15 - 21 February 2001
Issue No.521
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Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 15 - 21 February 2001 Issue No.521 |
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Papa's photo
Pierre is one of those Egyptians who cut off all ties with Egypt in the late 1960s. He went abroad and launched himself in a career that brought him success. He eventually established himself in a roomy apartment in Paris. One day, he recounts, out of the blue, he received a phone call from Cairo. It was someone claiming to be his cousin. Pierre could not remember the name and had the distinct impression that whatever relatives he had, had settled in Canada long ago. He said so as politely as possible, but upon the insistence of the caller, he decided to hear him out. "If you ever come to Egypt, look us up," said the voice. My mother is the spitting image of yours. Just one look at her will convince you."
By one of the coincidences that make up life, a few months later Pierre discovered that his firm was sending him to Cairo. He made it a point to call on his mysterious cousins. "They live in a dingy apartment somewhere in Heliopolis," Pierre told me as we drank coffee in the lobby of his hotel, "the mother, father, grandmother and several young men, cooped up in over-furnished, dark rooms -- not a very cheery atmosphere." Did the mother resemble Tante Alice? I was curious to know. "An old lady is an old lady, you know," said Pierre. "They all look alike to me." But were they really his cousins? "Oh yes," he affirmed with a laugh. "They manufacture false Pharaonic artefacts, passing them off to gullible tourists as the real thing. This is very much in line with the type of business venture that has always attracted members of my family."
After the first contact, Pierre received regular calls from his Egyptian relatives with requests for assistance in various matters. They needed a place to stay in Paris, a recommendation, medicine that was unavailable in Egypt. Fed up, he finally informed them that he was leaving for Zimbabwe and would send them his address as soon as he settled there. A year passed, bringing no sign of the cousins. Pierre relaxed. "They got the message," he thought.
Then, a few months ago, the cousin phoned again. Heavy rains had flooded the family tomb. Urgent repairs had to be carried out. Five thousand francs were required. Could Pierre help? He called his four brothers, scattered all over Europe, and asked for their advice. They decided to share the amount equally. After all, the sum was not that important and, if the cousins were short on cash, the brothers were not averse to lending a hand. They just hoped that this donation would not open the door to more demands. In due course, the money was forwarded and no more was heard from the eastern front.
Six months later, a large package forwarded from Cairo arrived in the mail. Pierre opened it. He could not believe his eyes. It included an itemised account of the expenses incurred in repairing the tomb. A second envelope contained a packet of photographs arranged in series of five, one for each brother, as the short letter accompanying the snapshots clarified. The first picture was a view of the tomb before the repairs. It was followed by a man in a galabiya, smiling broadly -- the gravedigger, no doubt -- holding a skull high above his head. "Your father's skull," read the caption. More parts of the skeleton of Pierre's father were displayed in the same manner. Photos of distant uncles and aunts' remains were offered next for the brothers' perusal. In the end, the same robed man was captured by the lens brandishing two burlap sacks. This photo was captioned "Our family."
Pierre selected four of the photos of his father's skull, placed them in envelopes and mailed them to his four brothers, with a little explanatory note. Within the week he received four identical e-mails from his siblings: "I warn you," each said, "if you ever, repeat ever, send me another of Papa's photos, consider that I am no longer your brother."
"And did you send them the complete collection?" I asked. "No, but we decided to bring our mother's remains to Egypt and bury her next to Papa," said Pierre. "They had also sent a picture of the restored tomb. It looked so nice that I went to visit the cemetery last week. They did a fantastic job; you should see the little garden they planted around the tomb I am sure that Mama will be happier here than all alone in Paris."
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