Impressions Back to Cairo

We registered for the picnic from Alexandria to Cairo by coach that took approximately 3 hours on that desert road my father used to take from Cairo to Alexandria and vice versa for our fabulous summer holidays at Alexandria: Stanley, San Stephano, Sidi Bishr, Ramle el Beda etc. I was pleasantly surprised and impressed at the harbour white marble buildings and floor.

Everything was spotless.

Shawish everywhere with their guns standing guard!

We were accompanied by motorised police part of the way and that made me feel safer because of that underlying fear since leaving Egypt and which was one of my nightmares: Lost somewhere in Egypt unable to find my way home.

To begin with our guide was a Copt who spoke French to perfection with that accent we love. I learned more from him than during my whole life there! He told us about the Pharaohs, how they had their Pyramids built and the huge stones that are still there today and various anecdotes about daily life that made us laugh.

We had taken about four litres of water with us and we were offered a big bottle in the coach. It was an old bus rattling along and at one moment we thought it would break down in the middle of the desert and we would have to push!

They had told us: “Be careful it is cold on that coach and you need a good pullover.”

The air-conditioning did not work!

I believe it was about 32 degrees when we arrived at the Pyramids.

No sooner had we disembarked than a crowd of children, their clothes torn and sometimes without shoes, nevertheless pretty, fell on us pushing their wares in our arms trying to sell the fake amulets or scarabs.

Exasperated, I shouted: yalla emshi! And they looked at me. How did this affrangeya speak Arabic?

After that the men renting camels and horses pulled us by the arm almost putting us by force on their animals. Except for some, the majority did not want to take a ride. I heard the man mumble: yen aal aboukom but pretended I did not understand.

A little word about clothes: foreign women came in shorts (their bottom exposed) and naked arms and shoulders. Imagine a woman on a Camel wearing her shorts and half her breast showing. The local women wore a Muslim head cover and our tourists compared to them seemed almost indecent especially as the Arab men thinking no one understood made their comments as usual!

After that we went to the Sphinx.

Here the vendors could not follow because we had tickets and the entrance was guarded by shawish (policemen) who sheltered under a shamseya (a sunshade). When we went out through another door, they were there waiting for us!

Houses and buildings of very poor quality now surround the Pyramids and Sphinx!

We got on that coach and went on to a Pyramids Sofitel Hotel for our meal.

It was cool, clean and decorated with taste.

About taste: I took a little of everything but mainly the divine tehina, (sesame salad) which was prepared as it should be and not the watery stuff you now get in oriental restaurants.

Tiny pieces (being diabetic) of bassboussa, konafa, a fabulous chocolate cake and I picked up a gawafa (guava) that was not ripe, to keep and show my children, but then could not resist eating it three days later when it ripened!

On our way from that hotel we saw some horrendous houses. Rough blocks one on top of the other, with just one window, no electricity and no sanitary equipment either. There was a huge depot of dirt and other nameless detritus. Some of the blocks were unfinished and the guide explained that when there was money they built a new floor on top of the house without permission.

I could hardly believe my eyes. All along that desert route, the sand and wind had accumulated papers and plastics.

We finally reached Zamalek (where my primary school had been), a green suburb mainly inhabited by the officials of foreign embassies and what the guide called rich people.

Then, the magnificent Nile was there with a view on the two bridges and the dahabeya restaurants moored along the banks. The latter had been refurbished with white stone and plantations of rich bougainvillea.

We saw several couples holding neither hands nor arms but fingers!

It seems that public conduct is still based on restraint and no kissing in public!

Reaching the Cairo Museum we parted with the group (much to the guide’s despair who probably thought he would never see us again).

Trying to cross, I was nailed to the ground by all the cars rushing from everywhere.

A shawish came up to me and asked: ‘Aiza te rouhi fén’ I answered ‘Abdel Khaleg Sarwat, (formerly Malika Farida.)

He said taa-li. He stopped the traffic and made us cross safely to the other side.

We walked on till we came to Groppi that fabulous Swiss restaurant.

It still looks beautiful from outside and I recall the great cakes we ate there and it was also the appointment point with my university friends to proceed to A.U.C. together.

There were traffic lights everywhere but no one respected them and I found myself falling back into my bad habits and not even noticing that it was red. My husband, a distinguished European, remained on the other side and I kept hailing him to cross but he did not do so. Meanwhile two young women, veiled in pretty colours were laughing at us and flirtatiously asked my blond, blue-eyed husband in English “What’s your name?” I now understand what they mean when they say that the veil protects women.

Finally we crossed Midan Talaat Harb and started along the former Soleiman Pacha. There again I had to ask our way and the man said ‘ya salam enti tetkalemi arabi qwayess awi!’

One elegant shoe shop followed the other. It was amazing!

Almost everyone had a cell phone in the hand walking and talking! And the shops were computerised.

My heart was beating crazily as we found Abdel Khaled Sarwat.

Thank God some street signs were in English but everything else was in Arabic.

From the cosmopolitan city that it used to be, Cairo had transformed itself into a totally Arab city. The women both old and young wore the veil but not the black melaya we knew except for one or two, nor the chador but colourful mandils tuned to their modern dresses.

They laughed and spoke with the young men freely.

The hantour seemed to have been restricted to side streets.

What a pity! I had been hoping to go round the town on one of these carriages as in the old days. The taxis were still black and white having gone through the wars as they say: full of bumps and visible signs of all the crashes.

Our guide told us that insurances were not compulsory. There were two kinds of these; one was for the car and if you wished you could also take one for physical damage to people who crossed. If a person was overrun and that the driver did not have any insurance, then maalesh…

We passed by my dear friend Jacqueline Levy’s house, may she rest in peace, and I showed my husband the balcony from which we yelled across the street to give our appointments!

