The prince, the popstar and the chauffeur

I had just entered an Uber with a very frail and skinny driver and we were exiting the street when a policeman placed a metal barrier in his way for absolutely no reason. This is by no means an uncommon occurrence and it’s often done for one of two reasons, a show of power or absolute absent mindedness and lack of awareness of one’s surroundings.

The Uber driver clearly was having none of this nonsense and opened the window and started shouting at the top of his lungs:

-You animal, you buffalo, you large ruminant, remove that thing at once! Who do you think you are? What do you think you are? Do you really think that this is a government? Do you? You are just a bunch of ignorant livestock, only good for stopping us in our tracks and preventing us from getting any work done. يا عسكري يا حيوان يا جاموسة يا شوية مواشي تعلى شيل الخرى دا هو انتو فاكرين يعني انكم كدة يعني حكومة بجد ؟ دول انتو شوية بلطجية ملكمش لازمة ! دول انتو مش فهمين، فالحين بس توقفوا الحال

I was of course terrified for this gentleman, given that we were in a rather heavily guarded neighbourhood, and he seemed intent on getting himself arrested. I immediately reached for his shoulder and started trying to calm him down, even if he was jumping up and down with enough energy to power a nuclear plant.

-Calm down baba, calm down, it’s not worth it. You will get yourself into trouble for no reason.

-What are they going to do with me? I’m 70 years old. Are they going to arrest me? Let them! I tell you what, I wish they would arrest me, I wish they would give me an electric shock and put me out of my misery. This isn’t my life. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

Upon hearing him talk about the past, I immediately felt better, knowing that he wasn’t going to start any fights. I relaxed and let him continue.

-You know, I travelled the whole world, I spent a lot of time in France, in Paris and on the Côte d’Azur. I never imagined Egypt could become such a punishing place. I was the driver of a Saudi prince you know? A real prince, mind you. Back in the 90’s, he took me with his whole household of personnel to Nice for the engagement party of his daughter. He had hired Amr Diab to sing for her wedding. You know, Amr Diab always was a snob.

Did you see that video of him slapping a fan across the face last week? Well I’m not surprised. When I got to know Amr Diab, he was still starting out. Barely a star. My boss sent me to pick him up from his hotel. Amr Diab called me from the hotel room and asked me if my prince had sent him a decent car. He said he wouldn’t be seen in a car that was not worthy of him. I only told him that my boss, a prince, sent a car that only a prince would have. I didn’t even care if Amr Diab would come or not at that point. I’m not very patient. Of course, Amr Diab came and saw that I was driving an emerald colour Rolls Royce. That shut him up.

We reached the venue and we went it through the delivery door. They were unloading the drinks, bottles of champagne and red wine that cost 5000 franks a bottle. Amr even asked me:

- Can you get me and my drummer a glass of that please?

You see Ostaza, he no longer pretended to be star when he saw real money. I went and talked to the Maitre d’Hotel and he opened a bottle for us three, we sat and drank and ate and sang and finally, when they called him onto the stage, he insisted I go with him. Yes Ostaza, I promise you! Amr Diab then swore he wouldn’t set foot on the stage unless I was with him. I went along, made a couple of stupid movements with my hands and left. I worked for the prince for 30 years after that and he kept on reminding me of that time I was on stage.

Premier amour II: the lonely widower

In a taxi heading from Heliopolis to Garden City, we passed Ain Shams Specialized Hospital. The taxi driver muttered under his breath:

-حسبي الله ونعمة الوكيل ولاد كلب , horrible place.

-Yes indeed, my father died there, that place is heinous.

-I lost my wife there three years ago. She had diabetes, she went in for an amputation but caught an infection and died because of that. Now I’m all alone, with my two older daughters.

-I’m really sorry for your loss.

-Thank you Ostaza, however I’m lucky to have my daughters. One of them is in university getting her degree in education and the other works as a social worker, I’m not quite sure what she does all day, but then again, neither does she. It’s a bit lonely, but I manage.

-Well, why don’t you marry again ?

-My daughters won’t let me, they won’t let anyone replace their mother. My wife was the kindest person you could imagine. She was very caring, she lived for her children and for her home. She made the best Koshary ever. Koshary is my favourite food. I can’t remarry and impose a double loss on my daughters.

-Eventually your daughters will get married themselves and I’m sure that when that happens, they will be happy to know you have someone to keep you company.

-Ostaza, do you have any idea how much time and money it takes to get a girl married these days? By the time I get them settled, I might as well be dead, not to mention penniless. What will there be left of me to marry? What poor woman will marry me then? What will she do with me? Put me on the toilet? Take me off the toilet just to put me back on it again? Wipe my, pardon me ostaza, “Ambola”? It would be unfair to us both. You need to live the good days so you can go through the bad days together. I had my good days with my wife, now this is the bad. يا استاذة هو أنا هتجوز وحدة تحوطني على لا مؤخذة على الحمام وتنزلني من الحمام وتحطني عليه تاني و تأكلني و تمسحلي الامبولة ؟ دة مايبقاش جواز دة إسمه ظلم لي وليها

-Who knows, maybe things could take a turn you don’t expect?

-Inshalla. Right now, my daughters are doing their best, they make me lunch, they try to make Koshary like there mother did, or I get it from a restaurant, and we all eat together. But they don’t really have time for me, not really, even if they try. They are always on their phone and I’m alone even if they are right next to me. I know they feel guilty, so I try not to annoy them. It’s what my wife would have done.

I’m very lucky that my friend at digitalinkillusionist for making a custom photo for this story.

Premier amour, drugs and the logistics of polygamy

In a very beaten-up taxi, we drove past the Cairo Citadel Aqueduct. The street was swarming with toktoks (rickshaws), and a power cut rendered the street pitch-black. The driver was rightfully livid.

-These useless kids are all drug addicts and criminals. Instead of getting a proper job, they drive their toktok like maniacs just to pay for whatever shit they are taking. God knows what kids take these days. Gone are the days of good old hashish and beer. خلصت خلاص أيام الحشيش و البيرة عيال اليومين دول بيضربو أي خرى كله عك وكيماوي

-I agree there really is a drug problem in Egypt, and it’s affecting all segments of society.

