Get Me Outta Here

Get me Outta here!

My mate Chris and I headed off to the Grand Mall today, or Manky Mall as we not so affectionately call it, in search of some bright sparkly shoes. It is thee place to go if you are in search of something along the lines of pole dancing attire, or hooker gear if you get my drift.

I’ve never been able to fathom why all the shops are full of such raunchy kit in such a conservative country. Where do they wear it? I never see anyone dressed in it and there is no way the pavements of Cairo would allow you to walk in those shoes without breaking an ankle.

As for the underwear…well I’m assuming the peep hole bras and undies are for married ladies only in the privacy of their home. That’s fine, it’s just there is sooo much of it on display, do ALL egyptian ladies wear it? The sheer volume of it on display would leave you to think so, or maybe it’s just eye candy for the male shoppers and employees to brighten up their day as they stroll around.

Anyway, the pole dancing shoes were for me as I decided a bit of bling would brighten up a rather plain dress I have for the fancy ball I’m off to on Friday. So Chris and I wound our way up the escalators to the top floor which has a whole row of shops given over to all things tacky. We spied a very fetching mint green evening gown with a price tag that appeared to say 213le or about £20 quid, so in we popped for a nosey. Yes we are easily distracted, I know we were meant to be looking for shoes. Then all hell broke loose…..

We could hear shouting and screaming outside but we couldn’t see out, so off course we headed to the door for another nosey. Our nosiness is going to get us into trouble some day. There were lots of guys some with iron bars all fighting with each other. Not the usual Egyptian fighting which involves three boys holding one back, but proper real adrenalin fuelled hatred type fighting.

We retreated back into the shop but kept an eye out. Once they had moved away a bit we made our escape, or so we thought. We nipped out to the right and made our way along a back route which would have gotten us clear except there was another group fighting at that end, we were effectively hemmed in. A kindly older lady saw us and brought us into what appeared to be the Mall management office.

She said they were drug addicts and mimed shooting up into her arm, and that it happens every day! Don’t worry she said it will be over in 5 minutes. Well, it wasn’t. We sat for a while around a very smart boardroom table until the glass wall behind me shook and I jumped out of my seat.

They were right outside now pushing up against the glass wall and quite frankly it was pretty scary. We moved to the other side of the room to a window which the kindly old lady said we could jump through if they managed to break through the wall. Considering we were about 5 floors up that wasn’t a great option.

She was on the phone with security or the police but there was no sign of them. Chris was pretty calm, I was giggling but not in a good way, more a nervous get me outta here way, and it was really really noisy. There must have been about forty very angry men outside.

Eventually they moved away a bit and a couple of guys came in to escort us out. They brought us to a lift but I couldn’t be bothered waiting on it so Chris and I hot footed past the crowds now watching and down the escalator.

You could still hear them five floors below, but that didn’t deter us stopping off to pick up some very sparkly ear rings to match the shoes which will surely turn my ears green by midnight on Friday.

No police to be seen, it was around a half an hour since it started and still going strong when we left, so much for her 5 minutes. So people, avoid the Grand Mall between 1pm and 2pm as she told us they were fighting because the Mall rules now say all shops must be cleaned and opened by 12:30 which is far too early for the shop keepers….. hence the hoards of screaming men and iron bars! Oh Egypt!

Masalama, Slainte, Bye.



The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

Sometimes things work out, sometimes not, but this week I’ve had the best and the worst week ever, all rolled into one. I have cried everyday, and until yesterday I hadn’t laughed for what seemed like forever. Why? Well I lost my dog.

He’s a rather special dog, I guess every dog owner will tell you that, but this one is 14 and has travelled with us from Ireland. When we brought him out he was 9, and the Irish climate had taken its toll, he was arthritic and slow, I wasn’t sure he would survive the flight. But he did and the fabulous Egyptian weather gave him a new lease of life.

Anyway, somehow last Friday he managed to get out of the garden and I went into meltdown mode. I spent the weekend trudging the streets covering more ground than you would in a marathon but no joy. I couldn’t sleep, I spent one night on the sofa outside with the gate open just in case he came back and couldn’t get in.

I posted on Facebook and twitter and hundreds of people shared his picture, (thank you) lots sent me pictures of dogs that had been found but none were him. As the days rolled by I tried to convince myself that he had just gone to find himself a quiet corner, as they do, somewhere away from the family where he could lay down for his last sleep.

