The Cairo I know


Written by Christine Hannon • Features • February 2009

Horns blared in the stop and go traffic along the corniche, but I walked on, head held high, gliding in my steps. Earbuds in, my head was filled with the melodies of John Coltrane. Some may call it cheating; I call it maintaining my sanity. In all the hubbub of Cairo, music was my escape. I only cheated halfway, wearing one earbud and keeping my ear towards the traffic free, though that was mostly so I wouldn’t get hit by a car. My biggest fear in Cairo was losing a toe to a reckless taxi.

In a city of 16 million people (and that is a conservative estimate), one has to find some way to shut out the noise. Egypt is the most heavily populated country in the Arab world. The majority of the people reside in Cairo and Alexandria, with most others inhabiting the land along the Nile River and Suez Canal, these areas being some of the most densely populated regions in the world. Despite the different influences on Upper (Southern) and Lower (Northern) Egypt, the people are fairly homogenous, descending from the Hamitic race.[i] When a few friends of mine, attempted a documentary on what it meant to be Egyptian, the only definition they could arrive at was: “proud.”

In one of the largest publishing and broadcasting centers of Northern Africa[ii], amidst tens of thousands of taxis, the 16 million people defined as “proud" are sure to make a ruckus. True, the noise is what makes Cairo what it is. The grime, the crowds, it’s all part of the deal. Google “Cairo” and you may see a picture that resembles much like Los Angeles – tall buildings, water, bridges, and lots of traffic. But then take a stroll along the Nile, and you can mistake it for no place else.

Walk east from the Nile and see the architecture change noticeably. The modern cookie cutter rows of lights trimming the façade of The Four Seasons and the Grand Hyatt revolving restaurant, clandestinely give way to the colonial mansions in Garden City, the European influences downtown, and the incalculable minarets of Islamic Cairo.After eight hours of work and three hours of Arabic, I chose to forgo the taxi, opting for the hour-long walk home, with the rhythm of Terrence Howard’s “Spanish Love Affair” carrying me forward. Despite my desire of maximum immersion into Egyptian society, I craved the music of my home. The instrumental pieces allowed me to indulge in the sounds of America without the spoken language to break my thoughts in Arabic. Since, in the city, I could not don my running shoes and escape into the cornfields, I let my mind run away to music. “How appropriate,” I thought as I listened to the romantic jazz tunes as I strolled along Cairo’s Lover’s Row.

In Egypt, public assembly is severely restricted. There are no places to even catalyze such activity. Public parks do not exist. Every park has an entrance fee. Thus, meandering along the corniche in Garden City after dark, one sees couples everywhere. Men and women, outside the scrutiny of the family home, sit along the ledge, feet dangling over the water, fingers interlocked.

“You want a felucca? I give you good price.” Men in white galabeyas (long robes) nearly jumped in front of me on my stroll, backing away just before I would have to swerve to avoid them, for it was considered haram (forbidden) under Islam’s social norms for a man to touch another women, even just brushing elbows in passing. It would be a dishonor to the female, and thus to her family, and considered unchaste and improper. In concert with the musician’s slide of the trombone, I skirted around the men and ignored their attempts to lure me to the docks. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow you want a felucca?”

I passed the Four Seasons, the Italian Embassy, the British and US Embassies, the Shepherd Hotel, the Semi Ramis Intercontinental. The grade of the sidewalk declined, as I was about to pass under the Tahrir Bridge. Above me, Egyptians climbed upon the pillars to take photos with their mobiles next to the life-size lion statues, a nightly event. On the other side of the bridge, the Nile Hilton rose to my right. I spent many nights dancing on its rooftop at the great nightclub, Mojitos.

Ten minutes later, I found myself walking towards the ‘6th of October Bridge’ – named in commemoration for Egypt’s early victories in the 1973 Yom Kippur War. Known in other Arab nations as the Ramadan War, this was the fourth confrontation between Israel and the surrounding Arab States. The Israeli forces were caught by surprise as Egypt and Syria crossed the cease-fire lines to take back Sinai and the Golan Heights during the first 2 days. However this victory was short lived as the Israeli forces retaliated driving back the Egyptian armies in the second week by crossing the Suez Canal deep into Egyptian territory.

I was overwhelmed by history as walked across the Bridge, only to wonder that if this monument could bring back the events I learned through books and literature, what impact must it have on the people of Egypt who actually fought and lived through the war. I could not help but appreciate how history and its memories had been preserved – perhaps to keep its descendants from forgetting their heritage and pride.

This speculation was further reinforces as I approached another monument: The 26th of July Bridge. Though only a 10 minute walk from its predecessor, the history is almost 17 years apart and perhaps its significance even more. As I ascended the stairs to the Bridge, I realized that the country had made a habit of naming its bridges, roads, and neighborhoods after its wars. This was especially true of the 26th of July Bridge named after the Egypt’s move to seize the Suez Canal in 1956.

I walked halfway across the bridge, stopped and faced south. I rested my forearms on the rail, piano solo playing, and gazed down at the Nile then out at the city. The riverboats lined the Zamalek shore, where diners and dancers took in the music and lights. Beyond the boats, residents of the island lived affluent lives. On the other side, from where I came, smaller party boats were filled with more intimate groups wanting to cruise for an hour. A few blocks inland from there, residents worked hard for their living with much less to show for it.

Cairo is a dynamic city, each community having its own character, the faces of the residents differing greatly. Many residents struggle to put dinner on the table. Only some others try to do anything to help. I looked up at the night sky, less than a handful of stars visible through the cloud of pollution hovering over the city. I counted my blessings for my family and friends and all of the opportunities life had afforded me, such as the simple appreciation of the great art of jazz.