-Right you are Ostaza, right you are! Just last week I was at a wedding of important people, arms dealers, but they are childhood friends so of course, I had to show up. They are big people, notables. They had everything at the wedding, hashish, beer, chemical things, pills… I can’t stand any of that. I like green grapes. That’s my keif! They sat me down in front of a big plate of green grapes and I was as happy as can be. But I looked around me and I was ashamed. Old men were drinking and taking all sorts of things. There was even an eighty-year-old who was basically trying everything that was on offer. I was so disgusted by the sight of him, I vomited all the green grapes.

-I mean if he made it to eighty in the current state of things, he deserves to some kind of outlet, don’t you think? Also, what would you do if you caught your son smoking?

-What can I do ? I’ll let him do it, if I don’t, he will do it behind my back and get into worse drugs. But, but, but in our family, we know how to stop boys from doing these things. The moment my boys turn 18, I marry them off. It teaches them to be responsible and turns them into men.

-That’s very young!

-YOUNG? No of course it isn’t young. I got married at 16, my wife was 17 and we were underage, so we waited a year to declare it and she was pregnant by then. Now I’m on to my third wife.

- Three wives? how do you manage that?

-Well actually now I only have two, my first wife died.

- Do you have them in the same building?

-Same building ? OF COURSE NOT! Why would I do that! That’s a recipe for disaster. You know how women speculate. Women have an infinite imagination. Each one will think that the other is getting more gifts and attention than the other and they will make my life hell. No! no! no! They live in the same appartement, each has her own bedroom. When I come home, I expect them to get along perfectly well and to never fight. I have forbidden them from speaking to me about any problems they may have together.

-Well, that sounds pretty awful!

-Ostaza, many women want to get married just for fun and once you get into marrying several times it gets hard to stop. People need companionship. I run a foul cart in the morning. As you probably don’t know Ostaza, in popular neighbourhoods, women are the ones who buy breakfast at the foul cart and take it home. Well, I can tell, in the way a woman says hello to me, if she could potentially want to get married. That’s how I vett them. I talk to them, I take my time, and if all goes well, why not get married?

-What did your first wife say when you took on a second one?

-I never had a second wife while my first wife was alive.

-Would you have married a second and third wife if she were still alive?

-Absolutely not! She was my childhood love. We grew up on the same street. We were modelled from the same clay. With her, I didn’t lack for anything. But when she passed and I got remarried, I just found it so easy to keep on having wives. Once you get used to having several women, it’s hard to go back to just having one, especially if the only one for you is gone, no one can replace her in my heart.

-So how many children do you have?

-I have 7, but I made sure my third wife is sterile, I don’t want to open a bloody kindergarten. One can barely afford to breathe nowadays.

A not so recent depiction of the Cairo Citadel Acqueduct.

From Shipwrecks to Shrimp Sandwiches, a Guide to Optimism:

I was stuck in a dense pocket of traffic by the Abou El Rish Hospital in downtown Cairo. The Uber driver and myself were stewing in the heat and I was suffocating due to a hyperactive exhaust pipe vomiting gusts of stinky smoke in our faces. It had been a long and exhausting day:

-This country is becoming unbearable!

-What? No! Ostaza, this country is the best it’s ever been! It’s progressing! It’s getting better by the day! Look at the new capital! Look at all the new projects we are building!

-I can barely breathe.

-Neither can I, but it’s not important, it will get better. Inshalla, what is to come is better than what has come to pass.

-Sir, whatever you are taking seems quite efficient, what is it ? It might help me to get a change of prespective. واللهي الصنف إلي حضرتك بتاخده ده شكله فعال فا ياريت تقلنا عليه ممكن نشوف الدنيا حلوة الله هو اعلم 

-HAHHAHAHA! Girls these days are funny! No Ostaza, there is always a way to make things better. I worked many jobs and I got to see the world through them. Some people are given the opportunity to improve and when they seize it, things get better. But some people don’t want to improve and that’s why nothing progresses. For example, I used to manage a seafood restaurant that sold shrimp sandwiches. One day, a street beggar came and asked me for a shrimp sandwich, I told him I could give him a job in the kitchens, he would have two meals a day, plus a decent pay and the job would consist in washing dishes which is pretty easy. He said looked at me as if I were crazy and just kept repeating “I want a shrimp sandwich”! So, I gave him a shrimp sandwich. That man had a chance to make a better life for himself, but he preferred a shrimp sandwich. They tell you, teach a man how to fish, don’t give him a fish, but he just wanted shrimp, I guess.

-Yes, but most people who are poor in this country work very, very hard and despite that they can’t always improve their situation. I’m sure you know that better than me. Where we end up isn’t really something we can control. I mean you can teach people how to fish all you want but when there is no fish left, what can we do ?

-Ostaza you don’t understand my point. Once upon a time there was a ship. It was leaving the harbour laden with goods and merchants. When the ship reached the open waters the crew and passengers realized that the ship was too heavy and would sink unless they threw some of the goods overboard. They first debated whether each merchant should throw a bit of his goods overboard in order to alleviate the weight, but they all refused. Finally, they all picked one merchant and decided to throw him and all of his merchandise overboard. He pleaded and pleaded but it was no good. They dumped him into the sea, and he swam until he found an island and built a little straw hut. He was happy in his hut until a thunderstorm struck and lit his hut on fire and it burnt to the ground. BUT BUT BUT!!! Because  of this fire a boat was able to see him. They came to the island, and he told them his story and the injustice he had suffered. They replied, surprised “Oh! You were thrown off that merchant ship that sunk in a storm last week?”. So, you see Ostaza, when something bad happens, it’s often because God is protecting you from something even worse. Everything can be fixed by hard work and acceptance, this works for money problems, marriage problems, EVERYTHING!

-That’s a great story, has this theory worked for your marriage problems ?

-I mean yes and no. I got divorced last month, but I love my wife and I’m sure I’ll be able to get her back. We talk every day and in time things will take the course they were meant to take.

