‘You mean just as an experiment?’ I said. ‘You can try wearing baggy trousers or a tight shirt, but you can’t experiment with the future of a country.’
That
‘They tell the one-eyed man they’ll hit him in the eye. The Americans are quite impossible to understand. They help President Mubarak, they help the Brotherhood and they help the Christians who are causing trouble abroad. They pay money to the Saudis, who give it to the Islamists who carry out terrorist operations with it against America. It’s a major mess and enough to baffle anyone. But again I tell you that we have to try out the matter of the Brotherhood taking power for a while and see what they’ll do. That way we would have some new faces, and as you know a new sieve is tighter and maybe that sieve would pull our economy together a little.
‘Talking of the economy, have you heard this joke?’
‘No,’ I said.
And the other
‘They say the Egyptian economy is like a prostitute’s panties. Whenever she pulls them up they come down again,’ he said. Then he burst out laughing.
Twenty-two
‘All the trials and tribulations that have fallen on our heads are nothing compared to what’s happened in Iraq,’ the driver said.
‘People ask you “do you know So-and-so?” You say yes. “Have you lived with him?” No. “Then you don’t know him”. Now I’ve lived with those Iraqis for years and they don’t deserve what’s happening to them at all.
‘I was living in Hurriya City in Iraq, in the district with the officers’ quarters. I was working then as a salesman in a shop. The system there is that every shop has a room for living. You wouldn’t believe the people there. My first Ramadan there I was with two Egyptians, sitting and preparing the meal for the end of the fast, and suddenly there was a knock on the door. I opened it and found the neighbours had sent us a large tray with the evening meal. I told them, “We already have our meal ready, God be praised.” They said, “Have some more.” You wouldn’t believe the tray. We had to open both halves of the door to get it through. There’s no way one person could carry it on his own, it had to be two. And the other half of the door was jammed and they stood there waiting. The tray had everything on it, even cold water with ice. And they kept sending us that tray for the thirty days of Ramadan, all kinds of food every day.
‘Over there, friends are real friends. Once I was travelling to Cairo and I had a friend called Karim who worked with security at the airport. So he came round to my place, woke me up, having brought breakfast with him and a car so he could drop me off at the airport. He stayed with me until I got on the plane. ‘And another friend of mine was working in intelligence and he had a grocer’s next to my house. My God, he bent over backwards to help me. They’re really fine men and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar.
‘If it was up to me, I’d like to go and fight with them. I feel like a bastard. I was with them in the good times and now I’m far away in the bad times. I’m not disloyal but there’s nothing I can do. God damn the merciless, their day will come, inshallah.’
Twenty-three
It is very rare that one meets a driver like this one. A man in his fifties, elegantly dressed, close-shaven, smelling of aftershave, with a deep calm voice, like a Buddhist priest or an ascetic in the desert or maybe a saint in a remote monastery.
His immaculate taxi took us past the front of Cairo University and we talked about the ugly buildings that have been built in front of the Faculty of Commerce and the Faculty of Economics and Political Science.
‘Everything in this world has its beauty,’ he said. ‘You only have to open your heart to see the beauty around us. But if you’re like most people and you’ve closed your heart, how can you see the light shining around you? We in Egypt are truly blessed, one of the most beautiful and greatest countries in the world and you live here. And when you open your heart, you’ll see incredible things in Egypt. Even the Nile is enough. Just as it gives us water to drink and eat, the Nile can also cleanse our souls. Looking at it purifies your heart.
‘For the past thirty years, I’ve divided my day into three shifts. One shift I drive the taxi, one shift I spend time with my wife and kids, and one shift I fish in the Nile and wash my spirit and my body and my eyes. On the surface of the Nile I read the words of God. After those four hours I feel that I’m transparent and that God is with me and holding my hand so that I fear only Him. If everyone in the country sat and looked at the waters’ surface our life would be something else altogether. There would be no bribery or corruption because someone with a pure heart can do no wrong.
‘Every day I finish the taxi shift worried, worried for my children, worried about the future, worried about the world, and after I finish the fishing shift I’m full of hope, hope for tomorrow, and confidence that everything will be fine and that God won’t forget us. Because Egypt’s mentioned in the Quran and we are God’s soldiers, so how could He forget us? Impossible.’
He was speaking to me in his deep mellow voice, a voice much like that of the matriarch of the Abdel Rasoul family in Shady Abdel Salam’s film The Mummy. His voice did not seem to come from the person speaking, but rather direct from Almighty God, words of deep faith that came from the heart, a real belief in the essence of real things and not in their artificial appearance.
I will always remember this wonderful man whenever I contemplate the surface of the Nile, and I will always remember that after every worry comes a feeling of hope for a better tomorrow.
Before I got out I asked him his name, and that too I will remember: Sharif Shenouda.
