Lanterns

I was at a store in cleveland area called World Market and they have this lanterns from middle east, pakistan and India.  It reminded me of a time when I used to go with Salem to a street in the Khan al Khalili during a feast day and we would buy them.  His daughter Badraya and I would walk along swinging our lamps chanting the song of the season  WA-HA-WE  YA  WAH-HA-WE!  eh yo hoya...was Kaman wahwee .........eh yo hoya.......... Bint al sultan labis kaftan (daughter of the sultan wears a kaftan)......eh yo hoya
I wish i could remember the entire chant!

Salem picked me up with his daughter Badraya.  it was a special event for the Eid ( festival/feast).  we walked hand in hand down the road looking at all the shops that had special cakes, cookies and the entire street was covered with lanterns.  Alot of them had been recycled from old tin cans and glass bottles.  some were very beautiful.  Salem chose one for me and one for Badraya.  we put candles in the lanterns.  Chanting while swinging the lighted lanterns......walking down the street.  Salem bought a tray of kakh ( cookie covered with powdered sugar) and ghoryiba (a kind of shortbread cookie) ladies fingers ( sponge cake cookie), Angel wings ( cookie shaped like wings that was covered in a sticky syrup.   These would be his gift to my family for the eid.

We stopped also at the Fitr shop.  Fitr is a cake made with very thin layers.  The baker takes your order and then rolls out the dough  then he picks it up and swings it over head a couple of times and lays it on the marble top  its see thru thin!!  I had ordered Mukasarat ( it means broken bit ...its a peanut one)  he puts a layer of fine peanut crumbs over the dough then folds it up inot layers ( like filo dough ) in each fold he puts more peanuts with sugar . then he puts it in a mud brick oven ( ike a pizza oven ) when he pulls out the golden goodness he pours orange blosson syrup all over it.  the "cake" sizzles ......finally he puts a big dollop of sweet cream in the center.
Wow it was the best thing I have ever eaten!!

Pearl of the Desert

My parents announced that we were all going on a picnic at someone’s farm. I thought about the mud huts along the Nile or even the more modern rough brick huts and wondered who we were going to see.


Are we going to stay at a mud hut with a gamoosa (water buffalo) and a ‘saqqiya’ (water wheel)? I asked.  That might be exciting but very uncomfortable.

“No we are going to one of Saneya’s friend’s farm.  Its called the Pearl” mom replied, and then added “Hala will be there.”  I was very excited at the prospect of seeing Hala again!  Then I started to think and I became
confused for a moment and so I said, “I know that there is NO farm in Egypt called ‘the pearl’. Mom smiled at me.
“Well it’s actually called “al Luqluq” which means the pearl.” she replied.

OOOOOOOOHHHHH so that’s it I thought.

We all got into the fiat. Dad was driving as usual like a mad demon, dodging the donkey carts and pedestrians along the way. We drove into the Giza area of Cairo and along the ‘strip’ where all the night clubs were just before you get to the pyramids….and we parked in one.

Hala’s father pulled alongside our car. My father got out and so did Mohammad (Hala’s father). As they spoke, I was granted permission to ride with Hala and I quickly skipped all the way to her car! While her brother Tarek (not to be confused with Tareq who lived accross from us on road 12) got into our car to keep my brother company.

When we started driving again, we drove along side a canal. It was not a main road at all and it seemed to pass thru very rural farm villages. All along the canal interesting things seemed to be happening. Boys were jumping off bridges into the water below for a swim, while girls herded their goats along the road. One girl walked beside her gamoosa. Hala and I stared out of the window watching the scenery go by while eating molasses sticks. The sticks are hard at first, but got softer as they got warm in our hands. When we bit off a bit it became real chewy and it got stuck in our teeth. They tasted a bit like the American “Mary Jane” candies, only they were really long. Saneya seemed to have brought tons of the candy and she did not object to us eating it …so we ate them all.

After a while the road appeared smaller, like it was going between fields. The fields were under irrigation so the rows of green alternated with rows of glinting blue as it reflected the sky. You could tell one man’s field from another because of the alternating field patterns. One fields rows were horizontal, the next vertical; each one separated by a wider channel that the water flowed through. Some fields had an abundance of date palms, others did not, yet the whole area had a “green” feel unlike the rest of Egypt which had a “Khaki” feel. Ahead of us on the right was a large stand of date trees with huge red fruit almost ready for picking and rising up behind them were huge mud brick dove (in this case pigeons) cotes. They were like 3 tall spires in tannish gold that were perforated by many holes and sticks.