Photo by Waleed Rostom on Unsplash

Om W., Jessica the persian cat, anonymous goats and other inhabitants of the City of the Dead

The City of the Dead is the largest cemetery of the Middle East and dates back to 600 CE. My father is buried there, though our family’s tomb has suffered quite a bit of dereliction. “Exploring” the City of the Dead is a popular activity given that some tombs are works of art. The City of the Dead, despite it’s name is actually bustling with life, with families living in the tombs, some for several generations. That’s the case of the formidable Om W., whose parents moved to the City of Dead from Upper Egypt in the 50’s. Her brother and sister were both born in the surrounding tombs. Om W. is our tomb’s keeper, which means that she keeps it clean and makes sure no one comes to illegally occupy it, dead or alive.

I got to know Om W. a couple of years before my father passed. I had never been to the family tombs, and I had never heard of her. However, she recognized my sister based on my sister’s uncanny resemblance to my paternal grandmother, whom we had never met. Om W. knows us, but we didn’t know her. She has witnessed everyone in our family get buried over the past 70 years. The courtyard of my family’s tomb needs repair. Tombstones are broken, it is unclear where anyone of the older generation is. However, if you ask Om W. about someone, she will look straight at you and point to an apparently random patch of sand and say:

-So and so was burried there but then we moved them here.

Her mind is a map of my dead relative’s resting places, yet I never knew she existed. She only has one functioning eye, yet she recognized my sister based on her resemblance with our grandmother that she had not seen in over 35 years.

I also like Om W. because of her general lack of hysterics surrounding death. Burials are part of life for her. She was there when I buried my father as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and in a sense, it is, because she spends more time with our dead than we do. If burials are a private family affair, her presence seemed to impose itself as something evident. She doesn’t tell you, as it is common in Egypt when someone dies “don’t cry! Every tear you cry is like acid falling on the deceased’s body” or “don’t cry the angels will be angry because there is no way you can love him more than they do”. She knows that grief has to take its course, and any of the conventional Egyptian protests against violent displays of grief are always emitted indifferently by her, if at all.

On the occasion of the first anniversary of my father’s death, I asked her to show me around and she seemed delighted. She first took me to the courtyard of a neighbouring tomb which I had requested to see due to it’s façade mixing elements of Art Nouveau Fer Forgé, Islamic Architecture and stain glass elements. Dragging me by the hand, she knocked energetically on the door, nearly tripping over a pile of goat feed. A woman in a nightgown opened and said:

-No they can’t come in, my husband is asleep and he issued an executive order saying no one can come in or disturb his sleep. 

-An executive order ? isn’t he quite the dictator!

-Miss stop talking to me like I’m uneducated! Yes, he issues executive orders, he’s the man of the house, we all submit to his word and serve him with all our heart.

-I’m pretty sure you’re the boss no matter what you say. Don’t worry I won’t insist, it’s your house and it’s nice enough of you to sit and chat. Is that a Persian cat I see back there?

Indeed, in the courtyard behind her, I could see Egyptian street cats, the odd goat in the distance and a filthy Persian cat asleep on a slab of Carrara marble.

-Yes, that’s Jessica. Do you want to buy her? As you can see, I only have the best.

At this point Om W. pushed me aside and handed the woman her goat feed and told us to get going because we had a lot to see. “Om Amal has always been a snob, don’t pay her any mind” she said.

She took me to her sister’s courtyard, a beautiful place, housing two lovely mausoleums in white marble where doves were flying. The courtyard held a few beautifully cared for plants, an olive tree, cacti, and mint, as well as canaries in a cage. Om W. showed me two unmarked graves and told me her parents were buried there, with the permission of the owners.

Saving the best for the end, she showed us a magnificent tomb that belonged to a notable Egyptian family. The inhabitants of that tomb were all seated in the courtyard, grandparents, parents, a baby, a toddler, and a newborn. They agreed to let us in on the condition that we don’t take pictures. The toddler was babbling and squealing with joy. She couldn’t speak but she ran around the mausoleum pointing at coloured slabs of marble, beautifully ornate tombstones decorated with Kufi calligraphy.

Finally, Om W. took me to the courtyard where she slept and told me about her four children, born in tombs and now married and settled. Her courtyard had a couple of doves flying in there too. I held her tight and thanked her for looking after us.

The removal of the tombs in order to create an autoroute stopped a few meters away from the place my father is buried. In the meantime, priceless monuments have been destroyed, but also people who have lived in this area for generations have been evicted. One can only hope that both our cultural heritage and the people who have made the tombs their homes will one day get the recognition they deserve.

PS: the inhabitants of the City of the Dead do not like it when people take pictures of their home without requesting their permission first. I’m only sharing photos of my father’s tomb and courtyard and a couple of mausoleums for which I received express permission to photograph. 

A photograph of myself taking a picture of my father’s tomb, by the talented Paul Geday.

The entrance to the courtyard housing my family’s tomb. You can see Om W. in the background

An example of the architectural gems of the City of the Dead

A dove crowning this beautiful mausoleum. Om W., trying to flatter me, said that dove’s appear when kind people are around.

The Upholsterer who both awaited and feared death

Upholstery in Egypt is an ancestral craft that hasn’t changed over the past couple of centuries when it comes to traditional uphostery which involves making mattresses and cushions using unprocessed Egyptian cotton which is fluffed and then packed using a tool that looks like bow. I remember as a child, my mother would have our mattresses re-fluffed and upholstered every few years and the upholsterers would spend a couple of days doing that in our garden. This is a dying craft, many people nowadays prefer western style mattresses with springs. However traditional Egyptian upholstery gives very fluffy yet firm mattresses that last several lifetimes given that the cotton is re-fluffed and cleaned with every visit of the upholsterer. During the summer of 2021, when the COVID pandemic was raging, I wanted to hire an upholsterer to restore an old Ottoman style satin quilt. I wanted him to do the work at my place because his workshop was a dump and the material of the quilt was extremely delicate and pale in color. He was reticent at first.

- At what time do you want me to come?

-How does 3 pm sound to you?

-At 3 pm I drink my tea.

-We have tea, it will be my pleasure to serve you as much tea as you want.

-I take six sugars in my tea, I want my own tea, with my own sugar so that I don’t feel embarassed for taking as much sugar as I want.

-I’ll buy a kilo of sugar just for you.