By the time we reached my house, I was shaking and wondering what kind of catastrophe I would find.

But no! The Amièl buildings had withstood the ravage of time except that pollution had darkened them. I left my husband on the opposite pavement and went and stood in front of the gate. There was a Coca Cola fridge with refreshing drinks taking up half the entrance.

As I stood there I saw my life flit by, my mom and dad, my nonno, nonna, aunts and uncles taking that lift to the fifth floor often and often!

The coca cola man and another one were looking at me strangely. What had I to lose?

I asked one of them “enta el bawab?” the ‘cacoula’ man pointed to the other one wearing the turban.

I told him: Ana kont sakna hena fi khamsin sana.

His mouth sagged open.

Fein?

I answered: khamess dor.

He rubbed his chin in amazement and told me that now a dactor George was living in our house and that we had probably known his, the bawab’s, predecessor.

I did not ask to go up: too much of a heartbreak.

I remembered there was a passage right after the house, le Passage Kodak that led to the Synagogue in Adly Street. I had often been asked at the end of Yom Kippur to go and listen to the shofar and come back home and report that the fast was almost over so that the khadam could proceed with the heating of food etc.

The entrance to that passage had narrowed drastically and was cluttered with street shops selling fruit, drinks or other things I did not dare look at for fear of being told:

‘yaani, enti min? Bet bossi keda lé?

We walked a few steps and I saw it: our beautiful Synagogue.

Then I was really moved and scared as well remembering what we had gone through in the years after 1948 then 1956.

The Police stood guard on both sides blocking the alley that led to the courtyard where my parents are pictured after their wedding in 1935.

I had not come all this way for nothing: at least soura, (a picture) to remember.

I panicked in front of the Synagogue (my dentist had told me it was forbidden to take photographs) but nevertheless asked my husband to take pictures as discreetly as possible imagining that the boliss would pounce on us at any moment.

Old fears die-hard! But nothing happened.

My tears overran and I trembled at that building that had seen so happy events in our lives.

It was being restored, for its hundredth anniversary (that I learned when I went home).

The heat was still tremendous, my hair was wet, my feet about to fall off and the emotions…!

But I went on stubbornly. Having come all that way I could hardly stop now!

I was pleased to see that progress has pointed its nose and not forgotten Egypt.

The trams that used to cover Fouad 1^st street had been banned and replaced by a large avenue.

Several years back, I had almost been run over by two trams crossing each other because I would not wait for the green light!

Before reaching my Hotel Extaday I saw the Gattegneo Boutique and took a picture for my friend, her father-in-law had been the owner.

Strange that we are no longer there but that our shops still are!

There at one corner was A l’Américaine and I imagine still serving their delightful trois petits cochons.

I did not see obese people as we see in Europe, the UK or the US.

I noticed that in general Egyptians were more handsome and beautiful than in the rest of the Arab world. The younger women had slim figures and their colourful veil did not detract from their prettiness.

Maybe I was prejudiced – I mean favourably!

On one side of the Hotel Extaday that now seems a kharaba compared to the years we lived there, Tseppas the cake shop where I ate more sweets than I should, (probably preparing the way to my diabetes).

On the right hand, the department store CHEMLA still stood there.

Another alley and a Cinema: The Cairo Palace where I used to go for the Matinée on Saturday mornings. On Sundays it was the Metro with special features and cartoons.

Had I had more strength I could have gone still further to the left of Hotel Extaday and visited Cicurel the most beautiful department store 50 years ago.

But I could not find any more strength in me and hailed a taxi

Something silly happened: I could not remember the word for Museum.

So I said:

Takhodna fel Museum ele fi Toutankhamoun? He looked at me not understanding:

El pharaana.

When he understood I told him I only had Euros he said talata. I gave him five and said aachen weladak. A wide smile illuminated his face.

I dropped into that taxi with my husband who kept saying ‘Mon Dieu’ at the way people drove, sometimes only a centimetre from another car!

But we reached the Egyptian Museum safely.

We had to pass through security and screening to go into the courtyard to shelter from the street vendors who once more made a desperate attempt to sell their wares!

Our guide was relieved to see us in one piece.

We took the noisy, dying coach to drive back hoping it would not break down in the middle of nowhere.

The views on the Nile at night were stupendous with the lights of the Dahabeya restaurants and all the statues illuminated.

More than three hours later, it was about midnight, we reached our boat and I dragged myself up the gangway.

A warm meal was waiting for the tired travellers but I only had a salad and fruit.

Next day, I saw that my colour shampoo had dripped on my collar and dyed my white blouse!

Last words: I had vowed never to return to Egypt but someone told me “only ignorants say never” so not wanting to be an ignoramus, I accepted to go back.

I do not regret it.

On the contrary it was a therapy.

I stopped having my nightmares from that day onwards.

The people of Egypt continue to be smiling and did not show me any disrespect.

I must admit I was very worried lest someone pronounce one of their insults against us.

When I spoke Arabic, be it in the streets or the Papyrus shop, they were delighted to hear me and welcomed me back. They were amazed at my name and immediately said “enti Masreya!”

I had a cartouche, a seal, made out in hieroglyphics to my name Sultana.

It will be a reminder of that day: tiring but worthwhile!

I came out of that trip restored as a human being.

I do not think modern Egyptians know that 50 years ago we were part of their life!

Or do they even know what an Egyptian Jew is?

Only time will tell if I have made my own reconciliation, my personal peace with Egypt.

Sultana, Suzy Vidal

(Sultana Latifa)

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