“Why do people build such huge mud building for birds” I asked?

“Because they eat them”, Hala replied then continued “Hammam Mashwiy is considered a delicacy.”

“Grilled pigeon! People eat birds!” I exclaimed. Saneya laughed, “Well Erin, a chicken is a bird no?” I knew when to shut up…they were still laughing. Hala’s father became very serious (as he always was) and went into a lecture on the economics of village life and how they depend on such things as pigeon. As he spoke my mind wandered. It was such a lovely place. I wish I had a camera for every image that I saw.

W finally got to the farm house. It resembled the villas like they had all around Maadi where I lived…..not very farmish to me. It even had marble mastabas along the front steps.

Hala and I waited until all the adults had finished with their introductions. This seemed to take an eternity and so we made our escape into the house. Hala and I wandered from room to room, hunting for hidden treasure. It was a disappointing hunt. The only thing we seemed to find was some very old coats and Зabaya’s. When Hala and I searched the pockets we found a bunch of papers carefully folded in one of them. We were unhappy that it did not turn out to be an old treasure map.

“These look important” Hala said, “we must take them to the adults.”

How do you know?

They have a stamp…see. she pointed at what looked like a postage stamp. I even said so.

Hala looked at the papers. “ I am having a hard time reading the handwriting she said but these are not postage stamps…its what we use to make something official.

I sighed. she was going to make having an adventure very difficult. I followed her back to the Salon where they were all sitting, drinking lemonade and chatting. We showed the paper to Mohammad and asked what it was from. It was a work agreement of some sort. A girl had been hired to be a maid in the house for 13 piasters a month (13 cents. It was a stupid piece of paper but the adults seemed to be very amazed at it and began a lengthy discussion on how things used to be and how things had changed.

Our Hostess asked us what we would like to do and always I asked if I could ride a horse. She said no,,,but she could arrange a donkey ride for us around the farm.

Hala and I rode back to the mud towers that housed the pigeons. The whole area around there was so calm and green. The shaded area under the trees was even cool. Every where there were people working and preparing the harvest of something, some unknown greens. Huge heaps of these greens were being piled so high that you could not see the donkey underneath. This gave the impression of a huge shrubbery walking on 4 legs.

As we rode a long the road we met a man who had a wagon load of sugar cane. the wagon was piled high and the grassy ends hung off the back of the wagon and trailed along the ground. Hala pulled up her donkey and spoke to the man. He stoped the wagon and carefully cut off 2 segments off for us. While she negotiated the price of the sugarcane, I rode off thru the trees and dismounted. Riding the bare back of a donkey was a lot different than riding a horse….it was not very pleasant. I stretched and touched my toes. The donkey could not resist the target of my rear end and so head butted me. I fell down. I got up and reached for the halter of the donkey...but he jerked his head and ran off a ways and stopped. I walked toward him slowly. He trotted off a bit more keeping distance away from me until finally he just ran off altogether. Now I was in a pickle.

Hala came up behind me with the sugarcane sections. She looked as the donkey took off down the road. I wondered what I was going to tell her. I was not about to tell her the truth; that was too embarrassing! So my plan was to get sympathy instead.

What happened to your donkey?

It got spooked by something in the trees. I do not know what it was but it frightened the donkey and I was kicked off. It ran down the road. I said as I pointed.

Too bad she said. “you will have to walk back to the house” and she handed me a section of sugar cane.

I looked at it and said “how do you eat this..it looks like bamboo?”

Hala demonstrated from the back of her donkey,” You hold onto the hard part like this and use your teeth to crack the end. then you grab the cracked outer part with your teeth and pull it up and back …like this” she cracked her cane. I tried and found that it was fairly easy to do. Once we had all the hard stuff off she continued “you bite a section off, chew it and suck the juices. do not swallow…when all the juice is gone you spit it out”

Ok I said as I bit off a piece.

I chewed. It was a bit hard on your teeth but the sugar came juice was worth it.

The Garbage boy

Months had past and the new school opened, which was a relief because now I could walk to school rather than ride the bar of Salem’s bike.


On the way to school every morning I pass the carts of the garbage collectors on Port Said Street. They were called Zabaleen after zabala (garbage). They were the self appointed garbage people who rode down the streets of Maadi and collected all of our garbage. Most of it they burned outside the walls of the old city of Fustat, they rest they recycle in some way. The NOISIEST carts belong to them. Their donkey carts looked like huge boxes with no top and one side missing, the wheels of the cart were huge, bigger than the cart made out of what looked like a single slab of wood.