He followed me sulking but finally he started to relax as we approached the house:

-Do you live near Mrs. Sahenda who is on TV? I came here before to do fix a fauteuil at her house.

-I have no idea who that is.

-So you don’t know your neighbors and you don’t know Mrs. Sahenda who hosts a talk show? Are you living in this world with us or are you living in your brain?

I decided not to answer because I wasn’t sure whether he was making fun of me or trying to imply that I was a solopsist.

Once we arrived, he took one look at the house and said:

-Who is the idiot who upholstered these chairs? Was he blind?

I decided to ignore this question and ask him whether or not he had received his COVID vaccine because I was concerned about the older members of my household.

-I don’t believe in vaccines. Of course, I didn’t take my vaccine. Vaccines go against God’s will. If your time comes, there is nothing you can do about it and no vaccine can stop it. So why should I bother myself with vaccines and doctors? Why throw my money away? Instead I’ll spend my money on cigarettes and tea and leave the rest up to God. I never go to doctors, I never take medecine. It’s useless. Take my father for example. He had brain cancer. I checked him into Ain Shams Hospital and they took 9000 EGP! 9000! A few days later, he rolled over in sleep and fell of his hospital bed. He cracked his skull and died then and there! اتدحرج على السرير ووقع فتح دماغه واتكل على الله ! So even if you are in hospital, even if you are doing your best to get better, death will find you if it’s your time.

He continued working in silence, and when it was time for payment, he said:

-Well I sat here in the AC and drank three cups of tea, so I feel pretty happy, I don’t really care what you pay me or even if you pay me. مش فارقة يعني مش أنا شربت شاي و قعدت في التكيف يبق كدة رضا

We walked him to the lift and at that point he stopped short:

-These things are dangerous, sometimes you can walk into them and the lift isn’t even there, you can fall to your death. I know someone who died that way. I’ll take the stairs instead.

-But the lift is right there uncle!

-No! No ya Ostaza! you can never trust what you see...

Old photos showing Monageds and their tools

I still remember the visits of the Monaged (upholsterer) using this very same tool in my mother’s garden.

Pigeons taught human beings loyalty

Pigeon breeding is an Egyptian tradition which consists of raising pigeons in a pigeon tower in the country side or on one’s roof in cities. Pigeon breeders feed and care for their birds and they let them out to fly at certain times of each day, the birds always return.

I took a taxi and as we were trying to figure out how to navigate the endless succession of new bridges in Heliopolis the driver started to talk:

-Things are so expensive now, I’ve completely forgotten about meat. Even chicken, a disgusting frozen chicken is more than I can afford. Before the prices increased I used to raise pigeons on my roof, each pigeon was huge, the size of my forearm (he shows me his forearm). I had about 30 pigeons on my roof. I used to feed them corn. A sack of corn used to cost us 6 pounds but overnight the price increased to 23 pounds. I couldn’t afford to my birds.

I thought he was simply sad about losing a protein source but it was much more than that as I quickly discovered.

-I was devastated Ostaza. I loved them like my children. Pigeons are beautiful creatures. They taught human beings loyalty الحمام علم الانسان الوفاء. Whenever I was sad, would go up there and sit with them. Pigeons take turns sitting on their eggs, so one pigeon eats and the other minds the nest in alternation. Once, a pigeon’s husband flew away and didn’t come back. She refused to leave her eggs to go eat and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t help her. She stayed by her eggs untill she died on top of them. Each bird had it’s own personality and each couple was different. Pigeons mate for life not like couples nowadays who spend their time fighting in family courts الحمام بيقعد مع بعض طول العمر مش زي ناس اليومين دول متلقحين فى محاكم للأسرة

- How are they different ?

- For example Ostaza, there was this one couple where the male was only interested in ruffling his feathers and cleaning them. He only cared about his looks. He wouldn’t help his wife sit on the eggs. He would just groom himself all day and she would get mad and bite him so that he would help. Pigeon males are also jealous, they don’t like their wives to leave the nest to eat for long because they don’t want to lose them. If they take too long, they go and bite them and push them into the nest.

-Didn’t it make you sad to eat them then?

-I would eat the young ones before they matured and developed a personality. Once I knew their personality and they started breeding, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing them. I also fed them very well. Normally female pigeons only lay two eggs, but mine would lay four. I didn’t want to feed them less than they were used to.

We had reached the destination but I didn’t want to interrupt him, starting from now things get sad so stop reading if you get upset by hearing about animals dying:

- When I could no longer feed them, I decided to take them to my village. I think grief drove me mad. I put them in a sack and drove them to the village and by the time I arrived most of them were dead. (At this point he was tearing up), I knew better than to do this. I don’t what got into me. مش عارف عملت كدة ليه، حزن ولا هبل ولا ايه

I left wishing that he would one day be able to afford pigeons again.

El Sit w El Sayed

The photo shows a traditional Egyptian amulet where a man and woman figure stand on either side of a pigeon tower. This type of amulet was used in Zar practices.

Pigeon towers built in the traditional rural fashion

Mahshi, Mombar, Abandonned Children and Egyptian Film Stars

I take a taxi for a rather long trip. For part of the trip a young man transporting ice sheets to a restaurant suffering a power cut shared our ride. The taxi driver had talked my ears off about politics and I didn’t agree with a single thing he said so I tried to change the subject:

-Ok enough politics, it’s your right to convince yourself that everything is going well if it helps you. Talk to me about something, let’s talk about food. That’s an easy subject. What is your favorite type of Mahshi (stuffed vegetables or dolma)?

-What do you know about Mahshi? Have you even made Mahshi in your life?

-Twice and never again.

-I knew it! Your type doesn’t make Mahshi!

-What’s my type?

The young man answered: a Khanum.

-Your type speaks languages, is good with computers and knows how to set a table and invite people over. I bet you never even saw Mombar (an Egyptian dish consisting of stuffed intestines). I bet if you saw that in your kitchen you would get disgusted and faint. I’m sure that if you chopped an onion, you would be annoyed that your hands don’t smell of roses. انت مش بتاعت محشى و ممبار انت صنفك شاطر فالكمبيوتر واللوعات وفرش المفارش ولو خرتطىى بصلة تزعلى على ريحة ايدك

-Not to that extent. I wish I could do things with my hands. Like work wood for example.

