Before you begin reading this piece, there is just one thing I need to say: My name is Nanou, and I have bad airport karma. I’m not sure what I’ve done in a past life at airports, but it is a well established fact that nobody ever travels with me because chances are, we’re gonna miss a flight, be on the verge of getting arrested (true story), or — like in this case — lose our passports and genuinely feel the helplessness of being an Egyptian citizen abroad.

The story begins when I was going back to Los Angeles after my first Christmas break since I had started graduate school. It was bittersweet; I didn’t want to leave the 3 F’s (Family, Friends, Food), but I was also ready to have my personal space back and go back to my routine.

The day before traveling I came down with a bad cold; sore throat, coughing, the whole deal. At the time, I was trying to support local businesses and fly Egypt Air, which, in all honesty, is not terrible for cross-Atlantic routes. The flight itself was uneventful. I slept the whole time, snored and drooled on the shoulder of the person sitting next to me. You know, the usual.

The flight goes from Cairo to New York’s JFK (the world’s worst airport), and then I had a connecting flight from New York to Los Angeles. I got my bags, walked for what seemed like a million miles and finally made it to the Delta terminal. Now, if you’re not familiar with New Yorkers, the stereotype is that they’re generally blunt people. The worse version? JFK employees. Rude. That is all.

After a 45 minutes’ wait, I finally made it to the check-in counter. “ID please,” said the scary-looking Delta employee. At that time, my only form of ID was my passport, because I was still in the never-ending process of failing my driver’s test (that’s a whole other story). I reached into my bag and the temporary moment of panic turned into a full-blown panic: I could not find my passport.

Some random JFK security lady asked me to get out of the line coz I was holding back other passengers. I stepped out, looked for the passport everywhere, and it was nowhere to be found. So I did what any self-respecting lost passenger would do: I just sat in a corner and started crying. To add insult to injury, the same lovely security lady basically kicked me out, because “we’re closing down the terminal. This was the last flight.” What? In what world does an airport terminal close? At 8 p.m. nonetheless?

I got up and started wandering around the other terminals. I thought of going to the Egypt Air counter to check and see if anyone was smart enough to find my boarding pass stub inside my passport, put two and two together and hand it in. After asking five different people about Egypt Air and getting a blank stare I gave up. I decided to go find a cab and go to any hotel. But wait, what the hell was I going to tell the taxi driver? I had never been to New York and literally had no clue about anything. Last thing I wanted to do was tell a taxi driver that I didn’t know what I was doing. This isn’t the friendliest or safest place on earth.

That’s when my version of miracles happened. I was in the elevator going to the ground transportation level, when the men in the elevator asked me if I was ok (I probably looked horrible). And right there and then, their Egyptian-trying-so-hard-to-sound-American accent was music to my ears. The accent that I had made fun of my whole life, was suddenly my only hope for survival. Hamada and Essam were their names; two good old Egyptians who immigrated to the States 10 years prior to chase the American dream and have been working as limo drivers in the city.

We quickly bonded and, like typical kind-hearted Egyptians, they took me under their wing and took matters into their own hands. They helped me file a police report, hailed a cab for me and wrote down the addresses of two hotels that met my requirements; clean, cheap, and in a semi-safe neighborhood.

It was January first and everything was closed, including the Egyptian consulate. I decided to give it a rest, got in the cab and as soon as we hit the city, I had a big smile on my face, watching the Manhattan skyline and feeling optimistic about my problem.

Little did I know, that was just the tip of the iceberg.

To be continued next week. Watch the Featured section to know what happens now that our stranded girl goes stranding in New York.