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.