-My grandfather was a carpenter. He died at 107 and retired at 90! He used to make background decors for the cinema. All the big film stars knew him, and he could tell you things that no one knew. He used to go to their houses and do work for them. He told me that Roshdy Abaza was a real Pacha, generous! But most movie stars are stingy. Very stingy, no matter how much god gives them, they want more. Nour El Sherif was stingy. Ahmad El Sakka was stingy. Anyways it’s a pity that carpenters aren’t famous, because they help in making movies too. Did you ever hear about a famous carpenter? Of course not! Tell me about one famous carpenter!!

-Only Jesus Christ and his father come mind….

-IT’S FORBIDDEN TO PHYSICALLY REPRESENT PROPHETS! FORBIDDEN! The Iranians made a cartoon representing Jesus and Moses physically and that’s why they have problems now.

-What does that have to do with anything? I only said Jesus was a carpenter…also I have no idea why you decided to bring the Iranians into this.

-You can’t represent prophets!!!

-It’s fine in other religions…we can’t declare that they are wrong, what do we know?

-Well other religions are wrong!

I decided there was no reasoning with this gentleman and risked a final attempt to find a topic that wouldn’t send him into a rage. Unbeknownst to me, I struck a nerve.

-Ok, ok, fine! Do you have children?

-NO! I was married for 16 years and just divorced my wife last month. She deserved it! For years we were trying to conceive, and we couldn’t! I sold my flat in 6th of October city to pay for IVF and then I bought her a flat in a disgusting area just so she could be near her awful parents. I had accepted my Naseeb, I wasn’t meant to be a father. Then a woman called us and said they found a brand new (his words) baby in the tombs. He still had the hospital bracelet on. I decided we could do a kafala. BUT NO! My wife wanted to falsify papers and have him recognized as my own. That is HARAM! She left me and tried to pass him off as her brother to the Civil Registry Office, but she found the only alert employee in the Arab Republic of Egypt who did the maths and told her it’s impossible for her mother to have a baby at 52. Now she lost both her husband and the child because God knows I’m right.

-I mean you lost your wife and the child too…maybe she just wanted to be a mother so much she acted in an extreme manner. You should talk to her.

-No! I am right, God is on my side. She has to apologize to ME!

Thankfully I arrived at that point and didn’t stay any longer.

Image added for scenic value

The Monastery with the magical spring

Yesterday I went to El Darb El Ahmar in the tent makers district of Cairo to buy upholstery materials and look at the traditional quilting workshops afterwards. On my way to the quilting workshops, I ventured down a small path and ended up in a dusty plot of land where a building had been torn down. The sun was cutting through us like a razor blade and a few dogs, one of which was suffering from an extreme case of mange, were sitting in filthy puddles. A woman with blond curly hair visible under her headscarf called me:

- Are you looking for the monastery ?

-Is there a monastery here?

-Yes down the road there is monastery which has a fountain of special water if you drink it or do your ritual ablutions with it, it will cure you. (فيها ميه كدة ( لو شربتيها او لو اتوضيتي بيها بتعالج الامراض

She said that the fountain was a gift from the Virgin Mary to the area.

I was expecting normal monastery wares such as jam and cookies not a magic spring so I was intrigued. I asked her if it works for both Christians and Muslims as she had mentioned Muslim ritual ablutions and she said: -It works for everyone, the Virgin Mary doesn’t distinguish.

We walked to the monastery which was closed and but we found this beautiful church nearby. We were welcomed by a man in a wheelchair who seemed to never leave the premises, perhaps waiting for his own miracle.

On my way back, the woman asked me if I was a journalist. I told her that I wasn’t and that one would have to have a death wish to be a journalist in the current Egyptian climate. She told me I looked like a journalist because no one else seemed to care about the special water… .

In perfect Egyptian fashion, I went looking for miracles but instead I found hidden beauty and a sunstroke.

A group of Egyptian construction workers in the crowded Paris metro

Today, line 7 of the Paris metro was worse than usual. There was a technical problem and the metro was unbelievably full, to the extent that I couldn't even get on the carriage. Finally, a group of men who looked potentially North African made way for me and I could get in.

Then the unthinkable happened, one of those men made way in order to let me lean on the foldable seat. I told him I wasn't going to be there for many stops so he should keep his place. I said this in French and he didn't seem to understand. I decided to take a closer look at this person with exceptional manners. His hands looked worn, calloused and were covered in white dust and plaster. I deduced he was a construction worker, a job often occupied by undocumented Egyptians. He also had a Zebiba or a brown mark on the forehead that comes from praying on a rough carpet. I decided to take a leap of faith, and say something that would either be spot on or make me look extremely presumptuous and stupid:

-You're Egyptian, from the Delta region, and you have newly arrived to Paris without living in Cairo right? Where from the Delta are you?

My polite friend looked rooted to the spot, I suppose extremely surprised, meanwhile, his friends started laughing and saying that I was مرفوع مني الحجاب, i.e. that I had supernatural powers.

-I'm from El Mahalla El Kobra, Ostaza, and this is my second month here.

He said this and looked down to the ground, keeping an appropriate distance between us, in a demonstration of extreme old school Egyptian politeness that one only sees in rural areas nowadays.

The metro started and one of his friends said:

-Well it's about as bad as back home, I wonder what bought us here in.

-I think you're forgetting that when the metro gets crowded in Egypt, the whole carriage rocks from side to side and people push and pull you, I said. People in Egypt are no longer as polite and kind as they were.

At this my new friend said:

-It's because of poverty, how do you want us to be nice when we are barely surviving ? I work in construction and in Egypt I work all day and can't make a penny.

Another man interjected, an older Egyptian man whose demeanor clearly showed he had been here much longer:

-No, no, no. It's us Egyptians, we no longer want to work. We don't want to do anything. I've been here 30 years and I built a life for myself. Back home in my village, we all wanted to eat but we no longer knew how to feed ourselves. We wanted butter, we wanted cream, we wanted milk but you couldn't find a single cow anymore. The only cows left are the people. We're farmers but we no longer plant. We just want to sit at the coffee shop and talk about politics, but we don't know the first thing about these subjects, and if we just got to work we would be just fine.