Lots of very kind Egyptians, people i had never met, contacted me telling of some horrible horrible markets that sell animals on a Friday. They sent me some very scary photos of the dogs and other animals who are bred or stolen for profit, these people are sick. The condition of the animals was horrendous. I had psyched myself up to go with my driver today, he didn’t want me to go with him, I guess he knew I would be upset.

So, in a last ditch attempt to find him I had some posters printed with his photo and my phone number. The kindest guy in the printers Ahmed translated it into Arabic for me and didn’t even charge me one piaster to print them, again thank you. But that’s when the trouble started.

As soon as I and a very special lady Chris put them up (another thank you) the phone calls started. The dregs of society who were ringing to laugh at me, or, once they heard an expat lady voice just pestered me with nuisance calls. The odd one or two seemed genuine but it was really difficult to tell and my Arabic is just not good enough to route them out. I never ventured far from the security guy outside or the staff at the club who could translate.

On Wednesday I got a genuine one but he wanted to meet within the hour, the hubby was at work and I was warned not to go on my own. Another friend organised within minutes a BIG South African body guard (more thanks) and off we went, unfortunately it wasn’t him.

By Yesterday he had been gone 6 days and I was losing hope so when I got another phone call telling me to go to the same road as Wednesday I thought it would be the same dog I had seen. This caller was a girl with some English and I hurried home to get the security guy to translate. It turned out she was calling on behalf of a policeman with no English and that they had a dog but he couldn’t walk, he was very sick and they thought he was dying. I felt then that this might be him.

The security guy talked a policeman at the end of the road to go with me, it turned out they were only a few hundred metres from my house. I couldn’t search this area as its a military zone and basically waste ground. As I rounded the corner I saw my dog lying on the ground, I cannot describe how relieved I was, I thought I would collapse, I was shaking more than the dog. As soon as I got close he jumped up, I think they thought it was a miracle as they had him for two days and thought he couldn’t walk, he was perfectly fine just depressed I think. The barbed wire lead they had attached probably didn’t help.

We were home in minutes with him jumping up and down and running like crazy in the garden, but that wasn’t the end of it. I had given the policeman they pointed out who found him some money, rather a lot of money, but I had no idea what he had done. An hour or so later a Major General something or other in the police knocked on my door with the roll of money. In perfect English he told me that the boy had simply done his job and they could not accept the money, that it would be seen as a bribe and the police didn’t take bribes….well who knew, that’s a first.

He then told me what had happened. A few days ago they found the dog but he was down a very deep hole. They couldn’t get to him so for a couple of days they threw down food scraps but he wouldn’t eat. They had no way of getting any water to him so after a couple of days they sent this young skinny guy down the hole. By this stage the dog had been in the hole for four days. The young guy somehow managed to get him out. I have no idea how, I have seen the hole and it’s pretty scary, and they kept him for a couple of days until they saw my posters.

I negotiated with the major general something that it wasn’t the boys job to feed the dog and he needed to be recompensed for this. He agreed to that and returned 90% of my money. My dog is perfectly fine, he has been down the club and is enjoying lots of treats, alls well that ends well. My final thank you goes out to Little Lucy, who rounded up her teenage mates and walked miles, you are a star. X

Masalama, Slainte, Bye.


Feeling Good

I haven’t written in a while, I have wanted to, but the seemingly constant stream of depressing reports, surveys, and news coming out of Egypt has left me feeling my normally fluffy take on things would be somehow inappropriate.

My Facebook timeline and twitter feed Is filled with “Egypt voted worst place to be an expat, worst for quality of primary education, worst to be a woman and highest for the percentage of women who undergo female genital mutilation” horrific. Life here for a lot of people is hard, very very hard.

Well, that’s the guilt trip out of the way, that was just to show you I am aware, I understand, I empathise, but you can’t let the Ba$tards grind you down!

So moving swiftly on…..I was just walking back from the Metro, I don’t take taxis any more unless I have my bambi legs on and am incapable of walking, and I had a little encounter to warm the cockles of your heart. Two youngish boys, say about 13 decided I would be the target for their perverted verbal abuse today. They were shouting what they’d like to do to me, you know the normal stuff, although at 13 I’m not sure they could have followed through.

