On a Mission

February 8, 2011

During the events of last week, the police were cracking down on journalists and human rights activists. They raided many offices including the Hisham Mubarak law center. They completely sacked the place, tore up every computer, and took the hard drives and anything that seemed it might have information that implicates the government in wrongdoing. They arrested the Egyptian employees and representatives from Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch who were with them. Code Pink went to visit them the day after tossing flowers into the crowd in Tahrir (liberation) square.

Hisham Mubarak law center was providing legal help to protesters that had been arrested as well as their main work, provided legal assistance to people wrongfully arrested and victims of torture. A prime target for a repressive regime. It was obvious that the law office, was in dire need of new computers. There is only so much you can spend on flowers in Egypt. What a great use of left over flower money!

As the Code Pink delegation left early Monday morning, Rob was tasked with collecting the money and purchasing the new computers. This was the mission for the day: Go to the hotel downtown and get the cash.

We left the house sometime in early afternoon on a seemingly calm day. Walking of course because that is what we do. I wont get stuck in a cab in horrible traffic if I can walk there faster! We cross the bridge from the island of Zamalek to the East side of the Nile. What a bizarre and disorienting experience to watch a massive rushing river push its way North! It is one of the few major rivers in the world that does this. For the longest time I would get confused when someone referenced Upper Egypt: I would assume of course that this would be Northern Egypt, but in fact it is Southern Egypt relating to the altitude there. The Nile actually flows North from Southern Rwanda!

Where was I? Oh yes, the Mission. After crossing the Nile, we head into downtown. Quickly the calm becomes a storm…of traffic, congestion, noise, honking, rubbish littering the streets, people, exhaust, colors that were once bright; a thin layer of ecru colored dust engulfing everything creating a sort of sepia haze over the whole affair. Even the poor people who are left on the street are covered in the grime.

Having lived in India for 5 years as a child, I was somewhat immune to this sort of thing, but today, I quickly started to become overwhelmed and just wanted to get through this fiasco. It is an understatement to say that cars here don't stop for pedestrians: They don't even slow down when you are clearly right in front of them. I took to dashing out after young kids who clearly did this thing daily, and still I had a few near hits, but the motorcycles and scooters were even worse. One came so close to hitting me that I decided to take them out with me if the opportunity presented itself.

We dashed onto a side street to get out of the mayhem for a moment. This alley turned out to be an automobile triage of downtown Cairo. Im not talking body and mechanics shops, I am talking man sitting outside a funky storefront and carefully welding a broken component of a wheel. Men priming a paint job with a stray dog curled up fast asleep under the same car in the dirt. Broken horse-drawn carriages. The same ecru grime coating every surface. I would take this alley any day over maneuvering traffic on the main artery.

After much ado, we finally get through the mess and reach the Lotus Hotel. A grand palace compared to the streets below. I have been on the search for postcards, as I love to send people paper mail. Since most tourist destinations have been closed, I had not come across any till the lovely Lotus Hotel. While the man is fishing around for the envelope in a safe that must be 200 years old and whose contents must be even older, I thumb through the disorganized collection that I have discovered on his desk.

I am delighted to find many postcards of camels: I love camels. They have the best attitudes, "I guess I will let you silly human ride me, but cross me and I will spit in your eye." I buy about 7 such postcards for less than a pound. (This is one thing I can't sort out yet, Gineh, Pound, L.E. (lire Egyptian), Egyptian Pound, what is this money called!)

I also purchase a number of tacky papyrus bookmarks with painted hieroglyphics and busts of Nefertiti and Cleopatra.

This whole fiasco has taken at least an hour and a half. The distance is a little over 2 miles of which I normally cover in 30 minutes or less. I am pooped! We cross the street to an odd little restaurant, the Felfelah. Upon entry, there is a counter with men doting tall paper chef hats and white uniforms with red bowties. This leads to mysterious sliding stained-glass doors that open to the oddest little hobbit Eden I have ever encountered.

Dim, but not dark for there is a painted skylight above: trellises adorned with hanging plastic grape vines: mosaic floors made from cobblestone and pieces earth-toned broken marble tile, mortared with gray cement. The tables are made of massive cuts of oddly shaped and darkly stained tree trunks. Other trees adorn the entrances to the tiered balcony levels flanking the central dining area. This entire splendor perfectly accented with a menagerie of tropical fish tanks, (one hanging over-head) and a turtle tank. My favorite though, was a large half moon shaped birdcage built into the wall, trimmed with seashells, and housing three very talkative little parakeets. I will not divulge their conversation (which I am sure I could understand through their chirps), but lets just say it took place over Rob's head; literally, as the whole affair was to his back.

The table next to us was occupied by a British journalist having a meeting with an Egyptian man, possibly his fixer. As they were leaving, we asked them what paper they worked for. The Independent. My favorite British paper, and also the employer of my favorite salty and jaded Middle East correspondent, Mr. Fisk. I mentioned that I had met his colleague in Beirut a few times, and his reply,

"Oh yes, Fisk is off today. Well what are you two doing here?"

Rob: "activists supporting the cause!"

Me: "tourist, he is the activist."

Journalist: "oh yes, you are the ones we have seen on TV then, stirring the pot so to speak."

Rob: "yes, that’s great"

I love some dry British humor in the afternoon. Actually, I will take it any time of day.

Journalist: "well, see you then, and good luck".

Me: "Give my regards to Mr. Fisk would you, from an old fan he met in Beirut"

Journalist: "will do. Bye now."

Shortly after this exchange, we also depart the magical world of Felfelah and start making the journey home: This time by Metro. 1 L.E. to enter. Very clean compared to the racket above. The trains are 4 or 5 cars long of which 2 middle cars are for women only. Not that women can't ride with the men if they wanted to, but who would! They are crammed in there like sardines! The women's cars at least have space to breathe and even plenty of legroom I might add. Not too much different from an off peak hour in the DC metro. We exit at the next stop, Opera, and walk from there. Much more quite than downtown.

By this time, the sun has started to complete its travel over the Cairo sky. It has just reached that perfect height that makes everything glow with a rich orange-pink hue and contrasts the shadows and colors with a glowing brilliance. The best light for taking pictures. We walk down past old French colonial style buildings, a few vast gardens, an ancient massive banyan tree that was planted sometime in the mid 1800's, (imagine the history this tree has in the circles of its bark), the Cairo tower, and then stumble upon a beautiful massive pink compound exploding with the glow from the sun, but hidden behind walls and gates. I reach my camera in between the bars and take a few photos.

"MAMNOU3! MAMNOU3!"

Uh, oh. One of the workmen has started shouting at us, "not allowed! Not allowed!" Oops. It just so happens to be the new police academy. Sorry, I am just a stupid tourist.

A little detour later (we took the long way unknowingly), we reach our neighborhood again, completely pooped. But hey, there is a curfew that starts at 8:00 pm and we have not tried the local pub yet. Go down for a nightcap and back home within the hour (it is right around the corner), the perfect finish to a brilliantly busy day.

We started off at 1:00 pm for a mission 2 miles away. We finally reached home at 6:00 pm, and got back from the pub by 7:30 pm. It sure takes a long time to get things done in Cairo.