 |
Al-Ahram Weekly 12 - 18 August 1999 Issue No. 442 
|
||
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
| ||
|
Al-Ahram Weekly 12 - 18 August 1999 Issue No. 442
|
||
| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
| ||
Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Books Features Travel Living Sports Time Out Chronicles People Cartoons Letters Welcome to Cairo
By Fayza Hassan
Arriving after a long and harrowing voyage, I could not believe the number of people waiting to have their passports checked at the Cairo Airport. From the plane, descending upon the city, Cairo in the afternoon sun had looked drab and caked with dust, in sharp contrast with the lush fields that I had sighted a few hours earlier from the same window. Emerging from the air-conditioned cabin, I was shocked by the intense heat and the noise. Five planes had landed at the same time, disgorging hundreds of passengers who were now all waiting in the poorest excuse for a queue I had seen in a long time. The cacophony was deafening, cell phones were ringing incessantly, young men carrying placards displaying foreign names in huge capital letters pushed their way in and out of groups, desperately calling for their charges, while children, apparently intoxicated by their first whiff of Egyptian air, chased each other boisterously around exhausted parents and thought nothing of tripping old ladies bent double under the weight of over-stuffed hand luggage.
Oddly enough, the atmosphere seemed almost festive. It could have been an international convention, really, with so many different costumes worn and so many languages spoken.
I immediately noticed that grumbles were at a minimum given the circumstances, although most of those present had been travelling for many hours and surely wanted nothing more than to get where they were going. Good humour, however, seemed the order of the day. The irony of an advertisement on a giant television screen in the background, vaunting the marvelously relaxing holidays to be had in Egypt, was not missed by those who felt at this very moment that they might never have a chance to leave the airport, but they mostly only chuckled and winked to each other. "Welcome to the land of Pharaohs," boomed the voice from the big screen, just as a shrill fire alarm suddenly rang out. The crowd stirred, parents attempted to gather their children, and a few go-getters took advantage of the moment to move ahead in the lines. A look of mild surprise registered on the face of a guard, who opened a door and shut the ringer. "It's a false alarm," he said before resuming his post, unruffled. By this time, there was a sort of carefree, general conversation going on, everyone recounting their own experience in similar circumstances, unaware that they were falling behind in line.
I had seen some of these same people a few hours before, waiting for their plane in another airport, in another country. They had looked quite different then: tense, aloof, unsmiling and quite stern with their offspring. Even little babies had seemed to sense mood and had been exceptionally quiet. The children had engaged in no joyous pursuits, and the announcement that the flight would be delayed had been met with sullen silence. A crisply uniformed young lady had appeared, authoritatively hollered the news into a defective loudspeaker in several languages, none of which she spoke fluently, and had disappeared. No one said a word; few had understood the gist of her announcement.
I had drifted off, looking for a telephone. At the information desk, the employee had been most unhelpful. "You need a card, do you have a card?" he barked. When I told him I didn't, he shrugged and turned his back on me. It took me some time to discover that I could acquire one at the news agency, whose proprietor even pointed out which phones were card-friendly. I was quite astonished at her volunteering such information in a land where simple directions seemed top secret, not to be imparted lightly to any of the lost souls who were now wandering anxiously from one counter to another to try and find out what was happening, but when I heard her call another customer "Ya amar," I knew why she had been so forthcoming with her instructions.
Now, in Cairo, I was seeing the same thing. Cell phones were passed between perfect strangers, allowing them to call waiting families who may have been worried by the long delay. The placard bearers spontaneously volunteered to pass messages on to the outside. Although it would have been hard to discover any logic to the progress of the crowd towards the passport checkpoint, younger people seemed to yield to older ones, some even helping gather children and hand luggage. A young man came up to me. "You look tired," he said. "Please, take my place, I am not in a hurry." A pretty young foreign woman was fretting because she could not remember the address of her hosts. "They will stop me, I know they will," she told me nervously. I sympathised because, not so long ago, I had had the same problem in the US. I looked out for her, but when her turn finally came, I saw her sailing through the checkpoint in two minutes flat, greeted by a loud "welcome to Egypt, enjoy your stay," from the officer who handed over her stamped passport with a broad smile.
