I woke up this morning and decided to visit Saad Zaghloul's home, near the centre of Cairo.
Saad Zaghloul was the founder of the Wafd political party, one of the biggest parties in Egypt, until it was dissolved in the 1952 revolution. When the British exiled him to Malta then the Seychelles for his antagonistic political activities, the Egyptian people were furious and this was one of the major factors that caused the 1919 revolution. The occupying British forces had begun their occupation of Egypt in 1882 and after extensive striking, 1920 saw the end of the British protectorate of the county. He was also the main writer of Egypt's first constitution, in 1923.
I got off at Saad Zaghloul, a metro station I had never got out of before. In front of me was a huge Ancient-Egyptian-esque temple, that the unhelpful men selling T-shirts around the metro entrance, told me was Saad Zaghloul's house. It turns out it was his mausoleum and after circling this structure for 15 minutes in the unbearable heat, I finally found the actual house.
The house was very grand, and in very good condition, and the tour was really quite interesting. The woman explained to me that at the top of the wide staircase of the house were two parrots on either side of the large doorway. These parrots were trained to recognize Saad's footsteps on the stairs, and as he approached one parrot greeted him in French, the other in Arabic. He also had a very interested shower room, where he sat on a large green beach chair, as the shower water poured over him.
I also learnt that Saad Zaghloul died on the 23rd of August 1927, and that the British exiled him from Egypt on the 23rd of December (of some year, that I have forgotten and can't find on wikipedia!). On the day he died, his wife stopped turning the dial on the beautiful French mechanical calendar they had in their bedroom, stopped forever on the 23rd of August.
Then of course, the constitution was written in 1923. I really believe that this number, 23, is important. It features highly in my life (I was born on the 23rd of July -the anniversary of the 1952 Egyptian revolution-, among other instances), and I do not want to dismiss it as purely coincidence. (I refuse to be affected by the negative implications of Jim Carrey's horror film, The Number 23, which my slight obsession with the number begun way before the release of said film).
I walked through the market next to the house, with the Italian girl. She spent a while arguing with an electronics' vendor, who she had a sneaking suspicion was trying to take too much money from her, but in the end she just accepted his reasoning. I bought some bananas and grapes, and handed over a 100 pound note. The change was given to me with 10 pounds less than it should have been, and I nearly didn't notice it. 'Hagg, I need 10 pounds' I shouted. He handed it over without looking sheepish or questioning the validity of my statement. That told me that he had intentionally given me the wrong change and that he was used to playing that trick with foreigners.
This kind of incident has been on the rise in the last few weeks. I handed a kiosk vendor a 100 pound note, which he conveniently forgot to give me the additional 50 pounds change that he owed me. Luckily I didn't let him get away with it.
I decided to go to Attaba to find some headphones for my phone. I spent several consecutive days looking for my pair, but I have finally concluded that they were picked out of my bag whilst I was being jostled in Tahrir Square on Sunday.
As I left the metro, there were crowds and crowd of people trying to get on. I thought I'd be safe if I kept close behind the woman in front of me, as she battled to make her way out of the metro carriage. I was taking very small baby steps to get off behind her when, Whooooooooooooosh! My leg slid down from under me between the gap the metro made with the platform.
I just sat there, one leg dangling in the gap (the entire leg, by backside was actually sitting on the platform edge), whilst women all around me screamed and screeched. In the moment that I fell through the gap, I was overcome by a surprising calm, despite the very really danger that I was in, of losing my leg from the upper thigh downwards. Instead I just felt the presence of the women around me, and blamed them slightly for what happened to me, wanting them to feel guilt for what I decided that they had done to me. An evil part of me wanted the metro to pull my leg off, just so the women would be sorry... (Twisted, very twisted thinking I realise).
One fast-thinking woman pulled me up and I walked away with a relieved smile on my face and a temporary pain searing through my inner thigh. My aunt later told me how the women could have carried on boarding the carriage regardless of my fall, marching on top of me in their blind determination to make it onto the carriage, and how I was very lucky that they hadn't.
I was surprised with how fast I found the headphones in Attaba (one of the busiest places in Cairo, I feel like an ant when I go there, imagining what all the people must look like from a bird's eye view), and even managed to find a book I wanted to read ever since my friend recommended it to me - Paolo Cuello's The Alchemist.
I was not spared peace of mind on the metro ride home either. A woman selling belts in the ridiculously busy carriage kept smacking me on the back of my head with her entire stock of belts, as she swung them onto her right shoulder. The first time she did it, I was startled. The second time she did it, I was angry. The third time she did it, I was calm, telling myself ''she's gotta do, what she's gotta do to make a living!'' How quickly my emotions fluctuate here in Cairo, I thought to myself.
When my metro stop came, I jumped off the carriage and made it home in record time. I recounted the details of my day to my family, tried to read my current book (The World's Religions, by Huston Smith), but instead I lulled myself into a deep, tired sleep.
Cairo is exhausting. But it's where Life happens.
