We are writing February 11, 2020. Zamalek. A district of Cairo. An island. Surrounded by the Nile.
Alive and kicking soak up the atmosphere of the city for a few hours. Stroll lightly through the streets.
The throat is dry. It is scratching. It would be too good to say it was Sahara dust. That would reveal an adventurous Bedouin life in the imagination. The desert sand also hovers in the air. But it is more the smog that scratches. Exhaust fumes from cars. A continuous haze cloud.
Streets full of vehicles. Minibuses. Scooter. Cycles. Carriages. Coaches. Old cars, ready for the junkyard. New models that tell of a luxury life. However, all cars have one thing in common: at least a bump, a scratch or a broken part. Car accidents seem to be on the agenda here. Almost as if pride arises the more bumps the car shows. Like the war scars of a brave fighter.
A sound carpet embeds the bump paradise. Continuous honking. The horn may be connected to the clutch. Otherwise it makes no sense that there is a constant horn sound. Many horns from the same car. Resembles a Morse code. Just acoustic. Indeed. An example: pressing the horn five times in a certain rhythm has its meaning. One that is unspeakable. These swear words have not yet been invented in German. A translation for a rhythmic honk twice: ‘I love you’. However, this is less honked. Countless rhythms. It would be worthwhile to create a special dictionary for road traffic. A horn concert unites the people. A form of communication from one rolling tin can to the next.
A metal avalanche. Two-lane roads are used up to three or even four lanes. After all, there are often no markings on the road. Even if there are any. No matter. One might think there is an economic idea behind it, which is why many are leaning on one track. In truth, it’s impatience. A time pressure. In a race without a common goal of wanting to be the first. Crossing such a street as a pedestrian is pure adrenaline. Sweating included. Because of the horns, it has probably been forgotten that there is a brake.
In small streets, through which only one car can actually pass, there are always pedestrians on the road. Sidewalks that are difficult to recognize as such are avoided. When using a sidewalk, sturdy shoes and mountaineering knowledge are an advantage. You can immediately see who is used to walking on the street and who is not. A few tourists who are traveling without a tour group are anxiously making their way.
It is cool. Normal for this time of year. Otherwise it is dry. Only now it is drizzling. It is irritating. It could also be the condensation of the air conditioning systems that are present everywhere. A warmly shouted ‘Welcome in Egypt’ or ‘Good morning’ is also irritating. The answer is friendly. A brief encounter. Just friendly. That was it. Nice.
A small shop crammed with groceries. A café next door. Next to it is an electronics store. A shisha bar. Craftsmanship. Butcher. Kiosk. Coffee shop. Fruit shop. Snack. Carpenter. Juice bar. Coffee shop. Toy store. Coffee shop. Yes, this coffee shop invites to linger.
Stepped out of the building again. Only now realizing what a haven of peace it was. So now it’s time to get into the Egyptian rhythm again. Switch all antennas to receive. The path leads over a bridge into the center. To Downtown. Jagged step. Close to the roadside. ‘Google maps’ is for checking on the screen of the smartphone. The smartphone, next to the hand, in the jacket. Once on the other side of the bridge, the road becomes fuller from meter to meter. Full of clothes rails. Different clothes on it. Modern. From baby to adult sizes. A sea of colors. So on the right: clothes rails. Left: Cars that barely scrape past. A minibus that honks and stops. And continues. Cars that park. People who change sides of the street. Motorcyclists shouting something. A horn. Yikes! It was really close now. A moving bus into which a person jumps. As soon as the person belongs to the content of the bus, the bus goes full throttle again. A minibus stops. Three people get out. And two of them back on. A change from clothing on the right: fruit. Build up. We continue with clothes on the right and cars on the left.
The goal is the workplace of a friend. Arrived there with an unwanted detour. A realm in itself.
A friend’s incredulous face. Yes, this route was made by foot. A surprise ’pretty’ from her boss who found out about the walk. Everyone is here by car. ‘Pretty’. Well, pretty is different. Then a warning reverberates in the ear of another friend: “Cairo is everything, but not pretty.” Hihihi indeed. I have already seen completely different places in the world. They’re pretty.
Soaked up the atmosphere of the city. Lungs are at the limit. They feel heavy. So also the feet. Keep going. But doubts arise. That was probably the most harmful walk ever. Speaking of alive and kicking. Phew! The throat is dry. A glass of water does its job. There is dust in the eyes. Oh, if only it were the desert sand.
