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The day began like any other day. Sounds of morning prayer echoed in the background as I indulged in a fresh goulash accompanied by a cup of Turkish coffee. Old men gossiped as the sweet aroma of grape and vanilla lingered from their hookahs. Lost in the bustling ancient city streets, we stumbled upon Khan el-Khalili bazaar, one of the largest and oldest markets in the Middle East. Shop owners selling their life’s work haggled with potential customers. I brushed shoulders with locals and tourists alike as I watched overly sun-screened Wisconsin suburbanites speak obscenely loud and slow to a stall handler who spoke perfect English. The noon sun began to set as we concluded our sailboat tour along the Nile. Afterward, my friends and I squeezed into a rusted Toyota Corolla. We decided to spend our last night in Cairo enjoying one more adventure like “Lawrence of Arabia,” minus the horses and British, before departing to our next destination along the Red Sea. Laughing, singing, telling stories of old quickly faded as we approached a scene I hoped to only ever witness in the movies. Our car came to a demanding stop, the night sky black as an abyss, the air still as the Queen’s Guard. This is the beginning of “My Last Night in Cairo.” Five men in military uniform with AK-47’s hanging at their hips, German Shepherds at their side ready to attack, encompassed our tiny sedan. My two friends sitting in the front started to speak Arabic to the men that have surrounded our car. Voices began to elevate, hand gestures flew sporadically, and I could feel a sense of anxiety coming from my friend next to me. I want to clarify that my friend stands 6 feet 4 inches, weighs 230 pounds, and looks like a modern-day Paul Bunyan, and I have never known him to be afraid of anything. The conversation grew more intense by the second. I thought to myself, why didn’t I study more Arabic before departing on this journey? Maybe I could comprehend more of what they are saying, perhaps I don’t want to know what they are saying. Moments I have never experienced flashed before my eyes. Like a fresh-baked croissant in a Parisian café, the warmth of a lover beneath the dancing Northern Lights, or gazing at the rising sun atop Mount Fuji. All I could imagine was my mother’s cries as they throw me in a deep dark dungeon and toss the key in the desert. The only way out is to stumble upon the mythical genie’s lamp in what would inevitably become my tomb. My friend switched from Arabic to English and said, “We are just showing our American friends around Egypt,” pointing in my direction. The soldier’s eyes turned and became glued on me, shining the most illuminating flashlight I have ever seen deep into my soul. He looked at me, then my friend, and then back to me. “Americans?” he asked. We quickly responded, “Yes, sir!” He paused for a moment, what seemed an eternity, and replied, “Welcome to Cairo,” and gestured us to move along. A wave of relief flowed over me like the comfort of a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. Egyptians are accustomed to routine military checkpoints to ensure the safety of the city. It was a moment I surely will never forget. It was “My Last Night in Cairo.”