Next thing an elderly gentleman on a motorbike pulled up along side me, said “I’m very sorry madam” and spun his bike round to chase the boys. Well, he was approaching them from behind so they didn’t see him coming. He drove right between them with both his legs sticking out and managed to kick both of them on the back of their knees. Down they went as he speeded of leaving them lying there, and waved me goodbye.

So, you see there are things to be positive about, the fact that the punishment may have been a little severe, and that anywhere else in the world he would have been taken up for child abuse is irrelevant. Going back to the taxi thing, I have decided to walk everywhere, but make sure I have the taxi fare handy. This money I use to salve my conscience, basically it’s to make me feel better.

The disabled boy in the wheelchair who sits at Midan Victoria, beside the daffy duck balloon man, you know who I mean, and the 90year old toothless road sweeper who does Port Said Street are the normal recipients. There is no bloody welfare system here and whilst I can’t do much their smiles make my day. Have a go yourself, don’t be giving it to the beggars though there is a mafia of them, and they use the kids to milk it. I do succumb to them now and again but I actually take the tissues which seriously pisses them off.

For those of you outside Cairo, and for whom the last sentence probably didn’t make any sense, here is a synopsis. It’s illegal to beg here so they pretend they are selling you tissues, you’re meant to just give them some money and walk away without the tissues. But I can’t be bothered with this lot, they are raking it in, so I always take the tissues. That’s the reason I keep getting new handbags, they are all full up with little handi-paks, well that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Now, let’s see what else have I been up to…..I’ve been very busy actually. I told you last time that I got elected to the Ace Club committee. In my little speech I sold it to the crowd by saying, I am a lady who lunches who was a hotel manager in my previous life. I have a good understanding of what needs to go on behind the scenes to allow you lot to just turn up and get pished, blah, blah,blah. I think they heard the pished part and i was a shoo-in.

It’s been a blast so far I have to say. They are refitting the bar so basically I get to shop for chairs tables etc without spending any of my own money, perfect. This is definitely a job for a lady who lunches. The hubby is pretty happy about the money part too, I’m far too busy to be spending any of his.

We are off to Dubai in a week or two for the Rugby 7s, I can’t wait. I’m going as the team manager, well there are two managers, the other one does the managing. I once again have been tasked with shopping. I’ve been down the Khan El Khalili to collect Galebayas and T-shirts for the tour. I did get sidelined in Mohamed Khalis Jewellery shop but that’s another story. I forgot to get the Fez’s so I guess I’ll have to go back….no jewellery this time, note to self.

I’m rather excited because as a manager I get one of those dongle things you hang round your neck to access all areas. Dongle is not the right word, my minds gone blank, but you know what I mean. That means I get to have lunch in the players tent surrounded by heaps and heaps of international rugby players, ahh eye candy at its best. The hubby will be there too and he will obviously outshine them all….just covering myself there.

Speaking of the hubby he got to do the shopping for the playing kit, that’s the shirts, shorts and socks, Well him and his accomplice in crime Dr T. They did unfortunately copy me in on all their emails during the design process which was painful to say the least. Suffice to say its very very scary, I don’t think it would be possible to fit in any more clashing colours or patterns. Here is a shot of last years effort which is very tame in comparison. I do have a shot of this years but I can’t post it for security reasons. Plus they would both kill me if I ruined their grand unveiling ceremony.


Im off to see if I can find any sheep dog training facilities here, highly unlikely, I may have to “You tube” it. I feel I need to brush up on my skills of corralling prior to Dubai. If I picked up some handy hints they would assist me in my management duties. Basically my duties will entail gathering up 15 drunken players and ensuring they find their way to the right pitch, no mean feat.

I will need to have on hand some spare inhalers, lots of tape, various types of strapping and lots of deep heat and freeze spray. There is a professional physio tent which our players can use free of charge, but after last years debacle whereby I missed a match because the one and only Dr T had me running back to the tent in search of his credit card I may ban them from using this facility.

Lots of wives and supporters are coming this year but I can’t decide if it will be a help or a hindrance. It will relieve me of one duty though, the “minding” of wedding rings. It’s not what you think, they take them off to play, give them to me, and then have mild panic attacks when they forget I have them. It’s usually about 10 at night in the Irish village when it kicks in, I’ve decided this year I will be mean and accidentally misplace at least one., you have been warned, ahh life is good!

Bye, Masalama Slainte

RPG Attack in Maadi?

I Woke up yesterday to twitter going crazy over “RPG” attack in Maadi. There had been a couple of loud blasts about 4:30 am which obviously I slept through, years of practice with the hubby’s snoring renders me immune to such trifles.

