Egyptians.. don't you know zem?

I'm lost in my thoughts and browsing through the mall because it's too sticky outside. I tend to zone out as I ponder all. I reflect on certain situations, how people react or their facial expressions, and think about my interaction with the world and finally draw conclusions. A process that generally detaches me from everything. Sound, surroundings and people. It could be a hustling bustling bazaar that I'm walking through and as long as I'm thinking I'm in my own world. So there I am on the escalator staring off into never never land immersed in thought. When, much like in Hollywood movies, all is silent except for the sound of my resonating thoughts . This is interrupted however, by an insistent sound that triggers the return to reality. I unconsciously resist. It was just like an alarm clock that interrupts your sleep and for a few minutes you're not really sure if you're hearing it buzz or if that's simply a part of the dream. You try to focus and regroup on what you were doing but this buzzing in the background won't let you do it in peace. You drift further and further away from the bubble that is your dream and slowly become aware of your surroundings. I hear a sound of a boy who is approximately 10 years old. His voice isn't very distinctive except for the fact that he has this whininess to him. I listen for a pause in the beeping that is his voice but there is none. I listen for what may be genuine anguish but there is none of that either. He's whining the way a baby does not because it's hungry, hurt nor needs a diaper change. He's whining the way he has learnt to get attention. Its an obnoxious "look at me otherwise I'm going to fill your air with noise pollution that's going to make you wish the world would cave in on you just to make me stop". He had often tested his limits and on this glorious occasion decided to push them right to the limit. Use and abuse the everyone's affection. All these observations and thought transgresses mind you, before I can even see the boy. It is only after I have noticed the intonation in his voice, the constant rhythm of repetition and the fact that he does not stop for air that the word he is repeating finally registers with me. He's calling his mother but is stressing on different letters in the word than most Canadian kids do. He doesn't pronounce the umm in the middle of the word mummy the way someone who was pondering something would while scratching his head. The u sounds more like an a. He pronounces it much like a southerner would pronounce the world Maa. Very slowly and drawn out specifically at the A followed by a quick me. Maaaame. And so he goes Mami mami mami mami mami mami. I held my breath as I ascended towards the voice and counted a total of 17 consecutive mamis. I think it was right at the 9th consecutive mami that I decided with conviction: This kid IS Egyptian!" The lamada, the persistence, the way he's been taught to say the word mummy in a supposedly "chic" way. And surely enough as I start to see what appear to be his feet clad with fancy nikes and a loose pair of fitting jeans topped with a bright typically red Benetton polo style t-shirt my suspicions are confirmed. He's got that bronzed skin tone, the wonderfully fuzzy Egyptian hair that's gone a little lighter from hanging out in the sun as he played soccer with the neighbors, and the sweat that is dripping profusely from his pudgy face. His mother is comfortably plopped on some lawn furniture that's on sale, conveniently placed between the outdoor gardening section and the toy section. She is oblivious to the fact that her son is developing bronchitis as he incessantly repeats the word mami to her without a breath. She sits the way I imagine she would if that piece of furniture was placed in her own living room at home. I kept waiting for the shaghala to walk in with the Turkish coffee and the tall glass of water on a tray. At which point she'd make some remark about not ever wanting her to bring coffee out if the bottom of the water glass was going to leave a ring on the tray. She'd look over at her friend and say something belittling of the poor woman then proceed to offer her friend the coffee like she'd slaved over it for hours. In the distance I hear another repetition only in a higher pitch. I think "OH NO! There can't possibly be two of them?!" I frantically scan the area with my eyes hoping I'm imagining it but to my bad luck… My eyes and ears come to agreement as I zero in on the noise and there it is… The other half of the family. Another boy, relatively the same age as the first. I'm thinking 3 months apart because the newly wed couple didn't really manage to get much baby making practice in sans the baby and couldn't possibly fathom the idea of another pregnancy so quick after the first. That or there was no time to dilly dally with contraception… we are a horny population afterall! Regardless, the second boy is dressed identically like the first with the exception of a blue bennton polo shirt. And of course the variation in his song. The word Paaapi. There was no doubt that these two were brothers.. they looked the same… they were dressed the same… they spoke the same… they refused to breath the same and both their parents had that glazed look and smile on their faces just the same. The kind where they smile on the outside but repeat "think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts" on the inside just to keep from killing themselves and ironically being a living testimony to the wonder that is genetic inheritance. They are after all their children! I see this scene and automatically without thinking take a left turn… exactly the way they'd taught us to march as cadets in middle school on Sundays. I get on the escalator going down in shock and disbelief. I exhale and repeat… also without a breath as I descent further and further away from the sound. "astaghfar allah al 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab and allahdmeullah, allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah." I shudder with goose bumps at the idea of having children that create that much noise and want to expel the thought of possibly being punished on earth with such children for any sins I may have committed and immediately thank god for the fact that I don't have to take them home with me the way the poor parents do. That unlike them I could step onto an escalator going in the other direction and shake the thought of them off. I do suppose it is the parents fault after all for allowing that sort of behavior and would like to think that if I were to ever have children their up brining would vary greatly. But….I catch myself laughing when I realize I just finished doing the exact same thing the children had done except internally. I laugh even harder at the thought that I too was once upon a type a similar Egyptian kid!