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Al-Ahram Weekly 26 Aug. - 1 Sep. 1999 Issue No. 444 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 26 Aug. - 1 Sep. 1999 Issue No. 444
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Focus Culture Features Profile Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Once stung
By Fayza Hassan
I don't know anyone in Cairo who has not been approached at one time or another by a middle-aged man (or, less frequently, an older woman) in decent albeit slightly shabby attire, who, claiming that his/her wallet/purse has just been lifted in unclear circumstances, asks for a small financial contribution to enable her/him to return to her village/pay for his wife's life-saving operation/take a grandchild to hospital... There are endless variations on this scenario, and one would think that by now we have all learned not to fall for the ploy, although I must confess that I have been taken in a couple of times by a really good story.
I remember one occasion in particular, as I was driving to work one morning: I was in the process of negotiating an exceptionally dangerous corner near the office when I heard someone call out. I must have instinctively slowed down, because a second later a large old man caught my hand through the window, forcing me to come to a standstill. "God has answered my prayers," he moaned haltingly. "Don't you remember me? I have known since you were a tiny tot, in Zamalek. How is the bey, your father?" Although we had never lived in Zamalek and my father died an old man over 30 years ago, for some reason it did not seem strange that someone should inquire about his health just now. "My mother is dying in this hospital," the man sobbed, pointing at the building, "and I need sixty pounds to buy blood. They won't give it to me otherwise, please help me for old times' sake." As soon as I handed him the bills he seemed to relax, and his voice took on an almost casual ring when, eyeing my bag, he added: "Why not put in another twenty, so that I can get her a nice chicken and make her some soup? She will bless you." Only then did I realise that the building in question was a maternity hospital, and that his mother could not have possibly been lying there on her deathbed.
On one of his business trips, my brother was rather surprised to find out that this kind of swindling was not restricted to Cairo. Checking out of his hotel in Paris, he asked the concierge to order a taxi for the airport. As he gathered his bags, he was approached by a distinguished gentleman who introduced himself, adding that he had overheard my brother's name and was happy to meet a fellow Egyptian. He was a neurosurgeon now living in Nice, and was on his way to London. "We can share your taxi to the airport, I assume," he said pleasantly. "There will be plenty of room, I have no luggage."
My brother, unable to think of a good excuse, readily agreed to let the man ride with him. They had almost reached their destination when the surgeon, interrupting his amiable chatter, informed my brother that his wife had intended to accompany him to London, where he was due to perform an important operation. She had left Nice with the car and the luggage early that morning. She had not yet arrived and, fearing that he might miss his flight, he had been forced to leave without her. He had left a message for her to follow him and hoped to find her waiting at the airport. He was actually quite anxious about the delay, because she had all his money. How would he purchase his ticket without money? "With a credit card," suggested my brother absent-mindedly. That was not the right answer, as the wife was apparently also in possession of the credit cards. "How did you pay for the hotel, then?" asked my brother, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The man said something about having an account there because he travelled to Paris almost every week and always stayed at the same hotel. "You won't have to lend me much," he added reassuringly. "Just my ticket to London and $500 to tide me over until my wife arrives. Give me your address in Cairo so that my people can reimburse you as soon as you get there. I will telephone them at once." This was a sophisticated plot, aimed at extorting far more than my brother had ever been asked to donate in Cairo, but then this was Paris, and the hotel had been a five-star affair on the Champs Elysées. Noblesse oblige, he reflected, not really amused.
"I don't know how to put it to you clearly and succinctly," he began, trying to contain his anger. "I don't begrudge you cadging a ride to the airport on false pretences, and I will gladly pay for the taxi, but that's all you will ever see from me." The man did not seem unduly ruffled, and promptly abandoned his scheme, even chuckling a little. Then he politely asked my brother to pay him the same amount he was about to give the taxi driver. "You see, I am worse off at this point than when I met you, because I am now miles away from my beat, and I really have no money to go back in time to find another sucker."
