You can call it twisting reality, you can call it harmlessly withholding the truth... We call you a liar.
It’s inescapable that as you’re growing up you tell your parents a lie or two (or 10 or 80). Some lies are just of the international variety (Mum, what? I would NEVER touch drugs!) while others get their own special Egyptian twist. Being the nation of fattayeen that we are, we excel at the art of spouting bullshit, and with a society stricter than our Western counterparts, we also happen to have parents who impose a whole lot more rules. Here are a few lies every Egyptian kid has told at some point…
Of course her parents will be staying with us in Sahel.
I wasn’t smoking; I was sitting in a café and everyone else was smoking shisha that’s why I reek of smoke.
What? Of course I wasn’t drinking; my friends spilled beer on me.
Yes, there will be alcohol at this party, but Mum, the legal drinking age is 21 in Egypt so they can’t even serve me and my friends. Zayy barra bezzabt.
The accident was completely not my fault – it was a crazy microbus driver – dakhal feyya!
What? Drinking? Of course not. I was definitely sober during that accident! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!
I need money for a dars.
I need 3,000 pounds to buy my beginning of the semester books.
Tuition went up 10,000 pounds this semester. I’ll go pay it myself to save you the trouble.
I’ll be sleeping over at my friend’s house.
That’s not hash, that’s a piece of chocolate.
That’s not mine, my friend left it in my bag!
Why are my eyes red? It’s the chlorine from the pool.
Why are my eyes red? I slept with my contact lenses.
Why are my eyes red? Because Cairo’s dust is killing me. I think I'm allergic.
No, there are no boys staying with us in the house.
I’m not fasting because I have my period. No, it hasn’t been fifteen days.
The maid broke it.
I came home after curfew because the driver was late.
I must have gotten food poisoning.
Special Mentions: There are those lies that are reserved for a special breed of compulsive, very creative liars. All of these are true stories.
A is for Acceptable. B is for Bad. E is for Excellent. F is for Fantastic. That’s how the British grading system works at our school.
I was home past curfew because the cab driver kidnapped me.