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Al-Ahram Weekly 14 - 20 September 2000 Issue No. 499 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 14 - 20 September 2000 Issue No. 499
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region Interview International Economy Opinion Culture Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters
Summertime lost
By Fayza HassanThe end of summer is a poignant affair in any seaside resort. The nights are noticeably cooler and quieter; on the beach the wind lifts the fringes of the deserted parasols, a harbinger of the icy gusts waiting around the corner. This is usually when the "natives" come out to reclaim their space and enjoy the last few days of sunshine, the most beautiful of the season.
Agami is not very different in these first weeks of September, as young families begin to pack for the trip back to the metropolis and the shops surviving solely on the tourist trade close down one by one. The inhabitants of The Dunes, aka the "American compound," in Agami Bitash, are not affected by these changes, however. Comfortably cocooned in their compact ochre and white villas or lounging about their immaculate pool-side gardens, they are rather happy to witness the exodus of the others, those whose pressing business in the city prevents them from remaining until the leaves turn to rust and the beach, finally free of bathers and racket players, regains a semblance of privacy.
Coming from Cairo on this Wednesday night, we managed to negotiate the numerous turns of Al-Hanafiya street without risking a head-on collision, as is customary in the height of the season. The compound was bustling with life: here a game of cards was in progress, while there the tintinnabulation of glasses and cutlery announced that a dinner gathering was underway. The breeze carried the perfume of flowers and the sound of music from a distant end-of-summer party in through the open windows. After the pollution of Cairo, it felt suddenly like paradise.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner are festive affairs, with most of the members of the compound congregating either at each other's houses, or at the clubhouse around well-appointed tables. The food is delicious, the drinks icy cold and the conversation light. New generations of well-fed stray kittens play in the shrubbery and on the patios. Each house seems to have its own favourite family of cats. This year, a trio of adorable rabbits, bought for the pleasure of a granddaughter who left them behind in her grandmother's care when she returned home last week are roaming freely, showing a distinct preference for the most expensive plants and providing a good topic of conversation.
top: lunch time at the American compound is a chance to catch up on the latest gossip and sample the various delicious dishes provided by the members; bottom: this is not the aftermath of a hurricane, just Shahr Al-Assal street on an ordinary day
The bantering goes on for a while but a discordant note begins to sound as the sun goes down and armies of mosquitoes descend on us. Apparently they are on the increase this year, and are stinging ferociously, having developed immunity to all the repellents used to keep them at bay. "It's the uncollected garbage that attracts them," says someone in the dark (lights are kept to a minimum and placed as far away as possible in an attempt to ward the stingers off). "You forgot the stagnant water," she is reminded. Little by little, as the complaints are voiced, I realise that the inhabitants of the compound do not inhabit the Garden of Eden as much as they are kept prisoners in it. Garbage is collected from the compound but is dumped around the walls, where it is left to rot for weeks on end. Septic tanks are cleaned on demand, but Bitash's sewage system collapsed a month ago and Shahr Al-Assal (Honeymoon) Street is bathing in dirty water, which accumulates in its numerous and very deep potholes.
The following day, we go shopping and I can see for myself that what I heard the previous evening is, if anything, an understatement. The butcher and greengrocers are inaccessible, the entrance to their shops washed in a copious stinking stream that pours continuously from an open manhole. Customers have to stay in their cars while little boys, sometimes knee-deep in the ugly mess, shuttle between the shops and the clients, taking orders and carrying packets. Many shops have been forced to close but their owners are not far, sitting at makeshift cafés and keeping an anxious eye on the level of the water. "It has been like this for over a month now," says Mohamed Makhlouf. His wife, Mona, is fed up with the indifference or powerlessness of the members of the board of the Agami Company. "Every house in the compound is charged LE500 a year, which entitles its occupants to a seasonal ticket for two to Bianchi's private beach," she explains. "Otherwise the amount collected is theoretically used to provide services to the whole area of Bitash -- i.e., 3,000 houses in all, but in fact, only the small section of Bianchi, i.e. 270 houses out of 3000, is benefitting. As we stand today, only the inhabitants of Bianchi get their garbage collected and their streets maintained." According to Makhlouf, the governor refuses to take charge of an area whose inhabitants are wealthy enough to finance their own services, "which of course is true," he says. "We are willing to spend what it takes. We are thinking of creating our own company, which will be in charge of cleanliness and maintenance, but what exactly are we supposed to do to fix the sewage system?"
As we leave Agami early in the morning, I look wistfully at the trees and shrubbery still bathed in the morning dew; at the kittens waiting for their milk and the bunnies already busy at their labour of destruction. What will happen to the rabbits when their owner leaves, I wonder? Will they be caught by the caretakers and made into a tasty soup? Or, as someone suggests, will they proliferate (as their Australian counterparts did long ago) and devastate the flowers and greenery, turning the compound once more into the sand dunes from which it derived its original name?
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