Issue No. 593
Living
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4 - 10 July 2002 Issue No. 593 Living |
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 | Recommend this page | ||
The heart of the matter
Cairo Airport, 3.30 am:
My first steps on Egyptian ground. While a long queue of people waited at the check out, I went to the office to get my visa with the help of a kind man. I felt sort of robbed when I had to pay $16 to get into the country, but discovered later it was worth much more.
My eye caught a sign, written in English, to the effect that anyone trying to smuggle drugs in the country would be given the death penalty. A bitter smile came to my lips and I cynically thought to myself, "Well, what kind of adventure have I got into this time..."
When it was finally my turn to check out, the police officer looked at my passport, took it and told me to sit down. Surprised, I asked him what the matter was; he kept silent and only pointed to some chairs where I could sit.
And so I did.
Luckily, despite the "No Smoking" signs everywhere, everybody still smoked -- a welcome contradiction to me.
Half an hour later I went back to the police officer and asked with my usual straightforwardness: "Hey pal, what's up? Why don't you let me pass? Somebody is waiting for me outside." He became angry, said some Arabic words I didn't understand and showed me the chair again. By this time I had become quite irritated with his behaviour, but I did as I was told. I ended up sitting there for at least an hour, not even aware what exactly the problem was. In the meantime I tried to reach my friend outside but no phones could dial a mobile number.
As I started to scratch behind my ear nervously -- a sign that I was beginning to lose control over any wise behaviour on my part -- the officer finally let me pass. Then came the next surprise: although I was sure my friend was happy to see me, when I wanted to kiss her "hello" she took a step back, exclaiming: "Are you crazy? Not here!".
Finally out of the airport, 5.30 am:
The call for the Dawn Prayer sounded in my ears and I could breathe in the smell of the country.
Driving trough the city of Cairo, clearly a city of culture and civilisation, soon enough I could see how people creatively tried to make money in every possible way.
I was being surprised at every turn: I saw people collecting garbage with a donkey and a wooden wagon; I even saw a camel in the middle of the city centre.
Some people seemed to be living about 20 years back in time and what I couldn't understand at that moment was where the serene looks on their faces were coming from. Three months after living in this beautiful city, however, I completely understood.
Champollion Street:
I had an apartment in the heart of the town. A few weeks after I moved in, I had already been invited into the homes of half the people in the building. They wanted nothing in return: they were simply people trying to be friends. A truly warm feeling came over me, every time I walked into the building at dinner time, when the security guards said, "Mr Koot, please come and share," inviting me to some of their food, however modest it was.
Muqattam, 7am:
My mouth fell open in surprise, early one morning when I was going home from a party and couldn't find a taxi. A kind man, on his way to work, stopped and said: "Get in. It's hard to find a cab at this hour." As we drove on, he invited more and more people to get in, stopping to drop them off wherever they needed to go.
I had never seen anything like this anywhere in the world. When I mentioned it to him he explained that it was part of his religion and proceeded to drop me off right in front of my building. This religion that is being heavily criticised elsewhere, simply because not enough is known about it, is one that manages to teach, at least some people, to share what little they have.
Weeks go by:
I started to love everything about the city. The old cafés (that I called "lebleb bars") where I smoked my shisha and drank my tea for less than a dollar; the elegant clubs where women belly-danced, trying to seduce me with a rare sort of coyness; the traffic that continued for 24 hours; the feluccas sailing by; the Nile in all its beauty.
Soon enough I concluded that when God created the world he must have had a special feeling when he created Egypt. And although it is a city of stark contradictions, it is, in my eyes at least, so much better than many Western cities where most people are consumed by egotism and are the victims of social alienation.
After spending three months in Cairo, I concluded that maybe it's not all that bad to go back 20 years in time -- at least people seem to retain some love and respect for each other. We in the West, too busy racing to improve, have simply forgotten how relieving it can be to live in contentment and how pleasant it is to smile as often as Egyptians do.
I lost my heart to Egypt and now, as I sit on my terrace in Italy looking out over the Mediterranean, I can still hear the bread-sellers shout "Eeeiiiish".
* This week's contributor is a Dutch-Italian businessman reflecting on his first Egyptian experience.
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