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Al-Ahram Weekly 30 Sep. - 6 Oct. 1999 Issue No. 449 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 30 Sep. - 6 Oct. 1999 Issue No. 449
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Focus Features Profile Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A tasty salad
By Fayza Hassan
I distinctly remember the day when I stopped trusting grownups. I must have been no older than five. For some reason which had to do with my parents' friendship with the then minister of agriculture, my younger brother and sister and I had the priviledge of playing every Sunday morning in the gardens of the Agricultural Museum in Doqqi, normally closed to the public.
The gardens were absolutely spectacular, featuring uncommon trees and manicured lawns as well as rare flowers in hothouses. There were no other children around, however and, although I must have been told that being there at all was an incredible priviledge, I was often bored by the surrounding beauty. I used to wander off on my own, looking behind bushes for fairies and goblins. If they did exist, I told myself, they would certainly choose to dwell in such a magnificent setting. Sadly, I never even caught sight of the tiniest elf or demon; but one day, I found a patch of strange vegetation which I was seeing for the first time. Right in the middle of the grass, tiny bright green leaves were clustered on top of each other, showing an undergrowth which shimmered with silvery tones. I called my brother and sister to share my discovery with them and they came running, accompanied by Haniya, our maid. They were not terribly impressed; Haniya looked at me with contempt: "This is regla," she said. "Don't they teach you anything at school?" I demanded to know what regla was at once and, with superior airs, she informed me that it was an Egyptian plant with which one made salads and delicious stews. "Of course, this is baladi food, and you would never be allowed to eat it" she said mockingly, "but your mother loves it."
I was duly stung by her words, as she had intended me to be, but more importantly, the fact that my mother loved the strange leaves struck me as a bit of good luck. I would gather a big bunch of the plant and offer her her favourite salad. I spent the rest of the morning looking for more patches of regla which seemed to be growing abundantly in different corners of the garden and by lunchtime I had enough to feed a family of four.
When we got home I showed my mother my harvest and she recognised the plant at once -- possibly with help from Haniya, whom I could sense gesturing behind my back. We took the leaves to the kitchen where the cook was instructed to wash them well and make them into a salad. The poor man, looking slightly bewildered, began to say that these were wild plants and may well be poisonous, but vigorous winks from Haniya soon silenced his protests and he mumbled that yes, of course, he would make a lovely salad with tomatoes and parsley.
I wanted to ask my mother if I could have just a taste of the salad, but at the last minute I shied away from the idea. It vividly brought to mind the recent afternoon when, at a little friend's birthday party, I had made a scene, refusing to leave without the doll that I had brought her as a present. My mother had explained that it was very rude to reclaim a gift and that people would think I had not been properly brought up. Asking for a taste of the salad might be construed in the same way, I reasoned. I had gathered the leaves for my mother, not to eat them myself.
My parents used to take their meals in the dining room together, while we children ate in our room, so I never had a chance to see the salad actually brought to table. When everyone retired for the afternoon siesta, I crept into the dining room in the hope that the servants had not yet had had time to tidy up and I could see what the salad looked like. I would at least smell it, I thought and maybe, if nobody was looking, dip my finger in the sauce. I shivered in anticipation at the thought.
In the dining room, the table had been cleared, so I tried the kitchen. The servants were washing dishes and talking loudly. They did not pay any attention to my presence and I had time to notice that the half empty plate of salad on the kitchen table did not feature any regla, but there, lying in the open garbage bin, I recognised the bunch of leaves I had so lovingly gathered that morning.
When my mother woke up from her afternoon nap, we went into her room. "Did you like my salad?" I asked her casually. "Of course, darling, it was lovely and so fresh and I liked it even more because you picked it for me." My heart sank. As soon as I could gather enough courage, I ran into my room, shaking. I knew that something in my world had changed for ever.
