I admit it, it was all my fault.
When I shut the door to the apartment, my keys were lying on the counter. I had forgotten that the doors in our apartment building don’t have knobs on the outside, so you can’t get back inside without a key, even if you don’t lock the door.
And so, there we were, at the door with that sinking feeling in our stomachs. The “my quiet cozy home in just behind this door that I can’t open” feeling. It was nearly 2 in the morning. We did the only thing which made sense. We found a security guard and begged him to help us.
He spoke halting, but very functional, English, gave us tea, and stopped a random motorcycle to get us help. Soon, a carpenter came, destroyed the lock with a sledge-hammer, and installed a new one.
We’ve spoken with that security guard many times now. He’s from near Alexandria and graduated college to be a history teacher. We just came back from going to the Suuk (market) with him. We have a new friend.
So it was my fault.
And I’m grateful to that Someone who uses my mistakes for good.