿Porque viniste?"

 I don't know.

Reasons change. Plans change. Sometimes perhaps our motivations are hidden from us and reveal themselves later in our actions. Sometimes there are signs. Sometimes it is a jackal headed god or a pick pocket by a pyramid that guides us. Sometimes when I see a kingfisher hovering above the river, watching something just below the surface that I can't quite see, it makes sense for a moment. And I have seen these birds from the bank of the San Marcos River, as well as from feluccas in the Nile.

I don't know how long I sat there. When I did finally answer him, my reply sounded sort of vapid, silly really, "I came to see the pyramids." Again he chuckled in a curiously dog like way. I wanted to tell him that I meant more than that. That I wanted to experience the ancient world and feel thousands of years of history, that I was drawn by the Nile, by the mysterious carvings of mythical creatures on temple walls and the mountains of sand that shifted, concealing and revealing. I wanted to see a real jackal in the desert and to talk with a god with the head of a jackal too. It occurred to me that this impossible moment was exactly why I came, this meeting on the road, this cup of tea and crushing backgammon defeat. I suddenly felt like things were looking up.

Then he told me to go visit the Red Pyramid. He said that things would be better there, that I could reconnect with my dream. It felt funny having the god of the dead giving me tips on how to live. But maybe that is not so strange. It seems like everyone in Cairo has advice on where to go. Probably his cousin owns a gift shop there where he would give me 'very good, Egyptian price - not tourist.' But I knew that really it was more than that, that Anubis was alright, a good guy.

"Gracias. Thanks." I said. "I'll go. I'll bring the kids. I think we all need a good dose of ancient Egypt.

"¿Necesitas una guia?" He asked. You see. There's always the sales pitch in this town.

"Ya tengo una, gracias."