32. Cairo, 1996 - Ceilidhs

In which Eleanor goes dancing.

Blissfully unaware, Eleanor is swept into an impromptu ceilidh in Cairo. And defends her honor on the streets of Cairo.

Eleanor

“Let’s have a ceilidh,” someone suggests. 

Quickly the chorus is taken up. “A ceilidh, oh yes, let’s have a ceilidh.” 

“What’s a ceilidh?” I ask, very curious. 

“A Scottish dance party,” says Oliver, ever kind. 

“You can call it, can’t you, Fiona,” Cam turns to Fiona. 

“Wouldn’t call myself a true Scot if I couldn’t,” she grins back at him, her long red curls bouncing with mischief. 

Quickly the room is cleared of furniture. 

We have a ceilidh in Cairo. 

Cam is a superb dancer, of course. Fiona is our caller. Ginny is our comic relief, and Oliver encourages us all. The non-Brits are awkward, but game. I’m grateful for Mrs Malloy and St Anne’s. I’ve got the basic steps. But otherwise I’m clueless too. 

We’re quickly out of breath—from both dancing and laughing. We make a complete mess of things: missed partners, missed cues, going down when we should be going up. There’s not a single dance we can do without getting something wrong. We laugh so hard sometimes we just need to stop the music so we can catch our breaths. 

We do it again. 

And again. And again. 

Scottish dancing in Cairo.

I feel my bum being pinched as Fiona and I walk towards the Khan al Khalili one evening. 

I don’t even think. In one motion, I lift my handbag, whirl around, whack, and curse in fluid Egyptian. The look on the shabaab’s face is priceless, his eyes round with surprise and confusion. 

Yup, don’t mess with the lady, I think to myself. I can take care of myself now on the streets of Cairo. 

I turn back to Fiona, thread my arm through hers and we march off serenely, laughing. 

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Bonus Material

• Ceilidhs in Cairo