To do the laundry in privacy. . .

By Kirsten Nour Namskau

Here in Egypt, everybody have their laundry-line outside the balcony, often facing the street.
They don’t really have the sense of beauty or common sense. Not only do you get the dripping from wet clothes in your head if you walk on the pavement, but you are also exposed for the habit people have here, when they sit on the balcony with their cup of tea . . . they suddenly find it necessary to spit out without thinking of that it maybe is someone walking on the pavement below. Like as well may you get an apple-core or “lib” Schell in you head. (lib, is the roasted seeds of melon, which is a very common kind of snack.)
Well, I was lucky . . . because my balcony was not facing the street. It was on the back-side of the building with a nice flourish garden below.
I had the clean-up day, to was the flat and take the laundry and get the laundry on the line. The white wash, the colored wash, the “small wash” and the delicate wash. Pooh. . . all that . . .
Finally I could sit down with a cup of tea. I felt god about myself, finishing it all in one day.
I sat on my balcony and enjoyed the flourish garden. I saw the land-lord nestling around in the garden as usually.
Well, time to make dinner, maybe???
I went in to the kitchen to put together something for dinner.
I was almost finish, when the door-bell rang.
Outside was the land-lord. He looked at me with a funny glance in his eyes and I could see he was holding something closed in his hand.
I was standing there, waiting for him to tell me what it was he wanted. He suddenly looked bothered as if he didn’t know how to start.
Suddenly, he said: “ Madam, have you seen your knickers?”
I looked at him with surprise; ” what???”
He understood in a flash, that what he wanted to say had come out wrong, so he tried again: “ No madam, I mean . . . do you have your knickers on?”
I shoot my eyes in him : “Are you insulting me?”
He understood that also this time it had come out wrong and tried again: “Madam, sorry, but your knickers are still wet.”
I wanted to slam the door in his face, but he stopped it on the way and tried again:
“ Madam, my English is very best not, but you have to understand. I think you have lost your knickers.”
“You know what”, I said “ I think you have lost your mind, that’s worse…”
I slammed the door, feeling real insulted.
I heard a soft knocking on the door. I opened it with a rush and was ready to shout out my disgust. But in the same minute I opened the door, he throw something in on the floor and run down the stairs.
I closed the door and picket up what he had thrown in, and suddenly I knew what it was he had tried to tell me.
Among my “delicate” wash, was also one of these very small laced knickers, you know, type G-string.
Unfortunately, the laundry-clips on this very particular item had broken. As the landlord had nestled around with the flowers under my balcony, he suddenly felt something fondle softly around his head. He picked it off with caring hand to see what Allah had dropped down from heaven.
“ohhh, what is this.” He thought
“ is it a handkerchief? “
“Nooo, let me see closer . . . “
“ OHHHHH, Allah wa’ackbar, (Good God) It is the knickers of madam Nour ! ! “

Well, what can I say??? It’s good I didn’t have the laundry-line facing the street.

. . . .