Of course this man was completely out of touch, except with regards to the disappearance of agricultural land and traditional skills. However, my new friend, in a display of perfect Egyptian etiquette, inclined his head and didn't answer because he was afraid to contradict an older person.

Châtelet les Halles conversations

TLDR: conversations on human nature with a drunk gentleman in the metro

I was getting on the metro at Les Halles, a major station in Paris which is often subject to crowds and attracts the stranger members of the city.

It is not uncommon to see a group of drunk gentlemen that exhibit an often harmless demeanor of aggressivity.

I was trying to get on a train that was full to the brim and I failed. Meanwhile, I bumped into a blond gentleman, whom I smelled before I saw. Indeed, he was so drunk, he reeked of alcohol. He was in his early twenties, blonde, and extremely inebriated, to the degree that I feared he might burst into flames should he be exposed to a flame.

I turned around, he was livid. I apologized for bumping into him, even though he was wrong because he was pushing me. He looked completely dazed and said:

-You smell nice.

-Thank you, the Sephora sales lady sprayed me with perfume.

I was carrying a Sephora bag and he pulled at it and said:

-What you got there ?

-A gift for my mother, don't open it, it's gift wrapped.

-My mother is dead.

-I just lost my father and I understand, I'm sorry.

I felt his aggressivity calm down a bit. He had challenged me twice and twice I had failed to give in.

-Where are you from?

-I'm from Egypt. How about you ?

-I'm French

He was defiant again. I decided to play along.

-Where abouts in France ? you talk to strangers too easily to be Parisian.

-Bretagne. I didn't like you lot before going to prison but now I like Arabs.

-I'm happy to hear that. Why did you go to prison ?

-Drug traffic.

-You must have sold quite a lot to get a sentence.

-Yes I got caught dealing cocaine and I had a three year sentence.

-That seems like an awful amount of time.

-Yeah.

We get into the train. He offers me vanilla and chocolate waffers from a closed packet. I refuse politely, he gets annoyed because it's favorite childhood treat but calms down quickly again. A lady inadvertently bumps into him. He gets ready to get angry again untill she apologizes and he says:

-Pas grave ma soeur.

We talk a bit more, he is less defiant, less angry but is now showing off a bit about his life in crime. He looks very young and fragile and a bit worse for wear. Grubby, tired and very angry. As I leave, he tells me:

-Merci Madame, vous êtes gentille.

-Tout le monde peut être gentille.

-Oui madame, mais pas tout le monde ne choisit de l'être.

He asks to give me la bise, of course, this another challenge, the same defiance is there. I accept, he stays extremely respectful.

A modern man ?

TLDR: Hairdresser turned taxi driver shares his weird proclivities with a younger, confused Salma:

This story is one that I had written down some 11 years ago and never shared. I don't think I had started sharing my taxi stories back then.

So I take a taxi for a short trip back home to Garden City and I’m immediately struck by the taxi driver's strange aspect. The top of his head was entirely bald, but he had jaw length straightened hair dyed with Henna. As some of you might not know, when entirely white hair is dyed with Henna, it takes on a strangely fluorescent orange-red hue. This contrasted against the man’s brown skin and he had several gold teeth.

He started to complain about his job, which was nothing unusual and he said that he missed his previous job: “I was a hairdresser! I loved my job! I was first a hairdresser in big hotels and I would get brides ready for their wedding day. I would make the most beautiful chignons and they wouldn’t even be able to undo them for the wedding night!”

He then started laughing hysterically and I got uncomfortable. He continued:

“I then opened my own shop, and I was free to do what I wanted! I loved giving pedicures; I would rub and rub at women’s heels. They would come with dirty, rough, cracked heels but when I was done, their feet were soft and gleaming, the skin got bright red and they left feeling like brides! I was so happy!”

“I thought men didn’t do pedicures for women. It’s not something that’s considered appropriate.”

“Ostaza, I’m a modern man”.

I wanted to steer the conversation away from feet and wedding nights, so I asked about the best hair oils. This was before coconut oil took over the world of cosmetics:

“The best oil Ostaza is hashish oil! People will tell you Amla oil, olive oil, even cooking oil, but hashish oil is the best! A person’s hair is just like a person’s spirit. When your spirit is dry, limp and sad, you smoke some hashish and feel better immediately. The same goes for hair. By the way, I have this rich Saudi Arabian client and she got a small vial of the best hashish oil and it cost her 100 dollars.”

He went on about hashish oil until I reached my destination, slightly embarrassed but safe.

The Kasr El Nil bridge in the 1930’s if i’m correct. This was part of the itenerary (no trime travel included).

Pine nut eating Lebanese Pigs, God and Religion

TLDR: Pine nut eating Lebanese pigs, God and religion.

When I was a teenager I had a housekeeper who was both a thief and a tyrant yet she truly believed that she was a very devout person and an examplary Muslim. I believe this is quite common for tyrants. She routinely terrorized the neighborhood and had a host of exotic opinions.
She had lived in Lebanon as a young bride with her long lost Lebanese husband. Said Lebanese husband used to entertain a lot and when he did, he would buy pork products such as cold cuts and sausages. She told me she would eat them "by accident" and her rationalization was pure comedic gold.
"My husband would fill my fridge with everything when we had guests. Cold meats, cheeses, nuts and cakes! Everything! Even you Salma who grew up in a big house, couldn't imagine it. Anyways, once he left this really nice luncheon meat and I ate it all! When he found out, he told me I shouldn't have, since it was pork. But it was delicious! You know why ? because Lebanese pigs, they eat pine nuts! They don't eat garbage like Egyptian pigs. You see the Lebanese pigs walk in the forest eating pine nuts and they have shiny coats that gleam in the sun, not like our disgusting pigs. You know, if God had known that Lebanese pigs ate pine nuts, he would have only forbade us from eating Egyptian pork, and we could eat Lebanese pork without problem.
-Don't you keep saying that God knows everything ?
-What would you know about God! They don't teach you anything decent at that foreign school of yours! I know what I am saying! I am a woman of God. I talk to him five times a day !"

