Chapter Three
1
To the Capital of the Arabs
My family and neighbours gathered in Al-Maamoura to bid me farewell. My wonderful friend Luay, from flourishing Madani, and his family regretted that they had been preparing to bring lunch and eat it with me as a farewell. The island’s people compete to host travellers and passers-by at Ramadan tables, in a remarkable and striking social tradition. Our car headed for the airport. I hurried inside with my luggage, and after checking it in I returned to say the difficult farewell to those dear ones outside, my eyes full of tears.
The Sudanese aircraft, which Sheikh Al-Buraai once celebrated in verse, rose northward. A friend had recommended it to me because of its punctuality and reasonable fares, as well as its distinction as the national carrier, and it did not disappoint. At Cairo airport I presented certificates showing that I was free of coronavirus and yellow fever, along with the form we completed in the air containing the address where we would stay and an Egyptian telephone number. This was a reminder to travellers that about two million people come to Cairo for the blessed month of Ramadan. At the airport I made sure to obtain an Egyptian SIM card so I could stay in contact.
Outside, we waited a little for Abdel-Tawab, the agent of the building where I stay in Mohandessin. When he was delayed, we hired a taxi driver for 200 pounds. I was returning to Cairo after a year, a city undergoing changes to its streets, buildings, and bridges, while remittances from people working abroad formed one of the strongest pillars of its economy. The car stopped near Lebanon Square, and we entered the building with our luggage. The trustworthy guard, Haj Rajab, and his family welcomed us warmly; he insisted on calling me ‘the counsellor’. We climbed to the fifth floor, where we spent a night coloured by cold, exhaustion, and the sadness of leaving home.
In the morning we went down to the lively street. Here the bean seller, Jamal, embraced me; there the owner of the café that stays open twenty-four hours asked about my brother Al-Jili. At midday my lifelong companion, Shadhli Nouri, said goodbye to join his family in Haram, where they had arrived two months earlier so that his son could enrol at Cairo University.
The following morning I reached a Western Union office to collect money sent to me. Since it was Saturday, I learned that its offices were closed on Saturdays and Fridays until eleven, while on other days they opened at nine. I waited about three hours and was second in line, but when I came forward the employee surprised me by saying that the Ahmed Hamdi Square office served residents of Egypt only. He advised me to hurry to the Alexandria Bank branch in Zamalek, which apologised for not operating that day and referred me to the Arab Bank branch.