Hi, I’m Mary and it’s been about five months since my last date.
Now, I know what you might be thinking: why am I approaching this piece like an A.A. meeting? If you were wondering that, it’s because: a) over the past three or so years, I went on a whole lot of dates— enough to earn the self-appointed title of “serial dater”— and b) I’m currently (and somewhat consciously) taking a break from the dating world. Partly because I want to… and partly because, well, I don’t have much of a choice.
But before I go full-blown Carrie Bradshaw on you guys (well, maybe not full blown— because, you know, haram), and dive into the nitty-gritty details that led to a) and b), let’s rewind a bit. For context: I’m a 31-year-old Greek-Egyptian Christian woman living in Cairo, Egypt. I know— that’s a mouthful— but every part of that sentence matters for what’s coming next… starting with where I live.
Ah yes, Egypt: the land of the pharaohs, home to two of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and birthplace of legends like Amr Diab and Fifi Abdou. Egypt is beautiful, charming, chaotic, frustrating— truly the ultimate toxic relationship. You love to hate it, you hate to love it, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you just love it.
Then there’s Cairo— the beating heart of the madness— with its live-action video game driving, the constant chorus of noise from every direction, a skyline painted in endless shades of brown and beige, and its people, who can’t be described, only experienced.
Just to be clear— I really do love this country and this city. It’s home, and that’s exactly what makes all its flaws that much more frustrating. Sure, at first glance, Cairo might seem crowded and rough around the edges. But the deeper you go, the more beauty you find tucked between the stacks of buildings. The more people you meet, the more stories unfold. The more you explore, the more it pulls you in— and before you even realize it, you’re head over heels for this place.
But let’s be real— this is still a conservative, patriarchal society, layered on top of a country facing serious economic turmoil. Now, imagine being a woman trying to navigate dating with Cairo as the backdrop. Being female in Cairo is one thing, with all the sexual harassment, patronization, and daily battles that come with it. But being a single woman in Cairo, in her thirties? That’s a whole different level of complicated.
By the time you hit your thirties, you’ve already spent at least half a decade watching everyone around you get hitched and pop out babies. And there you are, collecting a bucketful of o’obaalek’s (may it happen to you soon). A word layered with disappointment, pity, and sometimes even a hint of resentment. By now, you’ve mastered the art of fake-smiling through it all and nodding hopelessly at the “It’ll happen when you least expect it,” all while resisting the urge to snap back, ‘Yeah, well… so does death— but does saying that out loud make anyone feel better?
And the cherry on top? Being a single Christian woman in her thirties in Cairo. Because why just navigate dating in a society that measures a woman’s worth by her marital status, when you can do it while coming from a minority group too? I say “minority” because, while we aren’t exactly few, Christians make up about 10% of Egypt’s population— roughly 10 million out of 114.5 million. But what does that actually mean in practice? Two words: interfaith relationships.
You might be thinking, what’s so wrong with interfaith relationships? Technically, nothing— unless you come from a religious, tight-knit Arab family that would be completely against it. The truth is, interfaith relationships in Egypt are inevitable, but they’re also incredibly hard to navigate— not just on a societal level, but on a deeply personal one, especially if you’re close to your family. And let’s be real: most of us Arabs are. Which means that, more often than not, these relationships are doomed before they even begin. Believe me when I say: been there, done that, would not recommend. But that’s a story for another time…
And so, after surviving the drama (think Ramadan TV-level melodrama) of an interfaith relationship and coming out the other side, what’s left for a thirty-something single Christian woman in Cairo? You either dive into the half-empty kiddie pool of Christian male options, or you turn to expats and tourists.
Now here’s the thing: I’m also half Greek, and I spent most of my childhood in Greece. I’m not sure if it’s the mixed culture or just residual trauma from past experiences, but the truth is I rarely click with most Egyptian guys. There’s always a disconnect somewhere. So for the past couple of years, ever since my ex and I called it quits for good, I’ve been serial dating expats and tourists.
Let me tell you, it’s been… interesting. I’ve officially become that single friend you can’t wait to hear the next crazy dating story from. “Guess the New Date’s Nationality” has even turned into a running game among my friends and family. But here’s the catch with expats and tourists: they leave.
Cue a) serial dating and, eventually, b) taking a break— because your girl is tired. Tired of quick flings, tired of temporary people, and finally ready to settle down for the real deal. But the thing about the real deal? It’s hard to find. Which is why this break is both a conscious choice and not really a choice at all— because geographically, statistically, emotionally… There just aren’t that many options out there for someone like me.
Until then, me and my fellow single ladies will keep secretly validating each other, trying to figure it out, and you know what? We’ll enjoy every single minute of it while it lasts.
If there’s anything all this has given me, it’s a better, stronger version of myself. Sure, I get lonely sometimes. But I’ve learned to love my own company, to cherish my family and friends so much more. And most importantly, I’ve realized I’m not looking for a relationship to complete me— I’m looking for one that shares space with me, that builds alongside me.
As for the nitty-gritty serial dating stories… Well, maybe those are best saved for another time. My own yellow brick road of stories, leading me— hopefully —home.
This piece was initially commissioned as part of a collaboration between MILLE WORLD and Kalam Aflam.
