The Slippers of Surrender, Being Bold
Awakening #10: Make Time for Purposeful Play and Discovery: Joy Amid Endurance
It all began with a cup of Turkish coffee.
Late in the afternoon of our last day in Cairo, weaving through the sensory labyrinth of Cairo’s Khan el-Khalili bazaar, I found myself seated at a café table that could’ve been plucked from a dream — mismatched chairs, embroidered cushions, and music that wrapped around the air like incense.
A local band was playing: a violinist in black, a drummer with eyes like stories, and behind them, a backdrop of Egypt’s sepia-toned past. We didn’t speak the same language, but we shared laughter. I playfully negotiated with the drummer for a beat to match my sip. The rhythm flowed. So did the coffee.
I raised a tiny porcelain cup — thick with grounds, fragrant with history — and took a sip, and the music lingered.
Then my stomach buckled.
That was when my final episode began…
On the final day of my Egypt trip — a journey that had already gifted me nine awakenings and a solar-aligned birthday — the universe decided to offer me one last lesson…
Through my digestive system.
After two days of dietary rebellion (let’s just say Cairo street food and my Chinese-born, American-trained stomach had a philosophical disagreement), I found myself visiting more bathrooms than museums. By the evening of departure, I wasn’t walking like an Egyptian — I was pacing like a pilgrim in search of porcelain salvation.
Let me tell you about that moment — the bathroom visit that would crown my trip.
The Entry Ritual: A Threshold of Humility
The restroom was located just off the main entrance of the Al-Azhar Mosque, near Cairo’s bustling Khan el-Khalili bazaar. A sacred site adorned with calligraphy, carved domes, and spiritual echoes. But down a dim side corridor, far from the poetic arches, lay a very different kind of sacred space: the public bathroom.
In a hurry, I rushed toward it — only to be stopped at the threshold by an elderly man, who gently reminded me to remove my shoes, as one does in a mosque. Dutifully, I stepped out of them and left them by the door.
A noble act of reverence, I thought.
And then it hit me.
No, literally — the floor hit me. Cold. Wet. Slick with centuries of unresolved plumbing. The tiles beneath my socks weren’t just unholy — they were an entire ecosystem. I suddenly understood what Darwin meant by natural selection. Only the brave — or the biologically reckless — survive this kind of microbial challenge.
The Slippers: Egypt’s Final Offering
Just as my brain considered turning back and seeking a tree outside, the elderly man reappeared like a guardian angel — with slippers.
Two communal slippers. Rubbery. Warped. Questionably damp.
A pair of foot-shaped metaphors for surrender.
I hesitated…
Here I was — eight days of temples, tombs, and tales — reduced to the final lesson:
You can’t take yourself too seriously when you’re rushing to a real emergency.
I slid them on… Left… Then right...
They squelched. I winced. Then I smiled.
Somewhere deep in the corner of my mind, I heard the voice of my grandchild:
“Eww, Ah Gong! That’s so gross!”
Yes. Yes, it was.
And yes — it was also glorious.
The Chamber of Echoes
The restroom itself? A kaleidoscope of senses.
Smells I will never describe.
A door that wouldn’t close.
A flush mechanism that required more engineering than my entire structural design background ever prepared me for.
Yet in that small, smelly, surreal moment, I felt something else: release.
Not just digestive.
A release of control.
Of expectation.
Of vanity.
I’d chased awakenings through ancient ruins and desert sands. But here, at the intersection of biology and humility, I found a new kind of freedom:
To laugh at oneself, barefoot and vulnerable, is to be most human.
Why This Story Matters
I don’t share this to gross you out (though bonus points if you’re reading this over lunch), but because I believe playfulness is the most underrated form of wisdom.
It sneaks up on us in moments of absurdity — when I slip on that shared slippers, laughed through discomfort, or realized that even spiritual journeys did involve terrible plumbing.
Egypt gave me myth, monument, and majesty. But in the end, it also gave me this reminder:
Discovery isn’t always majestic. Sometimes, it squishes.
What Playfulness Taught Me
Being bold isn’t just about walking through ancient temples or staring at sunlit statues. It’s about staying open and joyful — even when your feet are wet, your gut is in protest, and the air smells like... history.
Playfulness is not a detour from the spiritual path.
It is the path — just with better punchlines.
Now go.
Be bold, and laugh when you can.
And so, I end this Being Bold in Egypt series not in grandeur, but in giggles.
With deep gratitude,
Kefei in NYC