Cairene Mornings

Early every morning it began; the rumbling of the carts. All the vendors come out and go past our house. Some had pushcarts (although some of them pulled theirs), some had donkey carts and some had no carts at all. All the vendors had a song or a call to sing out loud enough to wake up the household and of course the braying of the donkey could wake anyone up. I would lie there and listen. I listened for my favorites.
“OOOOOOtaaah ya aliali OOOOOOOtaaah!” cried the tomato seller. I mimicked the sound quietly to my self. It would not be long now.
A cart rolled by. I tensed waiting….but as the vendor cried “GAAAY-YYazzzz” I know that it was only the gas man that sold the oil for the heaters and some lamps. Shortly after him came the clanging of the Butagaz man. I could hear Ateya down stairs ordering a new butane bottle for the cook stove. The birds started singing rather loudly and the perfume from the jasmine floated thru my windows and flooded my room. I loved that smell!
“Asab! AAAAAsal ya-ali AAAAASab!” cried the molasses seller. He had such beautiful voice. I always though that he was a woman until I chased him down one morning and bought a cup of molasses from him.
I could smell coffee coming from down stairs; Ateya called “Breakfast!”
‘Bother’ I thought ‘its time to get up.’ Slowly I sat up, still waiting for my favorite vendor call. Rumble, rumble, rumble, a cart was coming down the road. I tensed again, hoping that this time that it would be the junk man.
“RRRRRUUUUU-bah-BEEEK-yah!” he cried. I burst out laughing. The rubabikiyya man has the funniest call! He always managed to sound like he was going to choke on the “beek” part of his call. I he passed I knew that it was time to get up.
_____________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________

The wonderful stillness of the morning was broken by the sound of a loud wailing that was coming from the backyard. It was a long, almost heart wrenching sound that sounded female. The wail was followed by excited cries and shouting.

As I rounded the corner of the house to investigate the sounds I discovered that I was almost in the center of a group argument. Salem, Ateya, a strange woman dressed in black with a young girl in neon green dress with large fuchsia-colored flowers. The woman in addition to her black dress was wearing a long black Tarha (veil), black plastic shoes and had a huge metal pan onto of her head. The girl carried a short wooden stool. The woman was pointing at our garden. The lawn was 3 inches underwater as Salem had just irrigated.

I interrupted, “Ateya what is going on?”
Ateya placed his hand on my head and replied “Dis is Omm Nadia, the washer woman. She is making the dowsha because the garden is flooded and there is no where to hang the clothes.”
I stood between the arguing adults wondering what a dowsha was when the gardener from the next yard came over and offered their clothesline. Ateya bowed his thanks and then gave what sounded like orders to the woman. Omm Nadia stomped off with the girl following her every move. I followed them.
The woman went into the store room, took off her black dress and tarha and set up her huge metal pan. The young girl put the stool down for the woman to sit on and then hurried to sink to put the hoses on the faucet. Ateya brought the baskets of laundry down and gave them to the girl. Omm Nadia ignored him and began to fill her huge pan with water. She was half singing and half humming in Arabic and the girl sang with her.
When the girl had sorted the clothes Omm Nadia began to wash the whites…by hand. Each article of clothes was scrubbed to clean perfection. I just stared. The girl rinsed the clothes out and Omm Nadia rinsed them again and squeezed them out. The girl put the washed clothes into a carrying basket and stood up. “Ta ala” She said as she motioned to me, and then again but this time in heavily accented English “Come”. I followed her out. We went around to the back gate of our neighbor’s yard and began to hang out the clothes. I was not very good. She kept taking the clothes back and rehanging them on the line.
“My name is Sultana and you?”
“You speak English?!!!”
“I speak little Ingleezi” she replied smiling. I was so relieved.
“Who is that washing our clothes”
That is mother.
How come she has 2 names?
What two names? She has only her name.
Well isn’t she called Omm Nadia I said while extending a finger for each name I recited.
Sultana smiled. “That name is an honor for her, it says she is the mother of Nadia who is my sister”

Oh….Omm meant Mother.
“What IS your mother’s name then? I asked.
“Lawaahiz” she replied as she hung the last of the batch out to dry.

Sultana, she had a beautiful name. My name was dumb. We walked back to my house. Omm Nadia had another batch waiting for us to hang up. She smiled at me, handed us the new batch and went back to scrubbing what ever was in her pan.
Sultana?
Yes
What is a dowsha?
It is a loud noisy fight with lots of peoples. My mother was making the dowsha because the garden was flooded and she had no where to be working”

Sultana went back to her work. I watched for a while, tired of not being able to hang the clothes. Finally it was too hot for me and I went back inside. I looked in at the washer woman as she worked. Her hair was hanging in 2 long graying braids and sweat was dripping off her forehead. Her hands were huge and rough; her arms were strong. I wondered what her life was like.