.
Just a meeting...
Cairo. Sunday morning, 7.30 AM. It is December. The fog that hangs above the city in a impenetrable haze makes room to the daily life. The traffic not only starts on the main roads but also in every street and every alley-way of this metropolis. The cars provide that another kind of fog puts itself on the city like a very thick blanket. Even if it is very early in the morning, the exhaust-gasses of the cars can be smelled very good. The traffic in Cairo is something like Paris, Rome and Athens together, completed with wrecks right in the middle of the street en some barrows pulled by mules. Rig a car after an accident? Forget it, it is too crowdy for that.... they leave it where the accident happened. In Cairo there is only one rule in traffic: namely that there are no rules at all. Even when the traffic lights are red, everybody rushes on. Streets that are meant for two cars next to each other change in the morning traffic in no time into a tangle of vehicles who criss-cross try to find their way to reach the destiny. A great amount of cops try to guide the traffic. They fussily move their arms in all kinds of directions, while they blow on their whistles all the time. But... even if they would whistle a complete symphony I would make no difference. Mules sometimes are very stubborn, drivers are sometimes even worse. Here and there I can read a sparks of despair on the faces of the cops.
I heard that this early in the morning it must be possible to hear birds warble in Cairo. Though, the only warbling I hear comes out of the window of a house I pass. The bird in the golden cage tries to cheer up his day by warbling a melodious tune. Some red and gray roaming cats are infatuated on the footway under the window. Oh.. how hungry they are to give this bird his freedom. Though it would not be for a very long time I guess. One of these cats follow every movement I make with his eyes while he is cleaning his paws. I guess in her mind she is already eating the bird behind the window.
An old man, dressed in a gray gibbeh is cleaning the footway in front of his store that bulges with mural decorations, statues of pharaohs and queens from the past, pyramids in all kinds of colors and shapes, gold and silver amulets and - probably imitation - painted papyrus. "Sabah el kheer", good morning, he says to me when he sees me and he gives me his brightest smile. A row of brown and crumbled off teeth appear to me. I guess every dentist would be very happy to treat this one in his practice. "Sabah el nour", the day of the light, I answer him when I walk on.
The sun climbs slowly on the sky and tries to dig itself a way through the smog. At some places the sun succeeds. A smile comes on my face and I stretch myself another time. Yes, this is the Cairo I remember. I am home again. At least.. I feel it that way. I was not born in Cairo, even not in Egypt. My cradle stood on Dutch soil. A complete different world. The Netherlands. The land of which a lot of Egyptians think it is close to paradise. I wish the Egyptians could realize that they themselves already live in paradise.
Meanwhile I arrived at Midan Al-Tahrir: the square of peace. I do not get a very quiet feeling over here. It seems like this is the most crowded place of Cairo. Cars are raging in all directions. A guy, probably in his early twenties sees me doubting at the curbstone. Waiting for a moment to get save to other side of the street. "There is only one way to cross the street over here. Just close you eyes, pray to God and start running. I’ll show you how you do this", he says in faulty pronunciated English while he grabs my hand and crosses the street with me laughingly. "Shukran", thank you, I say to him, when we arrive at the other side of the street. My heart still beats in my throat. "You’re not from here. I can see that from the color of your hair and eyes. Where do you come from? I want to talk to you for a while. May I offer you something to drink?", this guy continues our conversation.
At one of the coffee shops couple of old men are smoking shisha and drinking shai. Without a water pipe with sweet smelling apple tobacco and tea with lots of sugar they sure cannot start their day. It seems like these men have all the time in the world but that they don’t know what to do with all this spare time. What a difference regarding to the Netherlands, where everything and everybody always is in a hurry. Running en rushing from one appointment to another.
We sit down at another table in this coffee shop. "My name is Yasser", he laughs, when he shakes my hand for the second time that day. "I am Caroline", I answer him. "Welcome to Egypt Caroline. What would you like to drink?", he asks. "I would like a cup of tea", I say. "You also like shisha?", he laughs. He orders shai for me and Turkish coffee for himself and two shisha. For a moment we silently watch the scene on the square. It seems that there is no end on this traffic jam. The smell of burnt rubber mixes up with the scent of exhaust-gasses and the perfume of sweet apple tobacco. A man with his shisha following his wakes enters the coffee shop. He must be a friend of the group of older men because they kiss and hug him enthusiastically. They start talking and laughing out loudly in the Egyptian-Arabic language. About what I don’t know. Just now and then I understand a single word of what they are saying. My Arabic is not that good. I have to improve it.
"Is this the first time you are in Egypt?", Yasser asks, while the waiter brings the coffee and shai. "No", I answer him: "I have been in Egypt before. I like your county so much that I keep coming back all the times. I love Egypt." He laughingly answers: "And Egypt loves you." He tells me he studies at the university of Cairo. Medical education. He wants to become a cardiologist. "Why?", I ask him laughingly: "It is because you want to take care of people with a broken heart?" He also starts laughing: "I like your sense of humor. Is this what they call the Dutch humor?"
Everybody who wants to study has a possibility to do so in Egypt, he tells me. "It doesn’t matter if your parents are rich or poor. Mine are not very rich, but also not poor. We can live life in a nice way." To pay his books he works in the pyramids area as a tourist guide. A friend of him who studies Archeology got him this job. "I can take you to the pyramids if you like to. Not now, I have to go soon, but I have time tomorrow morning. Then you have to tell me where you are staying in Cairo. Then I can pick you up there." I thank him for this offer and tell him that I already made another appointment to visit the pyramids. "What a pity", he says and he seems disappointed. "I wish I could have spent some more time with a beautiful woman like you. Nour el ain, you are the light in my eyes."
The sun enters the coffee shop and makes a carpet of light on the floor to the street. We say good-bye and walk out. The day becomes already warm according to Dutch standards. It is about 20 degrees Celsius. "You should wear a coat", Yasser advises me when we split up to go our own way again: "It’s winter in Cairo."