I was reminded of this particularly funny episode yesterday during a walk in the Parc de Bagatelle, where the ground was littered with pinecones. I don't really know if Lebanese pigs really do eat pine nuts.

Judgment day, Louis IX and TikTok

I went to spend a day in Alexandria with my relatives. Alexandria in the summer is a popular destination for neighboring towns in the Nile Delta. This results in immense crowds basically taking the city by assault, and parking huge busses everywhere they can. You can't walk, you can't drive, and more than ever you regret the fact that you never could fly. So after a 45 minute bumper to bumper drive to the train station (a drive that in normal times takes 10 minutes), I run to the platform and try to find somewhere to stand. You can't just stand anywhere because you might get hit by a luggage cart, or a child, or a child riding a luggage cart.
All the seats are taken, so is most of the platform floor. A woman gestures to me. She looks unbelievably compelling. Dressed in pink from head to toe, she has big green eyes, and looks like a demented Furby covered in confectionners sugar (her outfit was fuzzy and glittery). I stand next to her and we start talking:
"-Where are you from?
-I'm from Cairo, and but I live in between Egypt and Paris most of the time, how about you?
-I'm from Mansoura, Bonjour! I'm a French teacher actually
-Oh, I went there once, it's a lovely place.
-Yes we held Louis XIII the king of France hostage there in the past.
-I know my dad took me to see his cell when I was little. He also told me he got sick and couldn't finish his crusades.
-Yes, us Mansoura people are known for our strength. Anyways, that's not important. What's important is that judgement day is coming soon. You have to be ready habibi.
-Ready how ?
-You need to wear the hijab so you can guarantee yourself a place in heaven. The signs of doomsday are clearly showing everywhere. High buildings, weather changing, TikTok, people painting their nails... it's the end. You won't have time to repent in your grave, you'll die and it will be judgement day directly so we have less time than other people who died before us and can repent and wait for judgment day calmly.
-Ok, auntie, i'm going to get a diet coke, do you want anything ?"

Ramses train station in Cairo in the 1930’s.

Water bills, Djinns and Empty houses

We received a 1200 EGP water bill for a vacant flat in Alexandria I am responsible for (I do not own it). It is a common belief in Egypt that empty homes get inhabited by Djinns and Effrits so I wondered whether maybe they were enjoying multiple bubble baths in the nonexistent bathtub. I could find no other explanation for the bill so I had to turn to the supernatural for answers.

Anyways, we go to the Alexandria water company, who ask us to go to the electricity company to prove that the appartement is uninhabited in order to cancel the bill. I had to get a copy of my ID to do this.

I went to the Kiosk next door to the water company and found the photocopy booth empty. The street was full of big police cars who were dismantling the displays of street vendors. When these things happen it's a common activity in Egypt to sit and watch. We love watching calamities in Egypt. We watch street fights, car accidents, badly built buildings tumbling down. It's an acitivity that brings people together. People call each other to come and watch chaos unfold.

Anyways, immediately a group of people came to offer explanations as to why the photocopying woman wasn't there:

"-She went to watch the dismantling of the street vendors, her son owns a stand that sells batteries and small toys. "

"-She went to make her husband his lunch and will be right back. It's hard for him to have her away and not make him his lunch." This statement was accompanied by a dramatic sigh from a woman sitting accorss the street.

"-She's praying" said a third person, which is a phrase every Egyptian hears whenever they try to do anything administrative in nature. Religious fervor is never as strong as when you want to get something done.

Finally, the man from the neighboring kiosk turned up and said "she's in the coffee shop next door having coffee and then she will use the bathroom for 35 minutes, so go somewhere else to get your documents copied".

This answer was the most convincing thing I had heard all day. I walked to the next photocopy place, holding on for dear life because street vendors were running away in a panic and I nearly got knocked over several times and was hit in the head by a Ramadan lantern shaped like Pikachu.

Back with my photocopies at the water company, they sent me to someone on the second floor, who sent me back to the first floor to talk to someone who apparently had retired, whose colleague sent me back up to the second floor.

Meanwhile an old lady who was folded in three due to her age was shouting continuously and I couldn't for the life me understand how a sound so loud could come out of such a tiny person "I KNOW THE MINISTER! I KNOW THE HEAD OF THE COMPANY! I KNOW YOUR BOSS, HIS MOTHER WAS MY AUNT'S NEIGHBOR! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO YOU? MY SON IS AN IMPORTANT MAN! YOU HAVE TO REVISE MY BILL! THE APPARTEMENT IS EMPTY AND YOU ARE CHARGING ME 2000 POUNDS IN WATER!!!"

I concluded that she too had a problem of Djinns and Effrits who played water sports in her property and wondererd whether the Alexandria water company needed an exorcist.

The clerk told me that I needed to open the water in order to prove that the water wasn't working. I told him the appartment didn't have taps. He told me fine we will manage it, probably just because the woman wouldn't stop shouting and he wanted to go home.

Somehow, thanks to uncle Mohamed, my lawyer, second father and savior, everything got solved but don't ask me how. The shouting old woman shared the lift with us going down and continued her vociferations all the way into the street.

Here is a nice picture of the port of Alexandria just to add some color.

For rememberance

A neighborhood habitué approaches me today. I’ve seen him all my life but can’t for the life of me figure out what he does. All I know is that he assists the doorman of the nearby church:
- I was wondering whether I could have your late father’s old cell phone…
-Why on earth would you want his old Nokia, even new it was only worth 100 pounds (around 3 usd nowadays).
-I want something to remember him by, something to keep on me at all times…
-Didn’t I already give you one of his wool sweaters and a photo of him ? The sweater alone is worth 4 Nokia phones.
-No you don’t understand, I want to carry Lotfy pacha in my pocket at all times. Wallahy I have a phone here!
He shows me an iPhone 7 in perfect condition.
-Don’t you want another wool pullover to keep warm ? Why do you want a worthless phone ?
-Ostaza …. I… want the phone.
-Inshalla.

