We were going shopping for Christmas gifts. We all loaded into the fiat and drove off. My father furiously chewing on a cigarette as he drove and every now and then put his fist out of the window as he shouted insults to the passing cars. The traffic was a nightmare. My father dodged crazy traffic, camels, herds of goats, donkey carts, street vendors of all kinds, and pedestrians. There were women lazily walking down the center of the road like it was an everyday occurrence. Bread vendors rode bikes with a flat board on their head piled high with loaves of “Aish” Egyptian flat bread that is chewier and thicker than the pita breads found in the United States. Street sweepers swept the edges of the Corniche with enormous twig brooms. All along the Nile the Fallucca’s lazily sailed up and down.
Dad left the Corniche. Mom began telling me where we were and as we turned on Kasr il nil street, rounded Midan Tahrir, went down Kasr il aini street, passed the American University to Bab il Luk train station and then hung a left she named each street. It was really crowded with people. People leaving the train station blocked the traffic on the street as they either walked slowly or were busy viewing what the different shops had to offer. On the left were juice, fitir, and other shops; on the left there was a huge white palace (mom called it the Presidential palace) on the right. Dad kept on going. There were a lot of beggars on the street now. I stared out the window. Finally Dad began circling, looking for a parking spot. He found a spot in the shadows of Al Azhar mosque. We would have to walk a long way to the Khan’s entrance.
We walked. They walked fast and I dragged. There was just too much to see. My parents kept walking and talking, expecting me to keep up and I lagged further and further behind, til finally I stopped. There was a beggar in the road. He had his legs twisted behind his head, one eye was blind and he was walking on his hands or dragging his rear end along the ground. His hands were out stretched and he seemed unable to speak coherently. ‘pretty good’ I thought to myself for I could put both of my legs behind my shoulders….but he had them further down about at his waist.
I looked up and saw my parents still ahead, still walking, so I headed in their general direction.
DZZZZZZririririridzzzzzzzdzdz. A strange sound. It sounded like a cross between a kazoo and a flute but it sounded also like belly dancing music. It was coming from the right, down a street that ran along a mosque. I looked at my parents, looked at the sound, and then followed the sound.
I followed the sound down a deeply shaded street to where a crowd of people hung around. I glided thru them, wriggling thru the crowd until I was up in front.
I discovered the origin of the sound. There were several strangely dressed men wearing what appeared to be huge diapers wildly dancing in a circle, rolling their heads around so that their longish hair whipped in the air. One of the men had a snake around his neck. They danced and danced and the snake came closer and closer. I looked back. I thought I heard my mother.
I really wanted to stay, but I headed back in the general direction of the entrance, or what I thought was the entrance.
No one was there. That was a good sign. I walked into the khan. The alleys were shaded mostly because of the close proximity of the buildings. The air smelled of spices, cloth, honey tobacco, and perfume. As I walked along the alley, vendors came out of their shops and shove their wares under my nose. “Look at this” “this is best” “come here and buy”. It was unending. I tried to keep my eyes forward and waved off the vendors, but a shadowy movement caught my eye. I went toward the movement and discovered a door that was half hidden in the shadows. I went down 3 steps to discover a boy sitting on the dirt floor doing something with a bow, a knife and his toes.
I squatted down to look. An other man hailed me “Sabah al khair”(good morning). “Sabah al nour” I replied and returned my focus on the boy.
He had a long section of dowel that was threaded like a bead hanging between his toes. The twine that held the dowel was tied on his big toes. Between his feet he had a block of wood. The bow somehow was wrapped around the twine and he was sawing with the bow furiously back and forth. He used the block as a support for his knife and he was carving into a quickly spinning bead. When he finished carving, he unstrung the bead, and put it into a small box that was beside him. He did two types of beads, one round and one long.
I put my hand into the box to look at them.
“Do you make necklaces” I asked while using my hands to show what I was talking about incase I did not get the word right. The man further back said “no, mashribiyya”. I did not have a clue so I shrugged my shoulders and said “eh da” (whats that).
The man waved me over to him. He had fitted the beads together into a long rectangle, gluing the pieces together but they were held in place with tiny string, almost as thin as thread.
It was beautiful. He then took me over to another workshop further back. There the mashribiyya was being used to decorate tables, chairs, mirrors, and create window screens. It was very beautiful. I gently touched the work in progress.
“Thank you for showing it to me” I said.
“No, I thank you for coming here” he said formally, and escorted me out to the alley. When we reached the door, he pointed to another alley, “the tourist area is just there” he said. “shukrun” I replied, and left.
The area he pointed to was the perfumery. I could smell wonderful scents. There were several shops all dedicated to making of perfume oils. I could not resist. I entered one. A young man rushed to assist me. I said that I was only looking, but he insisted on offering me a cookie and a glass of hot tea. Once I was seated he began to explain in a mix of English, French and Arabic what the different scents were. With each bottle he opened the stopper and put a few drops on a glass wand. I smelled each one. He then began to show me how to mix the smells. My favorite it rose mixed with sandalwood.
I was paying so much attention to the smell tests that I did not notice my mother come into the shop. She leaned over my shoulder. “There you are! I told your father you would not go
far.” They never really missed me. Mom thought that I had followed them into the shops all this time.
She pulled up another chair while setting her bags down on the floor. The young man rushed to get her tea and cookies too. We sat there in the shop smelling all the different perfumes. When we were finished, mom purchased a small glass bottle of rose/sandalwood oil mixed. When she handed it to me, the young man said that if we would wear it on our knees and elbows the scent would last all day. He also suggested that we buy a glass decanter with a glass wand stopper for the oil. We thanked him and left the shop. Right across the alley from the perfumes was the glassmakers. Their shop windows were filled with cobalt blue glass bottles decorated with gold paints. Mom stopped in to buy one for me. And we moved on looking for Dad.
Dad was at the leather shop buying these huge Poofs (giant leather cushions) that were embossed with Islamic patterns.
The leather shop what a jungle of leather goods, from purses to saddles. I looked at leather dolls while my mom looked at the purses and wallets. The leather dolls were hand painted with huge eyes and was dressed like the Egyptian peasant women.
I closed my eyes and listened to the hustle and bustle of hundreds of people around me walking, calling, shuffling, haggling arguing……..and if I focused well I could smell the perfumes, insense, food cooking somewhere that was mixed in with the street smells of donkeys and people everywhere.
“Come on lets go home” Dad said shaking me out of my reverie. He shuffled several bags and bundles and strode off to find the car.
