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Al-Ahram Weekly 11 - 17 November 1999 Issue No. 455 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 11 - 17 November 1999 Issue No. 455
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Features Profile Travel Books Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters 'Work is good, school is good'
By Khalid Abdalla
AHMED Salah is one of Al Jeel's children. He lives in Ezbet El-Nakhl and until recently worked in the pottery works. In the past two weeks, the factory he worked at has been shut down, leaving him and a significant proportion of his friends at the centre unemployed and searching for work. The small scar on his nose and the few chips on his teeth seem to tell his story but, as usual, there is more to him than meets the eye.
I ask him how old he is. "Fifteen," he says. Hands, we are told, never lie and indeed his hands are older than mine; but at a guess, his size, voice and face suggest that he is no older than 11. Twelve at most. "Fifteen?" I say. "To be honest," he replies, "I just say 15. I think I'm 15. I've never seen by birth certificate. My father says I'm 16. I'm not sure, so I say 15 and leave it at that."
This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with Ahmed. I've watched him in lessons and playing football but never imagined him outside the walls of the centre. As he sits there in front of me, alone, in one of the centre's two classrooms, I'm forced somehow to confront him.
He looks like he can bear a lot. Smiles don't look incongruous on his face but when his dimples do appear they hit a different heartstring, play a very different tune to the one produced by a normal child's smile. He just looks very kind.
He has three siblings; one is too young to work, his sister stays at home, and he and his elder brother are potters by trade. When working, he made about LE35 per week. According to him, he worked between five and six hours a day. I am doubtful. He started work aged seven, after being kicked out in his second year at school. I ask him if he was a trouble-maker. "No, I used to work well." He wishes he'd stayed.
School, in his opinion, is "a very good thing", but so too is child labour. "We all learn," he says, "whether we're in the pottery works or tanneries. It's good, because we learn how important school is." "But then surely it would have been better to stay at school," I say. "Yes," he says. "But you still think child labour is good." Yet again the answer is, "Yes." Why try to convince him otherwise?
I push forward and ask him about "the guy in charge, the..." I stumble over my words and he catches me. "There is only one word for him; his name is the Mu'allim." Before I say anything more, he says, "he hits me so much." Why? "So that I learn". Then what happens? "Nothing, everyone keeps working." What does he hit him with? "A stick, part of a hose, his fists." Does he bleed? "Sometimes. In the beginning, he used to hit me on my head with a stick and my head used to bleed but I told him not to do it again and that if he did I wouldn't work for him." Is Ahmed afraid? "I used to be but I'm not anymore. I shouted at him once and told him that he's neither my father nor mother." And what did the Mu'allim do? "Nothing. He just left me and told me that he wouldn't hit me again."
Ahmed's ambition is to open a café. "With God's help," he hopes to get together about LE10,000, buy the coffee, the utensils and the things he needs. "I'll get things together, name it after my father and run it myself". "Good luck," I say. "May God help you."
He loves Al Jeel, he says. "I love the people, the lessons, drawing and playing. I came because I didn't want to spend my whole life ignorant. Now I can read and spell and if I get lost somewhere, I can find my way back by reading signs." He's still got a little bit to go until he can fully do what he professes, but it's comforting to see the optimism.
"I would never leave this place," he says then. "No matter what happens I will come here. I can't leave it because I love it and even if I die I won't give it up. If someone came to me tomorrow and said, 'take one million pounds and don't come to the centre,' I wouldn't take it."