Twenty-four
In his appearance, the type of shoes he wore, the brand of his glasses, this young man was different from the mainstream of taxi drivers. His car too was a make different from all the other taxis I have ridden. Taxis generally don’t go beyond a limited number of makes, all rear-drive, most commonly the Shahin, the Lada, the Fiat 1400 and 1500, the Peugeot 504. Then there are the newer cars that came on the market after the idea of bank loans for taxis appeared in the mid-nineties: the Skoda, the Suzuki Swift, which they call the Suzuki zift, rubbish, and the Hyundai.
But this car was as different as its driver.
‘What make is this car?’ I asked him.
‘This is a Toyota Cressida,’ he said.
‘It’s not very common.’
‘It’s common in the Gulf, because it’s a little expensive. It’s 2000 c.c. and comes with air conditioning and central locking, even the tape desk is original, see what’s written on it: “Toyota”.’
‘No, it’s a beautiful car. The most important thing about it is it’s roomy. Have you being working long as a driver?’
‘No, no,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not a driver. I’m a graduate of the Faculty of Commerce and now I’m doing my master’s, and I work as an accountant in a pharmaceutical company but in the afternoon I take the taxi out for some extra income.’
‘Why? Are you married or what?’
‘I married young,’ he said. ‘Marriage of course is ordained by God. And I had children early too. You know, money and children are the ornament of life in this world, and of course on my salary we can’t live.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, how much do you earn?’
‘I get 450 pounds a month and that’s a good salary. I have colleagues who get 350, but I’m a good accountant, but the money just doesn’t last the month. I did an Excel spreadsheet with the household expenses and I discovered it’s a puzzle that even Bill Gates couldn’t solve. I pay 120 pounds rent and the gas, electricity and the doorman need another thirty pounds. That leaves us 300, because you can barely scrape by with today’s prices. We need thirty pounds a day, of course for me and my wife, not to forget Islam and Suha, obviously that’s including the food and transport, clothes and medicine and the unexpected expenses that come up every month from who knows where. That means the rest of the salary is gone in ten days. I don’t need to tell you what the milk bill does to my
salary. Obviously the two kids have to drink milk, and their mother after being pregnant twice got severe calcium deficiency and the doctor told her she had to drink milk. You wouldn’t imagine that I spend 100 pounds a month on milk, because the litre costs three pounds twenty-five. Of course you might tell me that milk’s for rich people, and you’re right, but I don’t know why the missus is so insistent on it. She tells me she and the kids must drink milk every day. With her there’s milk and then there’s everything else.
‘But really, it’s not just milk, everything’s got so expensive. A kilo of beans has gone up to three pounds, or the government cooking oil, a kilo costs three fifty I don’t need to tell you about the corn oil and those things, a kilo of that has gone up to six pounds.
‘In other words it’s impossible for anyone in Egypt to make do with his salary. Because how much are salaries? From 300 to 600 pounds and no more than that. And that’s not enough. So what’s the answer? Either we steal or take bribes or work all day. I work from eight in the morning until four at the company. Then I take the taxi from five o’clock until one o’clock in the morning, because from the company to the owner’s place takes about an hour on public transport. I get home about two in the morning, have dinner and go to bed.
‘God be praised that I don’t have to beg from anyone. It’s going well and in just a few years my salary will go up, and after I get the master’s, inshallah, my salary will go up again. Young people have to slave at the start, and later take it easy, inshallah.’
He was speaking about his hope for a bright future with such certainty that I worried for him. I hope the hand of fate takes pity on him, for this man deserves it.
Twenty-five
‘How will we do in the final of the Africa Cup of Nations?’ I asked him. ‘Will we win, or will the Ivory Coast?’
‘I’m not really big on football, but I hope we win,’ he said.
‘Haven’t you been watching the matches?’
‘This African championship isn’t ours, it’s only for rich people. There’s nothing left for us anymore. In the last match, the semi-final, my son begged me to get him a ticket, because he’s crazy about football. I tried to get him a third-class ticket but it was impossible. Then we found out that the driver of some guy at the Football Federation is selling them on the black market. It got to the stage that people were joking that someone found Aladdin’s lamp and asked the genie for a ticket to the Egypt match, and the genie answered him: “No, for God’s sake make a wish that’s a little easier.” I tried to get the kid a black market ticket and I found one for 200 pounds! Imagine, third class for 200, and second class up to 300 pounds, and first class was over 500.
‘That means the cheapest ticket was one month’s salary, so I’m telling you it’s a championship only for the rich, like they put on films “For Adults Only”. But in this championship it’s “For the Very Rich Only”.
‘Have you seen the spectators on television? They all look like Europeans. They have blonde hair, blue eyes and white faces. They look really good and are very well dressed. But have you seen a single poor person at the stadium? There aren’t any. The players are the only ones who look poor and have the right to enter the stadium.
‘My son cried and cried and I told him, ‘Where can I get 200 pounds? Your father would have to be Mubarak himself to get you a ticket.’ That’s why you’ll find me a little unenthusiastic about this championship.