Saad Zaghloul was the founder of the Wafd political party, one of the biggest parties in Egypt, until it was dissolved in the 1952 revolution. When the British exiled him to Malta then the Seychelles for his antagonistic political activities, the Egyptian people were furious and this was one of the major factors that caused the 1919 revolution. The occupying British forces had begun their occupation of Egypt in 1882 and after extensive striking, 1920 saw the end of the British protectorate of the county. He was also the main writer of Egypt's first constitution, in 1923.
I got off at Saad Zaghloul, a metro station I had never got out of before. In front of me was a huge Ancient-Egyptian-esque temple, that the unhelpful men selling T-shirts around the metro entrance, told me was Saad Zaghloul's house. It turns out it was his mausoleum and after circling this structure for 15 minutes in the unbearable heat, I finally found the actual house.
Inside, I exchanged the usual 'question and answer session' of my origin, instigated by the combination of Egyptian ID I presented to the door man and my Irish face. With these formalities over, I was shown around the house by a kind, smiling woman. There was another guest walking around with me, who after the tour, I found out that she was a half-Italian, half-Dutch Opera singer from Florence, with an audition later that day.
The house was very grand, and in very good condition, and the tour was really quite interesting. The woman explained to me that at the top of the wide staircase of the house were two parrots on either side of the large doorway. These parrots were trained to recognize Saad's footsteps on the stairs, and as he approached one parrot greeted him in French, the other in Arabic. He also had a very interested shower room, where he sat on a large green beach chair, as the shower water poured over him.
I also learnt that Saad Zaghloul died on the 23rd of August 1927, and that the British exiled him from Egypt on the 23rd of December (of some year, that I have forgotten and can't find on wikipedia!). On the day he died, his wife stopped turning the dial on the beautiful French mechanical calendar they had in their bedroom, stopped forever on the 23rd of August.
Then of course, the constitution was written in 1923. I really believe that this number, 23, is important. It features highly in my life (I was born on the 23rd of July -the anniversary of the 1952 Egyptian revolution-, among other instances), and I do not want to dismiss it as purely coincidence. (I refuse to be affected by the negative implications of Jim Carrey's horror film, The Number 23, which my slight obsession with the number begun way before the release of said film).
I walked through the market next to the house, with the Italian girl. She spent a while arguing with an electronics' vendor, who she had a sneaking suspicion was trying to take too much money from her, but in the end she just accepted his reasoning. I bought some bananas and grapes, and handed over a 100 pound note. The change was given to me with 10 pounds less than it should have been, and I nearly didn't notice it. 'Hagg, I need 10 pounds' I shouted. He handed it over without looking sheepish or questioning the validity of my statement. That told me that he had intentionally given me the wrong change and that he was used to playing that trick with foreigners.
This kind of incident has been on the rise in the last few weeks. I handed a kiosk vendor a 100 pound note, which he conveniently forgot to give me the additional 50 pounds change that he owed me. Luckily I didn't let him get away with it.
I decided to go to Attaba to find some headphones for my phone. I spent several consecutive days looking for my pair, but I have finally concluded that they were picked out of my bag whilst I was being jostled in Tahrir Square on Sunday.
As I left the metro, there were crowds and crowd of people trying to get on. I thought I'd be safe if I kept close behind the woman in front of me, as she battled to make her way out of the metro carriage. I was taking very small baby steps to get off behind her when, Whooooooooooooosh! My leg slid down from under me between the gap the metro made with the platform.
I just sat there, one leg dangling in the gap (the entire leg, by backside was actually sitting on the platform edge), whilst women all around me screamed and screeched. In the moment that I fell through the gap, I was overcome by a surprising calm, despite the very really danger that I was in, of losing my leg from the upper thigh downwards. Instead I just felt the presence of the women around me, and blamed them slightly for what happened to me, wanting them to feel guilt for what I decided that they had done to me. An evil part of me wanted the metro to pull my leg off, just so the women would be sorry... (Twisted, very twisted thinking I realise).
One fast-thinking woman pulled me up and I walked away with a relieved smile on my face and a temporary pain searing through my inner thigh. My aunt later told me how the women could have carried on boarding the carriage regardless of my fall, marching on top of me in their blind determination to make it onto the carriage, and how I was very lucky that they hadn't.
I was surprised with how fast I found the headphones in Attaba (one of the busiest places in Cairo, I feel like an ant when I go there, imagining what all the people must look like from a bird's eye view), and even managed to find a book I wanted to read ever since my friend recommended it to me - Paolo Cuello's The Alchemist.
I was not spared peace of mind on the metro ride home either. A woman selling belts in the ridiculously busy carriage kept smacking me on the back of my head with her entire stock of belts, as she swung them onto her right shoulder. The first time she did it, I was startled. The second time she did it, I was angry. The third time she did it, I was calm, telling myself ''she's gotta do, what she's gotta do to make a living!'' How quickly my emotions fluctuate here in Cairo, I thought to myself.
When my metro stop came, I jumped off the carriage and made it home in record time. I recounted the details of my day to my family, tried to read my current book (The World's Religions, by Huston Smith), but instead I lulled myself into a deep, tired sleep.
Cairo is exhausting. But it's where Life happens.
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