The loud blasts are fairly common, last weeks turned out to be a gas canister exploding in a florists, so you’ve got to take the twitter people with a pinch of salt. The much more scary headline, for me anyway, was “Egypt to Build Nuclear Power Station”

The fact that it’s possible to die here just by working in a florists, hardly the most dangerous career path, and taking into consideration Egyptians general apathy to all things health and safety related, means I am out of here the minute this Nuclear power plant hits the construction phase.

It took a couple of hours for the newspapers to pick up on the blasts, and even then it was Al Watan, who lets just say aren’t the most reliable source. Meanwhile twitter had variously accredited the blasts to an electrical explosion, tanks firing canons, (do tanks even have canons nowadays?) The tanks along the Suez road we saw over the weekend certainly do not.

That may however have something to do with the fact they are made out of cardboard. Yes really, ok maybe not cardboard but they are made from plywood at best, although I’m still not sure why, they may be remnants from the “ghost Army” deployed during the war. Fascinating stuff, here is the link………ghost army….nor am I sure why there is a giant helmet on display either, maybe it’s to confuse those sneaky Israelis taking aerial photographs.

Fake tank


More fake stuff on display at the citadel…..awesome stuff eh?


Back to the RPGs. One of the oil companies sent out a security notice to say the blasts were controlled explosions in a nearby quarry, and that’s when the alarm bells started ringing, for me anyway. This is their standard cover story, they accredited last years sonic boom to these mysterious blasts too, it’s what they send out when they haven’t a clue what’s going on. In fairness Its not the oil companies fault, they are being fed this line from their security sources.

But come on people waken up, these blasts went off during curfew, so no one should have been at work to start with, never mind the fact the quarry is in Helwan so unless there was some sort of time travel machine that captured the sound of the blasts from the quarry and deposited them in Maadi I’m not buying it.

UFOs were also a possibility floated as being responsible for the blasts. These proposals didn’t make their way to twitter, thankfully, they were merely voiced by my friends, which shows the quality of the company I keep. Their “proof” of UFOs was based on the fact the roundabout at Midan Victoria is displaying signs of crop circles. The proximity to the Ace Club of this roundabout may have something to do with their perception.

By mid afternoon the RPG story was generally accepted as true and Sky News, the BBC and Al Jazeera were running with it. The confirmation appeared to come from the military spokes person via ONTV, who I would place in a similar category as Al Watan. Details began to emerge that the target was the nile-sat satellite dish but they missed and hit the international phone satellite instead. There is no way of verifying this as no one I know has an international phone line to check. It never bloody works anyway so it won’t make any difference, thank goodness for Skype.

We are really none the wiser and I’ve been in Egypt too long to be sure of anything. The abundance of conspiracy theories and warped logic I’m surrounded by has totally screwed any deductive reasoning I may have had. It either happened, or it didn’t. If it did, someone wants us to believe it didn’t. If it didn’t someone wants us to believe it did, take your pick.

This “rocket” may be similar to the one used in the attack…….also on display at the citadel, scary stuff!!


UPDATE :YOU TUBE VIDEO OF THE ATTACK claimed by “Al-Furqan Brigades” I cannot testify to the authenticity of this.

For Video Click Here

The Special One

I was at a dinner party the other evening, a leaving party for yet another one of my friends, and it was rather posh. I don’t often get to swan about in Katamaya, but I went fully prepared. I put on my high heels, my newest skirt, and a little blouse, I even washed my hair and shaved my legs. I packed my fags into my Channel handbag (fake off course) and thought I looked the part.

The downside to this ensemble was that en-route to this party I had to stop off at the Ace Club in Maadi, make a speech in front of the assembled crowd and hope they would vote me on to the committee. I looked like a proper lady who lunches, and quite honestly I was crapping it. The hubby wasn’t even there to lend his support, he was off galavanting at the golf.

I did the speech stone cold sober as i had to walk up to the microphone and back again. I sidelined my usual tipple of fine Egyptian wine as the combination of it, and high heels turn me into Bambi. Anyway I did alright and managed to get on, waved my goodbyes and headed off to see the Katamaya crowd.

It was a lively evening but there was an underlying layer of sadness to be saying yet another good bye. I was the only smoker so I discreetly nipped away for a quick fag kindly accompanied by an ex smoker who wanted to hover near by and imbibe of some passive Marlboro light.