The children sat on the heaps of garbage in the cart while the father sat on the shaft of the cart. Flies buzzed around the cart and were often seen in the corner of the eyes of the children. They flew down Port Said Street, laughing and joking, their father calling out greetings to passersby.

Early one morning we woke to a banging sound. Someone was banging on the door. It was the ‘Zabala’ boy who daily collected the trash from our house into a huge loosely woven basket. This time he looked like he had cleaned up some. His face was somewhat cleaner, like it had been washed and there were no flies in his eyes. His donkey cart waited just outside our garden gate, His hand was outstretched. “Merry Christmas” he said and stared at me. “Merry Christmas? Its not Christmas.”” I replied and stared back at him. The boy remained standing at our doorstep. As I started to close the door, he said again rather quickly this time “Ya Mazmazelle….Merry Christmas Bakshish!?

He wanted baksish? I was confused it was not Christmas and he got paid. I know that my mother even paid extra for him to collect it everyday.

Mom came down the stairs and handed the boy 5 piasters. “Merry Christmas” she said and smiled. He saluted her with the money in his hand and said “Merry Christmas Madame” with the biggest smile he could muster. He then leaped off the stoop and ran out of the gate. He pulled his donkey cart along to the next house and ran inside.

“It was his holiday present” mom said softly as she closed the door.

“But Mom”…I said, “it is not Christmas, its not even thanksgiving!’

No, princess its not, the garbage boy is Muslim, and its one of their feast days. Today you will not see Ateya or Salem either, they are with their families. I suggest you go read a book.


Please note that most of the Zabaleen were Christians)

side note coptic church

This church was completed before I left Egypt, and I was there when His Holyness, Shenouda, the Pope of Alexandria and the Patriarch of All Africa on the Holy Apostolic See of Saint Mark the Evangelist of the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria. he is the head of The Holy Synod of the Coptic Orthodox church.

Coptic Church

I followed Sylvia to her church one day. It was not really even a church as the upper portion was not even built so the sanctuary was in a sub basment area and the upper portion was flat, quite undone but ready to continue at any time. Sylvia had said that after the church had started the building process, the Egyptian government took back their permission to build it. So there they all gathered in a basement with a roof. I did not go in at first. I was afraid, so I walked around wondering how long it would take. Sylvia said that she goes to Friday service and she only stays until she takes communion.  Sylvia stuck her head out of the church........"pssssssssssssssssst" she hissed at me, "come in dont stand there like a dummy"

I was hit by the overwhelming odor of incense. The sanctuary was filled with smoke from the incense. The whole building was packed. Even the aisles were filled. There were many men standing by the altar all wearing white robes with elaborate gold crosses embroidered on the front, crossed by a red cloth band that hung crossways from their shoulders to under their arms chests going across their chests. Some were playing the cymbals, some played the triangle, all were chanting. Their chants all ran together like a loud noisy HUM. In the center at the altar was the priest who was dressed elaborately in white with a mitre on his head was chanting “Ameen, Ameen, Ameen!.”

The people at the back just stared at me. I did not belong there. I felt terrible, out of Place, alone, and just a bit scared. A woman signaled me to come over to the women’s side of the church. I complied and stood beside her. He eyes danced as I approached but she quickly looked forward the church. I sat down, only for a second; the woman touched my arm and motioned for me to stand, so I stood. The Priest chanted, the deacons or the congregation replied while my eyes searched for Sylvia, but I did not see her. I daydreamed, lost in the feeling of calm that the church gave. I stood when they stood and sat when they sat. I even started chanting the Kyrie Eleson that they were all chanting at one point.

I woke from my daydream because something different was happening.

The Priest was now facing the crowd. He was scattering water droplets on the congregation. I could see that people were catching them. Many in the back had raised their hands and were waving at the priest to send some their way.

I tried to hide behind a very heavy woman in front of me but she moved holding her hand out to catch the blessing. The priest smiled down at me and very carefully splashed with droplets of water. His eyes were very tender, very loving and gentle. For a second our eyes connected and then he turned going back the other way.

Sylvia appeared at my side and took my hand whispering “did you get splashed?” then she said "come on and get in line with me to see the priest" 

"Do you really want me too?" I felt very out of place

Sylvia smiled. “Of course I do silly! Come on …let us break bread and receive baraka with Abuna Isaak.”

