On February 19, I moved to the vacant apartment. Key handover. Backpack stored. It’s time to take care of dinner. So, let’s go. Do the shopping.
The supermarket is a few dozen steps from my apartment. Fine. There is definitely everything. And all in one place. There are also tens of other shops with everything your stomach desires in the area. But such a supermarket seems to me to be the most suitable at the moment. Given my bulky Egyptian vocabulary. And that strolling and self-service is possible in the supermarket. Without contacting.
The labeling of the products is in Arabic. I can read the letters. And I enjoy it. Like a child who has just learned to read. I combine the letters into one word. Some words seem familiar to me. And almost all other words are completely new to me. And some unspeakable. Oh wait. Mixed up a letter. Yes, now the word makes sense. The language has its own difficulty. Vowels like E, I and U are written as marks. Only these characters are left out. A feeling for language must be developed in order to use the right vowels in the right places. Since my feeling for this language is still underdeveloped, it is more of a guess. A happy guess as to how the word is said. The numbers are also different. Great. I forgot some of them. Is that an eight or a nine? Or is it a four? Ah. Fortunately, there are the numbers as I know them. I go straight to the fruit and vegetables. It looks like there is only what’s in season. It’s good. A small but fine selection. But does it also come from مسر (Masr)? I can’t see this lettering anywhere. Yes, will already be from Egypt. I choose something. Put it in the shopping basket. Stroll on. I hear a whistle. Unusual in the supermarket. Otherwise I will not respond to the whistle. But I classify it as a state of emergency. Contrary to my habit, I turn around. A man standing next to a scale waves me over to him. All right. Then we go to weigh. My loose fruit and vegetables tumble around in the shopping basket. I gradually give him my selection. I see him pull out a plastic bag for every different fruit and vegetable. Oh no! Please no. I tell him in English that I don’t want a plastic bag. He doesn’t understand English. He immediately calls a colleague. He also doesn’t understand my concern. I apply my pantomime arts. But this raises even more questions in the minds of the supermarket employees. Before I know it, I’m right in the spotlight: I wanted to do my shopping inconspicuously. And now I’m standing there. With my unusual behavior not using plastic bags. A behavior that can only come from a foreigner. Since I am the only one far and wide here, I apprehend that this request will first appear on this scale. The employee tells me to weigh it. Yes, well. So far we have understood each other. Then he takes a plastic bag and shows me that he has to put the stickers on the bag. So I say that he can stick all the stickers on the bag that already has one. Misunderstanding. “What does the woman want?, is written on his face. A customer comes along. One who is proficient in the English language. He conveys. All stickers are stuck on a bag. A process that celebrates its premiere in this supermarket. The employee shakes his head and laughs. I laugh too. It is a relief to have escaped the flood of plastic bags. After my third “شكراً” (shukran), the man at the cradle laughingly asks if that’s the only word I can do in Arabic. Great, now another vocabulary query. Too much action for a supermarket visit. For me anyway. Currently. The stomach is growling slowly. I limit my brilliant performance in the Arabic language to a few words that I reveal. And yes, “Shukran” (thanks) is also included. Well done. A bag decorated with stickers and with the tumbling fruit and vegetables in the basket continues. I think I got through the worst. Phew. I take a deep breath. Tea, pasta, spices and oil still end up in the shopping basket. I’m happy to be one step closer to my dinner. But happy too early. There he is: the final opponent. The cash register. In addition to the cashier, there is another employee at each checkout who packs all purchases in plastic bags. I’ve come this far now. Get weak. Am I about to buckle? Do I surrender to the flood of bags? I take a deep breath. Take courage. The goal is to leave the supermarket with the only plastic bag that I already have in my possession. I boldly go to the cash register.
The supermarket employees now know me. I am greeted and smiled. One even knows my name and origin. And I also found out the origin: some of the apples come from South Tyrol. But an apple variety comes from مسر. And the stickers all come on a bag. And the purchases in this bag. Alltogether. I leave the supermarket with just one bag. With the bag that I brought with me.
Little by little I go to the shops in my neighborhood. To the fruit and vegetable dealer. To the bakery. To the confectioner. The game starts all over again. The game which means: how do I avoid plastic bags, or reduce it to a minimum.
