“When the poor are rich - Egyptian hospitality at its best”

Cairo, the 24th June, 2009

“When the poor are rich - Egyptian hospitality at its best”

*** While baring a much desired work transition and dealing with a blazing sun – 43 degrees today! – I had the joy of sharing a simple day with simple people in a place where I would never go if not taken by the hand of a loving, prejudice-free friend!

*** I was invited to a feast at the home of a common friend and was received with much love, generosity and abundance in a place so distant and strange that I cannot even name it.

*** All came from one of my comments about egyptian food, telling to my friends who much I adored “molokheya” and “mahshi” (two egyptian cuisine specialities).
One of the boys didn´t wait long until he asked his wife to cook it for me.

*** It was a long way to his house – I didn´t know where I was anymore! – and we had to take different means of transportation to reach his home ( I wonder how does he do it every day to go to work). We took a long, fastidious ride in a taxi – sauna session - until a countryside zone where we waited for our other transportation by the shadow of a donkey with whom I took some photos.
As I finished my short photo session with the donkey, its owner came running from the depth of the planted field and asked for money with no “hellos” or “good afternoons”. Dry and plain: “Give me money.”

- Money for what? Why should I give you money? - I asked, half joking.
- Give me money. Photo. Give me money. – He rudely answered exhibiting a sharp weapon with which I guess he works the land and kills scorpions.
- No money. For what should I pay you? Is your donkey a professional model?! – I asked again, asking for troubles.
- Model? Donkey?! – He shouted at me with his piercing, wild eyes.
I understood I was facing one of those cave men we read about in history books. I thought they didn´t exist anymore.
The cave man is part of our past, not our present (or so I thought!). Here he was: a noble remain of our ancestors and the world of guttural sounds and haunting ghazelles and buffalos. For a moment, I thought I might give it a try and answer him with a throat twisting howling but no one seemed to think this “time machine” conversation was funny. Only me!

*** An original motorbike came for us, carrying 6 people at the same time and threatening to fall on one side and another while running wild from the green fields into a populated, dirty village I cannot name.




Me and the professional model donkey
understanding each other...









*** When we arrived, we were treated with a culinary feast that left me exploding from so much I ate. Soup, “mahshi” and “molokheya” as a gift to me, chipsy, salads, chicken, pickles and other delicacies that were brought by generous, loving hands.
I was treated like a queen as both the man and woman of the house were my fans (so cute!!!) and loved my dancing. They didn´t dare to ask me to dance and I was too distracted by the little girl´s performances to be able to even think about getting up and competing with that small angel…she beats me, in every way!

*** The couple who received us has two babies whom, once again and according to tradition, run to me and adapted me as their “tante Joana” ( aunt Joana).
The older girl – about six years old – danced for us and talked like a true “bint il balad” imitating the way of her mother and female relatives. Children absorve everything that surrounds them like dangerously efficient sponges. I feel amazed!

*** I agree with myself when I find out, in this occasion as in many others, that the poorest people I´ve met in this country are the ones who are willing to offer you more. Why is that ?! By logic, the ones who have more to offer, should be the ones being ready to share and still that´s not the case. Why is that?!