Tonight is the Night of Power, an important night of prayer during Ramadan. Supposedly the prayers should last all through the night, beginning at about seven o'clock in the evening, but given the crush in the streets right now I'm not sure who could actually be praying. The entire city seems to be out and about, maybe trying to get to family's houses or mosques, I don't know. Traffic is at a stand-still most places.

As I came out of the Metro station tonight I caught the delicious scent of freshly popped corn wafting through the air, overpowering the usual smells of car exhaust, garbage, and heaven only knows what else. The smell was particularly enticing since (due to some wonderful drugs) I have in these past few days been able to smell for the first time in weeks. Irresistably drawn by the aroma, I wandered over to the small cart in which a man was skillet-popping corn over a gas flame. Catching the eye of a woman waiting there, I tried to strike up a conversation with her-- apparently she did understand my Arabic, but even so I could get no farther than learning the Arabic word for popcorn. (Maybe my height is intimidating.) When the pan of corn had finished popping, she and her companion accepted their bags of popcorn and quickly departed, leaving me standing there surrounded by young men... and no more popped corn. Having already paid, I was under some obligation to wait for the next pan (added to which, by this point I really, really wanted some popcorn), and so I did, this time supplied with all the conversation a girl could wish for. Too many minutes later, after several compliments and only two proposals (I must be losing my touch) and after some inane political commentary on Bush and a few even worse jokes about Osama bin Laden, I escaped with my hard-won bag of popcorn... compliments of the house, of course.

Someone just buzzed our flat-- the building door is locked, and unfortunately my key doesn't open it. So I'm locked in for the evening, and everyone else is locked out. A fire hazard, you say? mafeesh mushkella-- We live on the first floor and every room has a balcony. Really, it's a blessing. I won't be bothered by the doorbell for the rest of the night.