There is an underlying feeling of sadness in Egypt too. The buzz has gone. Egypt is tired, fed up, and depressed, We need an inspirational personality to step in and grab the bull by the horns and get things going again. I have the very boy in mind, Jose Mourinho.

Just picture Jose addressing the nation, suave, sophisticated, handsome, sexy and George Clooney-esque. That would be enough to give the economy the boost it needs straight away. Imagine the tourists flocking back just to catch a glimpse of those rugged good looks. But, Jose is not just a pretty face, he is a media darling with his sound bites of wisdom, and his obviously modest persona.

Little snippets from his speeches would go something like this:

“I am Jose Mourinho your President, I am the special one, Egyptian people you are my new team, I am zee boss”

“Men in Egypt play very good with balls….too much playing with balls not good, men in Egypt need to learn how to score…if you score no need to play with balls”

“I am a very stylish man, I am beautiful, Egyptian people should dress like me. Your clothes now very ugly, my team needs look cool. Crocs are banned”

“Egyptian people you cannot grow grass (except good gardeners in Katamaya) Astro Turf will replace all grass, save water, more to wash with, and stop stupid Bowab wet my feet with hose”

Oh, we can but dream, I hereby nominate Jose Mourinho for President, he can’t fuck it up anymore than the last one, or the latest crew.

Thats sorts Egypt out but I still have my underlying sadness at losing so many friends. Our book-club has been decimated. By Christmas only myself and one other member will remain from the original line up. I will no longer be able to regale you with tales of their gin sozzeled conversations, or their expat lady troubles. I need to find some new friends. Selection criteria will be based purely upon their comedic competencies, but in truth I can’t be arsed.

Slainte, Masalama, Bye.


Curfew Curry

I took my life in my hands yesterday and ventured into Carrefour at Maadi city centre. I knew I must have been on some sort of a self destruct mission as I went in around mid afternoon when it’s just nuts. I was only after something for the dinner and thought I would just nip in and out, get a couple of their pre-cooked chickens and rice but no, I ended up being distracted by legs of lamb.

I’m blaming my distraction on the curfew, it is most definitely, absolutely, the curfews fault that I even considered a leg of lamb for dinner on a Tuesday night. Well let’s be honest who has the time or the inclination to be slow cooking a couple of kilos of meat mid week. Normally i have a life and would be otherwise engaged of an evening. Anyway the special offer sign tempted and taunted and drew me in. Its power to seduce was too strong to resist so yes I bought the bloody leg of lamb.

Now you can’t have roast lamb without all the trimmings so I headed off in search of some decent carrots, (still no parsnips in Cairo it’s a disgrace) and obviously some honey to sweeten them up. Some rosemary would also be required but since I have some strange plant in the garden that vaguely resembles rosemary I thought I would bluff it. I was counting my items so I could go through the 10 items or less check-out, the rosemary would’ve pushed me over the edge.

I still have traumatic memories of my last visit when my box of water was deemed to be 12 separate items and I was refused permission to pass. Following a rather heated exchange I refused to go to another till and stormed off, water trailing in my wake, not my finest hour. In a fit of self pity I thought some coffee and a fag would sort that out only to be the recipient of the worst service ever in one of the adjacent coffee shops. In hindsight PMS may have been playing up.

Undaunted, I filled in the customer complaint form, which I know they binned, but they had under estimated the power of a woman scorned. I tracked them down via Facebook and twitter, inundated them with self righteous verbal dihorrea until they relented and sent the manager around to my house. Yes, my house because ” I don’t have the time to call in to your restaurant” says I. Anyway, he turned up with a gigantic caramel cheesecake type thingy. Rather fabulous it was too.

Back to the lamb, I had counted and recounted my items and I was deemed fit to pass this time through the “fast” checkout. I should bloody well hope so too as the woman in front had multiple boxes of Twix and Mars bars which according to the rules I was subjected to should have been counted as individual items. I thought about voicing my opinion but bit my tongue as after the unfortunate incident in Seoudi I have been running out of places to shop.

Anyway, I cooked the lamb with all the trimmings, gave the bone to the dog, and saved all the meat for tonight’s curry. Easy day today then, I can rustle up a curry no bother. Well no, the curfew has me searching for complicated recipes so I can prolong the evenings festivities, I’m currently contemplating a lamb Pathia but can’t decide to go for sweet or spicy. I’m veering towards the spicy as I still have lots of my homemade mango chutney from the 5 mango trees in the garden. I really need to catch a grip, I’m like some earth mother type but with better dress sense, obviously.

