An archeologist acquaintance just told me an outrageous story about corruption in Egypt. I had asked him what part of the world excites him—professionally—most. His answer was Israel, but he immediately launched into the difficulties of working in Egypt.
He had been scheduled to meet a fellow scientist in Alexandria. The scientist phoned him and not to come because he was very ill. He’d seen a doctor who had insisted he get to the hospital right away.
“No,” said the scientist, “I’ll go back to Britain.”
“You don’t understand,” the doctor said. “You have a burst [or bursting?] appendix. You need a hospital now!”
The scientist went to the hospital, where he was told there was a long waiting list. Looking around, he saw no one in the waiting room, yet he was made to wait. When this situation did not cause him to instantly and eagerly cough up an appropriate bribe, he was presented with a printed list which helpfully itemized “surgeon, doctor, nurse, operating room,” etc. with suggested [required?] prices.
The payoffs were hefty but the scientist paid them all and had his surgery. The operation was badly done—sponges were left inside him—his life’s savings were wiped out, and insurance refused to cover the baksheesh.
Can this really be true? I don’t know, but it’s a good enough story that I had to retell it here. I have no reason to doubt the archeologist, and it happened to his friend.
And I can relate, in a small way. I remember how, long ago, when visiting Jordan for the first time, Bob and I were held up entering the country due to vague “technicalities” and “delays.” We never got it—that we were supposed to offer a small bribe. Hours later, exasperated, immigration officials finally waved us on and out of their hair.
