Usepov.23.09.04.sarah.arabic.everything.must.go...

I’d arrived here in 2018, an Arabic teacher with a degree and a dream of preserving the language of my late father, a translator who’d once bridged worlds. Cairo had been a labyrinth of laughter and scent—spiced tea, jasmine perfumes, the hum of call to prayer. But now, it felt like a museum of my own unraveling.

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In time, people would remember the little shop not for the sign that once declared Everything Must Go but for the woman who had run it—her patience in bargaining, her fierce kindness when a neighbor came without enough money, the way she had taught a boy to wrap a gift with careful hands. Items moved on; stories accumulated, folded into new rooms and different hands. I’d arrived here in 2018, an Arabic teacher