Egypt Didn't Break Me. It Showed Me Who I Was Becoming
Part I: A Dream Since Childhood
Egypt.
One of the most important places in the history of human civilization.
Whether we realize it or not, almost all of us grow up hearing about it. Schools teach us about the pyramids, documentaries obsess over its mysteries, and movies constantly borrow from its mythology. Even people who know almost nothing about history usually recognize the Great Pyramid, mummies, the Nile River, or names like Tutankhamun and Cleopatra.
For a lot of people, seeing Egypt is a bucket-list trip.
It always was for me.
Some of my earliest memories are sitting in my grandparents' living room watching the History Channel. My grandfather loved Ancient Aliens, and while most adults roll their eyes at the idea that extraterrestrials built the pyramids, to a kid it was fascinating. Whether the theories were true didn't matter. The mystery did.
Egypt felt impossible.
The hieroglyphs.
The pharaohs.
The temples.
The mummies.
The sheer question of how people thousands of years ago accomplished things that still leave modern engineers scratching their heads.
Even outside of television, Egypt never really disappeared from my life. Every history class seemed to come back to it eventually, and every time it did I found myself paying closer attention than anyone else.
When I was about to start sixth grade, I wanted to change how I dressed before school started. My family took me shopping, I got some new clothes, but something still felt missing. That's when I started experimenting with jewelry.
I went through a handful of cheap necklaces over the years—nothing expensive, just pendants I'd find online whenever my parents let me order one.
Then I found an ankh.
It wasn't flashy.
Just a stainless-steel chain with a matching ankh pendant.
Simple.
Clean.
Meaningful.
The ankh, the ancient Egyptian symbol of life, immediately spoke to me. Once I bought it, I almost never took it off. I slept in it. Showered in it. Exercised in it. The only time it ever left my neck was when I absolutely had to remove it.
I still have it.
In fact, I wore it while I was in Egypt.
Me in Istanbul boarding my flight to Cairo
How I actually ended up there is almost embarrassing to explain.
Impulse.
That's it.
One minute I was sitting in a hostel in Ireland trying to figure out where I wanted to spend the next couple of months. Then I asked myself a simple question:
"If I could wake up anywhere in the world tomorrow, where would it be?"
The answer came instantly.
Egypt.
Within an hour I had booked a flight to Cairo.
The next night I was on the plane.
No itinerary.
No detailed plan.
No weeks of research.
Just a decision.
Looking back, I still can't believe I impulse-bought a trip to Egypt.
Me posing in front of the Great Pyramid
The flight landed just before sunrise.
As the plane descended through the darkness, I looked out the window.
Then I saw it.
The Great Pyramid.
Illuminated against the night.
For a moment I genuinely felt like Indiana Jones.
A place that had existed only in documentaries, textbooks, and childhood imagination was suddenly just a few thousand feet below me.
In less than an hour I'd be standing in Egypt.
That excitement, though, came with caution.
Long before boarding the plane I'd heard Cairo had a reputation.
Not so much violent crime.
Scams.
Pickpockets.
Taxi drivers.
People taking advantage of tourists.
That didn't scare me.
Scams exist everywhere.
You can get robbed in New York.
Scammed in London.
Pickpocketed in Paris.
Crime isn't unique to Egypt.
Human nature is human nature.
People become desperate.
People become greedy.
People become dishonest.
I don't condone any of it.
I just understand that it exists.
Before leaving I read everything I could about common scams tourists encounter in Cairo. By the time my plane landed I had settled on three simple rules:
Stay aware of your surroundings.
Trust your instincts.
Verify everything before you act.
I thought those rules would simply help me avoid a bad situation.
What I didn't realize...
was that following them for ten straight days would slowly change who I was.
