Trouble on the Mountain

I am currently in Egypt finishing the production of my film and believe it or not, I ran into some trouble. Yes! Me! In trouble. Strange huh?
It all started last night/this morning when I stayed at Mourad's house in order to go with him to work in the morning.
I began to document the experience through emails to my producers (aka Lauren and Carrie) around 1am. While writing, I had no idea how bad things would get.
Here are the transmissions:

At 1:15am, my alarm goes off. I must have fallen asleep only mere minutes ago. Tossing and turning, I felt the urge to rip my flesh off through the night. The analog clock ticking, ticking, ticking. Never tocking. My belt is pulled tight holding up jeans that are tucked into my socks. My flannel is buttoned to the neck and to the wrists. My hair is tucked up into my maroon Phillies cap.
I was given the bed usually occupied by Mourad and Um Waleed. I refused and refused (deeming the couch safer) but language barriers and Arab hospitality prevails.
The bed is like a rock hard wave rippling inside of its self. The base is made of concrete and old textbooks. A thin blue sheet is draped over the burgundy and gold mattress. A pillow that feels like solid steel rests against the unpainted stone wall.
When I spring out of the bed and turn the lights on, I am faced with one of my worst nightmares. The bed is teeming with bugs. They are everywhere. They crawl over each other as if rushing to the last train home from work. I crush a few with my thumb before frantically wiping off my clothes. I scratch my hair hard enough to make it fall out in clumps and my scalp begins to bleed.
Yanking the tripod out of the bag, I hurry to get the camera set up so to not miss Mourad's morning ritual of waking up at 2am and yelling at his sons to get up and get in the truck.
1:30 I am in the living room, set up and rolling.
The couches in the room line the back wall like a U. Romany is on the left, Sherif in the center and Osama on the right. I watch the timecode roll away on the lcd screen as the boys lay still. Any minute now.... Mourad will bust through the door yelling obscenities and cursing their mother and grandfather for making them so lazy.
But nothing... The tape rolls on as the living room clock clicks. Clicks. Clicks.
Just after 2am Um Waleed stumbles from the room closest to the front door. She wipes her eyes and looks scared of me standing in the kitchen doorway. She mumbles something and then goes into the bathroom. I slip back into the kitchen as to not make it awkward or startle her more. She flushes and heads back into the bedroom, slamming the door closed. The boys are still.
The clock clicks clicks clicks. My tape has run out. Its 2:30am. Everyone is late for work. Just as I go to switch to a new tape, Daa comes out of the 2nd door and yells something at the boys. They barely move.
She goes into the room Um Waleed came out of and yells "Abuyay! Abuyay!" I can hear Mourad's cough and then a low mumble. Daa comes out of the room and goes back into the door she emerged from. She slams the door three times and it keeps popping open. The fourth time, the frames on the wall shudder.
Something doesn't seem right. Mourad is never late. I turn the camera off and sit in one of the crudely painted neon blue chairs against the wall. Occasionally I can hear the sound of the water heater kick on and immediately shut off. The hum of the refrigerator has become inaudible because of the fly that is circling my head.
Click click click.
I watch the clock.
Sherif stretches one arm straight up in the air and yawns before rolling over toward the wall and immediately falling back to sleep.
Its nearly 4am. I have been up for hours watching three young boys sleep. I start to question my every decision. Is this what a filmmaker does? Wait for the moment? Or does he create it?
Do I stand? Or sit? Leave the camera on and rolling or shut it down and hope to hear movement from Mourad's room so I can jump to action?
What the hell am I doing here?
Damn this click click click.
My stomach is rumbling so I pop a cough drop in my mouth and hope it holds me over.

There is a half eaten piece of bread on top of the dirty laundry. The combination of piss, sweat, and filth emanates. I can see the tag of one of the pairs of jeans: FUCT. How did a pair of Fuct jeans end up here? Even if they are bootleg?!
A fly just landed on Sherif's face and walked into his nostril triggering a chain reaction that ended with Osama getting kicked in the head. He barely moved.
There is a yellow egg shaped ball on the floor that I roll around under my foot as the click click click continues. The floor is littered with rugs of all shapes and sizes. None of which match. The orange and white tile floor peeks out here and there. It looks clean.
The table in the middle of the room is draped in an old vinyl banner from a hospital. It is a case study on survival rates in people who have hepatitis and undergo liver transplants. On top of that is an overflowing ashtray, a set of keys, a pair of nail clippers, a glass with the remnants of tea in the bottom, a pen and a coloring book.
There are at least 8 pictures of Jesus in this room.
Random knick-knacks clutter the entertainment center. The top is filled with fake flowers. There is a dirty stuffed tiger on the shelf next to a crystal ashtray. Its the only one in the room that is not full. There are 3 brooms next to the mint green fridge. One is yellow, one is white, and one is wrapped in old newspapers.
The haphazard white splashes of paint on the cold grey concrete walls are starting to look calculated.
Its 440am and minarets are sounding from all directions. The call to prayer on the first day of Eid.
The clock keeps clicking.
Click click click.

Even though something in me told me that this day was cursed, I forged on taking a page from Werner Herzog's book.
Little did I know that less than an hour later, I would be arrested.
To make a long story short, I was in Mourad's truck filming him driving around while his boys jumped out along the way to collect cardboard boxes and plastic bottles.
Because of our late start, the 2nd Eid prayer was going on. People packed the streets to pray.
Thousands upon thousands of people.
Plus thousands upon thousands of sheep and cows, ready to be butchered.
We zigged and zagged down streets trying to find an opening to move through.
Then.... we got stuck.
Less than 100 yards from one of the biggest mosques in Maadi.
We couldn't go forward. We couldn't go backward.
We sat and waited. The prayer was just about over when 3 police officers approached the truck. They questioned Mourad before noticing the camera at my feet.
Then all hell broke loose.
My answers weren't good enough for the officers so they put me in the back of a police truck and carted me off. No one was speaking English so I didn't have a prayer (no pun intended).
When we got to the police station, I was able to steal my phone back from one of the officers when he wasn't looking and make 3 calls.
One to my translator to call the US embassy.
One to Lauren, no answer.
One to Carrie to let her know what was going on.... or at least what I knew of it.

Over 4 hours of questioning and intimidating went by and I was cracking. I felt like I was on "Banged Up Abroad". They were trying to get me to admit to plotting against Muslims, sign documents that were written in Arabic, and give them the key to my rented apartment so they could "investigate".
Even though I was seriously on the verge of wetting myself when men with machine guns came in, I didn't crack.
With the help of the people at the US embassy, I was set free.
Minus all the footage I shot that day, which the officers made me destroy in front of them.

It was a rather traumatizing experience but I believe I handled it the best I could.
Now I am a free man and back at my apartment.
But I am not in the clear yet.

After a long, hot shower to lick my wounds and burn away the bed bugs..... I came out to the living room to write to my mother. But something didn't smell right.
I went back in the bathroom to see that 4 inches of doo doo water was pouring out of the drain on the floor.
Currently, there are 4 dudes trying to contain the mess.
I have no idea if they are winning the battle or not.
And honestly, I don't care.
I am a free man.
And I will be sipping this Gentleman Jack until I pass out in front of this screen.

That's my story.
And I'm sticking to it.