We waited in line for what seemed to be an eternity. Many people came up to me with their tiny loaves of bread (that had something stamped on it) held out for me to pinch a piece off. “Welcome” they said.

We finally reached the priest. He smiled at me. His eyes glowed. He said something in Arabic to Sylvia.

Sylvia turned to me. “Erin, this is Abuna Is-haak, that is Father Isaac in English.” She then returned the introduction, in Arabic, to the priest.

Abuna Isaak broke off a piece of his bread and hand it to me. As I shyly took the bread from him, he took my hand in his and said “Welcome Irinni.” his eyes danced and twinkled. 

I smiled because  I truly felt welcome there.

We left the sanctuary of the church and Sylvia stopped by the doors. A man was there with a box of the bread that everyone had. Sylvia gave him a couple of piasters and took 2 out of the box. She gave one to me. We walked along the road passing others who had been at church, and I go to offer them a piece. By the time we got to our street, we had finished our bread. Sylvia sighed, “You know Erin that if you share bread and salt together you will always be like family. Remember that we shared our bread today.” It was a solemn vow.

“I will remember”
“Good! I will see you in three quarters of an hour after I have changed! Ok?!”

OK! But you know Sylvia, you can say ‘in 45 minutes’ instead of ‘three quarters of an hour’”

Sylvia laughed and took off running toward her villa. She called back as she ran,,, ”it’s a direct translation from Arabic!!!!!”

Flute Seller

To-do-tooo-to-tutu…the flute sounded. To-do too-to-tutu again it sounded.


I leaped up from my homework and stared out between the leaves of the Mango tree that blocked the view from my window. My eyes strained, searching for the flute seller. I really loved the flute seller. He walked down the streets playing music that called us to him.

His bamboo flutes were carried in a strange pack upon his back that made him look like a human porcupine.

To-do-tooo-to-tutu! I ran out to greet him. I had saved 25 piasters for a flute. He was easy to find for he was being followed by a horde of children who danced and clapped behind him. He looked like the pied piper of Hamlin.

We all stood around him examining his wonderful flutes. He made them all himself and they were beautifully decorated. The side blowing flutes were more elaborate than the pan pipes or the twin pipes or even the kazoos. Each flute he removed from its display place in the pack was blown up to demonstrate that they worked and then he waited patiently while we tried to blow them. I really wanted the side flutes like the one that he played while walking, but I could never make the sound come out. (These flutes are not like the western counterparts whose blow hole is on the top…on a bamboo flute you must blow across the cut top of the bamboo length sideways like you would blow a coke bottle, only sideways).

I tried and tried and tried, It was hopeless. I would never have a pretty pipe.

“dis is betta for you” he said as he handed me one of the plain twin pipes. “I know” I replied as I nodded. I was really sad, the others were so pretty. I was looking down at my bare feet when I felt the flute sellers hand under my chin, lifting my head.

His eyes twinkled. He handed me a twin pipe so beautifully decorated that it almost looked like the one he played.
“For you only 5 piasters” he said

Really? "Oh thank you! Shukrun! Shukrun!!!!" I cried.

I ran all the way home with my treasure held safely to my chest so I could play it in my room.

Alfie Bey Restaurant

Sometimes when my family would go downtown Cairo or head over to the Khan al Khalili we would find ourselves getting very hungry.


There is a restaurant that we always stopped at when doing errands in Cairo and that was Alfie Bey’s. The people were friendly and while my parents talked about boring stuff, I could watch the buses and the electric trams go by. The Waiter there seemed to love my parents. Every time we went here he would hug them and greet them warmly. We always had the best seats in the house.
We always had the same thing….Kebab and lots of it. The waiter would bring us an appetizer of rice and meat that had been molded in a cup, Tahina and Baba Ghanou along with lots of ‘Aish baladi and shami. For dessert I would always get the crème caramel and my mother would get Omm Ali.
One day while my grandmother was visiting we left to go to the Khan without eating breakfast. After we finished shopping we were all starving! Dad decided to stop at the restaurant on the way back to the University.
We were greeted with the same waiter and he was introduced to Granny.
When the food was served, we began to eat. We stuffed our selves full of the appetizer and called for more Tahina and bread.

When the food arrived, we ate in a hurry, quickly to fill the empty spot in our belly.

Granny looked up at us eating so fast and asked “Why are we in a hurry?” I looked up...We all did and we began laughing.