‘I want to tell you something that’s never happened before. The spectators were always the poor. The second- and third-class seats were reserved for us. But now the only right we have is to lick the dust the rich walk on. And by the way, it’s not just this tournament, because the World Cup isn’t on television unless you pay. Pay to watch. It looks like we’re banned from seeing or watching anything. That might work in a country like Saudi Arabia or the Emirates, but here, how can we pay?’
Twenty-six
‘Sixth of October city, Sixth of October, Sixth of October!’ I was shouting out to persuade some taxi to stop but it was impossible, not a hope. I had an appointment at Media Production City at ten o’clock in the evening but my car had broken down and I imagined I would find a taxi easily.
But the good things come to those who wait; a taxi stopped and the driver examined me closely before telling me to jump in. I jumped in.
‘So what’s the story?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been here half an hour and no one wanted to stop for me.’
‘No one’s going to stop for you,’ the driver said.
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘At night and in isolated places and in Sixth of October in particular it’s hard these days.’
‘Why? What’s the problem?’ I asked.
‘There’s been some incidents,’ he said.
‘Oh dear. What happened, heaven preserve us?’
‘There’ve been customers taking taxis and asking to go to Sixth of October and in some remote spot they take out flick knives and take all the driver’s money and leave him on the side of the road after stealing the car. One driver resisted the other day and they cut him to pieces.’
‘They killed him?’ I said.
‘No, he didn’t die, but they stabbed him about twenty times all over his body. He was between life and death. He was destined to live a second life. The tragedy is he’d just bought the car and of course it wasn’t insured, and they stole it, those son of bitches. They’ll take it apart and sell it as spare parts.’
‘How did you hear this? Was it published in the papers?’
‘No, I don’t read the papers. I can hardly afford to eat, let alone buy newspapers. No, I’m from Embaba and I was sitting at the coffeeshop and I came across some drivers who had a flyer with these incidents written on it. They were giving it out to all the drivers and they gave me several copies to give out as well to the drivers I know. That’s why I had a good look at you before I let you get in. I’ll take you there and go straight home. Ever since then I don’t like to stay out later than ten o’clock. The country’s no longer safe. Ten o’clock at the latest I go back to my wife and kids. I’ll drop you off and lock up the car and go straight to Embaba and may the Lord save us.’
The story frightened me, but I liked the idea of the drivers sticking together and distributing a warning flyer.
I got out at Media Production City and I noticed that for the first time I was looking to right and to left of me.
Twenty-seven
I put my fourteen-year-old daughter May in a taxi in Agouza to go to the Gezira Sporting Club, a short distance that hardly takes two minutes. It was the first time in her life she had embarked on the adventure of going to the club alone. I had encouraged her to do it because she’s on the athletics team as a sprinter, doing the 100 metres, the 200 metres and the 4 × 100 metres relay, and she has to go to the club every day for training.
The day before, we had sat down together and I started to talk to her about the need for her to take on the world, because her permanent attachment to us was a stage to be followed by another stage where she would rely on herself. I said this would give her self-confidence, and she mustn’t be frightened of taking a taxi alone, because the Egyptians are the kindest people in the world and when the driver finds a young girl he treats her as though he were her father.
The next day my daughter really did take a taxi alone and the driver was a man in his forties. As soon as they had gone up the ramp on to the Sixth of October Bridge he started his questions:
‘So do you watch sex films in French or English?’ he said.
May tried to think how to answer but she drew a blank so she held her tongue.
‘Don’t be frightened of me,’ the driver continued. ‘Seriously, tell me which language you watch sex films in. I mean, do you like to hear the moans in English or in French?’
The poor girl was terrified and I don’t know for sure what went on in her mind in those dreadful moments. She had arrived and she threw the money on the seat and took fligh
t.
When my daughter told me the story, I recalled the wonderful film Dreams by Akira Kurosawa, when the mother shuts the door of the house in the face of her child and gives him a dagger to take on society. Kurosawa filmed the scene beautifully as he walks away through a field of flowers, magnificent but deceptive at the same time.
This driver has lifted from my eyes the veil of illusion and I’m standing now in the kitchen sharpening the knife to give to my daughter tomorrow morning.
Twenty-eight
The question of the Capital Taxi project preoccupied many drivers and there were many conversations about the project, which was proposed during the time of former Prime Minister Ahmed Nazif’s first cabinet and relaunched with his second. Years have passed and the project has only just seen the light of day, though now they have dubbed it the Cairo International Taxi project. What does ‘international’ mean here? Why international? Is it the taxi that’s international or is it Cairo that’s been internationalised? It’s incomprehensible, and if you could understand it you would have a fit of anger, or pangs of sympathy, depending on your point of view. The taxis will be yellow like New York cabs and will have the word CAB written on them in English to give them an international flavour. The drivers of the old black-and-white taxis, the ugly ducklings, kept seeking out every detail about the number of the yellow cabs – the cygnets – and the system of fares. They wondered who would take these taxis, and if this project would affect them.
Taxi (English edition) Page 6
