opinion

Walk this way: or, walk like an Egyptian
by Eisha Abdel-Ghany

My first evening out in the city was one of the most hectic things I’ve ever encountered. I held my mother's hand as we strolled with my father down the streets of Cairo. The sun was just setting, letting the cooler, dry air settle while the prayer leader's singing voice echoed throughout the streets, welcoming Muslims to pray at the mosque. The alleyways were portraits of poverty. Young boys with tattered clothes and shoes played soccer while their mothers and grandmothers hung clothes to dry outside their apartments. I giggled at the sight of undergarments dangling freely. We made our way through the ever-winding alleys and soon entered the rush of the main streets to the center of the city.

My eyes widened at the glowing neon lights of restaurants and stores, and at the crumbling apartments that lined both sides of the streets. I scratched my head wondering what those scribbles and squiggly lines on the signs said. In front of me, the streets were crammed with buses and cars, most of these taxis. The smell of oil and smoke from the mufflers filled the air. Every vehicle was overcrowded; the passengers looked like sardines in a can. A few literally hung out of windows and opened trunks. The drivers managed to convert a four lane street into six. Cars that sat locked in traffic honked their horns while others blasted Arabic music through the open windows. Bridges connected to streets left and right and circled over our heads and along the sides; garbage and loose papers were scattered all around the curbs.

Not only were the streets crowded, but the sidewalks as well. My mother gripped my hand tighter as we headed down a particularly populated street. I watched my steps carefully, trying to avoid the throng of hurried feet from stepping on my Keds. I got scared and increased my pace when we would pass homeless children and men asking for food or money. From time to time, I'd look up to glance at the dark faces that came towards me. These faces, as well as those belonging to the bystanders that sat or stood around the curbs and stores, stared at my mother and me. Some of the gazes showed confusion or distaste, as they could single out Americans in an instant. After we passed them, I turned to look, but they had all gone back to smoking their cigarettes and speaking to one another loudly in Arabic.

As we walked further, the smells changed. From the restaurants and dessert stands the delicious smell of herbs and spices lingered in my nose --- while the alleyways had reeked of un-bathed bodies and garbage. Almost every store, supermarket, or restaurant had a television where crowds of people just stood and watched. Music videos played loudly while people clapped along or drummed the beat on a table. Others watched soccer games with their arms crossed or their hands on their heads, screaming at the players or a referee's mistakes.

Eventually, our feet grew weary with pain and we headed back to my cousin's apartment where a delicious dinner awaited us. I had been eager to return home, but I was satisfied with the experience of the walk. Although Cairo is filled with poverty, crime, traffic, noise, pollution, and heat, I loved it because this is the culture of Egypt, the people's culture, my culture. It was an energizing experience, one that I didn't want to end. And still today I can say that I was happy to have walked like an Egyptian, in Egypt itself.

Eisha Abdel-Ghany is a senior at Balboa Academy