I googled things to do during curfew, yes I’m sad like that, and was rather expecting some drinking games, ways to taunt those self righteous guardians of the curfew, they may be called the police? The hubby and I had a little run in with them the other night, stumbling home about midnight when they very helpfully pointed out we were late. I pulled my blonde expat card and very politely said “oh thank you, thank you very much sir, we live just round the corner” Masalama and on we stumbled waving our goodbyes.

Well, google was rather disappointing, no drinking games were on display, it was full of nonsense like learn a musical instrument, read a book, learn a language. Stuff that its a curfew not hard labour. I was thinking brushing up on my cocktail skills, jäger bombers, sex on the beach, things like that. On a posher note we did have a pimms pool party the other day which is frightfully English. Speaking of which the teachers should be back soon, some were spotted out and about the other day, white faced and rather startled looking. Now, some handy hints as to how to tease, frighten, or ideally traumatise the newbie teachers wouldn’t go amiss, that’s the proper way to spend your curfew time.

Masalama, Slainte


Dirty Laundry

I’ve been feeling I needed to write something for days now, a purely selfish cathartic piece, an exorcism of confusion if you will, as I try to get my head around what’s going on in Egypt, this crazy messed up place we call home.

Writing this blog has a been a bit like riding a bike, I’ve got into the swing of it, I’ve peddled the Maadi expat persona and concerned myself with vitally important expat lady things, wine, manicures, bookclubs, drivers, maids, gin and more wine. I’ve had a blast, and a lot of fun doing it. But the stabilisers have come of now, and I’m shit scared.

Am I shit scared for Egypt? Straight answer NO, I think they will muddle through. It will work out rather in the way the electrician who turns up with a plastic bag of tools comprising a screwdriver and some tape will manage to fix your washing machine.

You know the leaking plastic pipe needs replaced, he knows it too, but it’s the Egyptian way to stick a bit of tape on it, patch it up, and pretend its fine. Easier to stick with the old one with a few adjustments than rip out the washing machine, flood the kitchen and spend the time and effort sourcing a replacement part.

That piece of taped up plastic pipe looks different now, it’s face to world is unrecognisable, it’s a different colour, it feels different but underneath we all know it’s just the same. Sisi is not Tantawi, is not Mubarak but……

The last time around, way back in 2011 the electrician/electorate thought they would have a go at changing the pipe. They had a go, they couldn’t find exactly what they were looking for so they compromised. Morsi wasn’t an exact fit, he didn’t meet the manufacturers criteria but they ploughed on even though it started leaking from day one.

After a year of struggling on and mopping up the damage the electorate threw their heads up and ripped him out. The “told you so brigade” are happy we’ve reverted to the old one, they’re insisting it’s a temporary measure until they can source the right part. I’m happy enough with that if it’s true, it’s just the manufacturers of these parts, the political parties, don’t seem to be producing anything that fits the specifications.

They could off course change the whole machine, start from scratch with a completely different model. They could write a whole new constitution bringing into state control all the army’s commercial interests and budget. How about the pasta factories, water bottling plants, refrigerator factories, construction companies etc etc become state property, the army stick to defending national security, you know like in the rest of the world?

That won’t happen, no chance, so we will muddle on through, maybe address women’s rights, NGOs, the filthy streets, tourism etc while the elephant in the room (military/MOI) nods its head and says carry on folks, great job.

I’m no fan of the brotherhood, they were a disaster for this country economically, socially, in fact in just about every way. Their true colours have been unveiled to the world with their hasty removal of their Al Queda flags from their protests once the international media descended. Quickly replaced with brand spanking new ones in English calling for democracy. But…and here it is people the thing that’s really scaring me is the fact that there are those that think dispersing sit ins will get rid of them.

Time to waken up Egypt, for the MB are the other elephant in the room. The brotherhood have been around for 80+ years, they ain’t going anywhere. No matter how distasteful it may seem now, they need to be engaged, they need to be included, they are part of this country whether you like it or not. Dialogue is the only way forward, and reform from the inside out, and top down. You can present your shiny new exterior to the world, but without reform, well lets say in the background you’ll be washing your dirty laundry with faulty parts.