“original nationality”

Cairo at 5:45 AM on a Friday is one of the few times when Cairo is ever peaceful. That’s why I love flying out of here then.

For the second time on recent trips, the guy checking my passport at the immigration booth asked for my “original nationality.” Bizarrely, he was sure that I was of Arab origin and concealing the fact. After a minute or so of haggling he finally let me through. Part of it was that he said I looked Arab, the other part is that he thought “Harman” was an Arab-sounding name. (It’s originally Prussian, in fact.)

Since I have exactly 0% Arab blood on either side of the family, I wonder what these people are seeing in me. I suppose the lesson is that, like human chameleons, we all slowly start to resemble where we live.

Anyway, I thanked him for the compliment. It’s good whenever you don’t stick out like a sore thumb in a foreign environment.