A morning tea with two interesting
older ladies, sat in a sumptuous Zamalek residence with the most
beautiful classic furniture in woods such as yew, walnut and oak -
shipped from England many years ago, a portrait of a time when men
wore suits and women wore hats and gloves and people sent letters by
post. An apartment offering many gifts to those sipping their
drinks, handing them a stunning view of the Nile in all her grandeur
and uplifting spirit, the green life of trees and the wild climbing
roses abounding the balcony. Eating delicate orange scented morsels
hand made by a graceful Japanese girl and drinking the most fecund
mango juice in the world proudly created by Mr Ahmed at the juice bar
and brought to us by the maid.
A walk through streets of cats, dirt
and cars and a meeting with a vegetarian friend new to this
carnivorous place– we go to the roof bar and our eyes drink the
river whilst we peruse the Chinese menu and are served by the waiter
that looks like Gael García Berna and has changed from a shy and
quiet young man looking at the floor in April to one who is proudly
speaking in English and doing everything to serve us as well as he
can in October. We share our stories, eat our noodles and muse on
the opportunities of life then part for other compass points.
The taxi home drives past a street lady
who once danced by the Dokki metro, an old lady then in a flimsy
dress, swaying to an inner music. A precious bird with a brave yet
beating heart. Today she is wearing a bright galabeya and an
exotically wrapped head dress. And she is laughing, thank god she is
laughing. The young taxi driver is speaking to his girlfriend and by
his talking I can deduce that she is asking him how much money he has
made and where he is and where he is going and I wonder if he is
telling her the truth but then I drift off and start to look up at
the leaves of the tree against the sky and how fragile they look, how
graceful, how beautiful, how unpart of the this mess of a city they
are, this glorious insane mess, this Cairo.