On Polygamy, Uber and Romance

A dialogue comprising all of the regular elements of a conversation with an Uber/taxi driver. Those elements are: Saudi Arabian customers, alleged low life women shocking the supposedly high moral standards of the drivers, polygamy, complaining wives and the hardship of driving in Cairo:
"You know, one day, I was driving this Saudi Arabian woman to City Stars Mall, and I felt something under my arm. I turned around and found that she had put her feet up and was resting one foot on the partition between the two front seats. I told her, Madame please put your feet back where they belong. She did that. A few minutes later, I felt her foot again. I told her to stop, she said no, she wanted to feel the airconditionning between her toes. I told her to get out. She said that as she paid me she should have all rights, but I didn't stand for it.
-I'm so sorry you went through that, it must have been so humiliating. It's good that you stood up for yourself.
-You know Ostaza, this job, Uber, has been awful. All day long it's nonstop problems.
-Yes I can imagine, all the pollution and noise, and traffic jams.
-Not only that Ostaza, but also the clients. All the low life women I get, who change clothes in car, all the people who fight with me for no reason, the arguing, the nonsense. You know, at first I was happily married, I used to go home and I was happy to see my wife. But then with Uber I couldn't stand all the problems and screaming children. I wanted to come home to piece and quiet but the moment i'd walk through the door i'd have to deal with requests and complaints. She would ask for money because my youngest was vomitting or sick or because the water heater broke. I wasn't getting any attention. But Uber gave me extra income, so I married again, and now I have two wives and have to drive my Uber even more".

A tale of chickens and cars

My father and grandfather went to the same hairdresser for their entire lives. It was located behind their office in downtown Cairo. It is now run by two brothers who took it over from their father. The younger brother came to present his condolences at my father's condolences reception, so I decided to go and say hello to the older brother, as a gesture. I sit down in the store and he immediately drowns me in a flood of words:
"-You know things are very very hard, I mean now I can only eat chicken a couple of times a week. Before I ate chicken every day. I even went to Mecca with my mother, and over there, money has real value, not like here. I mean for 100 riyals I ate chicken three times a day. Every day. I would eat the Saudi style chicken, not the Pakistani food that you find there. It's full of Cardamom and my colon gets upset (colon problems are seemingly the most prevalent condition in Egypt and discussing it is something of a national sport).
Anyways, i'd get half a grilled chicken three times a day. It would come with half a kilo of rice and a big sambousek. Over there you can eat and eat and never feel bad as long as you don't eat the stuff with cardamom.
-That sounds great.
-Yes, i'm of a mind to go there and take my kit and sit next to any garbage dumpster even and offer to shave people's head's for 5 Riyals so they can be ready for pilgramage. I mean, if I shave 4 people, that will be enough for a meal of chicken".
At this point, I had had enough of this chicken mania and decided to take my leave. He stops me urgently and says:
-Ostaza Salma, your father had promised to sell me his jeep before he died. He agreed to sell it for 10,000 pounds. He even was looking for the paperwork and he took me to see it and inspect it and everything.
-Oh really ?
-Yes, I swear, you have to honor the word of the dead you know!
-I absolutely do honor everything my father told me to do, but I wonder how he expects me to sell you a car that got stolen 10 years ago during the revolution.

Rebellious Rooster!

I took this photo years ago, what struck me was that the rooster at the top of the picture had managed to escape the cage but didn’t seem interested in running away. It was just nonchalently enjoying it’s new found freedom but doing nothing to protect it!

Le gras c’est la vie ?

Hier je me suis rendue à la pharmacie pour acheter quelques bricoles. J'ai fini par faire la queue pendant 15 minutes et ceci à cause d'une seule personne. Une dame à la voix tonitruante tenait la pharmacienne en ôtage, pendant que son compagnon était assis par terre, sa tête entre les mains, l'image même du désespoir:
-Vous avez pas un truc pour l'intolérance au lactose Madame ?
-Ah mais pour ça il faut faire un test au laboratoire.
-Pas besoin, je sais ce que j'ai, n'est ce pas chéri?
Le compagnon répond d'une voix d'outre tombe:
-ouiiii ouiiiiii....
-Oui voilà il le dit lui-même, d'ailleurs hier j'ai mangé des épinards à la crème et après dans le TGV j'ai occupé les toilettes pendant tout le voyage. Pas vrai chéri ?
-Ouiiii ouiiiii......
-Ok madame, je vais tenter de vous proposer quelque chose pour vous soulager, mais il vaut mieux arrêter de manger des laitages le temps de faire des tests d'accord ?
-Ah ça non, jamais, je ne peux pas me passer du lait, du beurre et de la crème, impossible! plutôt mourrir! Pas vrai chéri ?
-Ouiiii ouiiiiii....
-Bon madame, je dois vraiment m'occuper des autres clients là, je peux vous proposer...
-Ah j'ai oublié de vous dire, parfois je peux manger des choses qui ont touché du lait sans tomber malade. D'ailleurs, l'autre jour j'ai mangé les céréales du petit et j'ai laissé le lait et j'ai pas eu la chiasse, pas vrai chéri ?
-Ouiii ouiii....
-Bon écoutez madame, je vous conseille vraiment de consulter....
-C'est bon madame, j'ai le temps, on est en vacances, pas vrai chéri?
-Ouiiii ouiii....
Et ça s'est poursuivi comme ça en boucle pour une éternité. J'ai l'impression d'y être encore.

PS: la photo est une ancienne publicité d’un fabricant de produits laitiers en Egypte, mais cette annecdote a eu lieu à Paris.

The painting in the entrance

This is a painting my great uncle bought from an unknown polish surrealist painter back in the 50’s in Prague, or so I was told by my father.

My father insisted on hanging it up in the staircase by the entrance, and this had the effect of shocking and terrifying all the supermarket delivery men who came by.

As a teenager my friends and I called her Daphne. I’ve always loved this painting. I love Daphne’s green hair, I love the random dancing frog, the butterfly, the unconventional beauty of her face and the fact that the painting doesn’t seem to have a specific direction you can hang it in. When it’s horizontal you want to hang it vertically and vice versa.

Today, a housekeeper I hired to help me with a cleaning job looked at the painting and said:

“-This painting belongs in the bedroom and this skinny lady needs a bikini wax.”