Shoelaces & Prayers
It was a hot afternoon in Cairo. I'd been walking for the better part of the day. Wandering around. Getting my bearings. Following my heart through dilapitated slums, extravangant neighbourhoods, heavy traffic, crowded markets, serene parks, backways and alleyways. in and out, up and down, all over.
The smells and sights of a city like Cairo press even the most creative imaginations. Every new corner can potentially uncover a new experience. jumping through centuries and centuries of tradition to modernity and back again. Come, Medam, park your Mercedes next to my donkey cart, we are leaving soon anyway.
At times it feels good to flow with a crowd, to walk in the same time, same pace and same direction as those around you. Other times it feels right, or proves necessary, to go against the crowd - dodging characters of all shapes and sizes, left and right to get through, to get out, to get going. Yet, the most magical of all is to just sit and let it all run over you like water over rocks in a stream. so i did.
Having found a beautiful and inviting piece of shade, I sat for a rest and watched the world go by. Behind me a small garden with a couple sitting together chatting on a wooden bench. They are leaning towards each other, heads angled together, intent and smiling. Their young boy playing at their feet. A few trees and bushes and beyond that, a slight drop, then the river.The big, long, meandering, massive, epic, simple river all the way from the heart of Africa. But here, in this time, in this place, a simple little river, flowing, patiently, in the heat of the afternoon. Ahead of me are a couple apartment buildings with an alleyway separating them. Standing about 5 or 6 stories high, these concrete buildings have both a permanence and a familiarity to them that speaks to the years and years they have have been, to their inhabitants, home. The laundry sways on the lines off balconies, whispering stories of who lives where and what characters they may have.
Occasionally, someone calling up from the street beckons their friend, associate or acquaintance and a head pops out. Discussion insues, resolution found and the person disappears, closing the shutters behind, keeping in the peace but out the sun and noise.
Between the two buildings is an alleyway, just wide enough for two cars. Some old awnings hang lazily out, half stretching, half collapsing into the street. Ostensibly creating shade, but more accurately creating character. this is so and so's shop, who's been doing business here for 40 years, and his father before him and his father before that. I remember when i was a small boy, he used to give me sweets after school... and so on and so on.
The people walking up and down this street cannot be bothered to hurry in the heat, and i can't blame them. A couple young girls, arms interlaced whispering to each other and bursting into fits of laughter. A few old women, entirely in black, carrying their bundles in one hand and trailing grandchildren in the other. A rather young and important looking fellow in a suit, furtively looking left and right as if impatient for something big, something real to occur. And little old me, leaning on a railing, sipping some water.
A gentleman walks by and I notice his shoelace is undone. Not wanting him to trip and hurt himself and not knowing the Arabic word for "shoelace," I simply say: "Man, attention" and point. He pauses looks at my outstretched finger, looks at his shoe, looks at my face, smiles and points to the mosque just ahead: No need to worry, I am almost there and I am going to pray, barefoot.
The smells and sights of a city like Cairo press even the most creative imaginations. Every new corner can potentially uncover a new experience. jumping through centuries and centuries of tradition to modernity and back again. Come, Medam, park your Mercedes next to my donkey cart, we are leaving soon anyway.
At times it feels good to flow with a crowd, to walk in the same time, same pace and same direction as those around you. Other times it feels right, or proves necessary, to go against the crowd - dodging characters of all shapes and sizes, left and right to get through, to get out, to get going. Yet, the most magical of all is to just sit and let it all run over you like water over rocks in a stream. so i did.
Having found a beautiful and inviting piece of shade, I sat for a rest and watched the world go by. Behind me a small garden with a couple sitting together chatting on a wooden bench. They are leaning towards each other, heads angled together, intent and smiling. Their young boy playing at their feet. A few trees and bushes and beyond that, a slight drop, then the river.The big, long, meandering, massive, epic, simple river all the way from the heart of Africa. But here, in this time, in this place, a simple little river, flowing, patiently, in the heat of the afternoon. Ahead of me are a couple apartment buildings with an alleyway separating them. Standing about 5 or 6 stories high, these concrete buildings have both a permanence and a familiarity to them that speaks to the years and years they have have been, to their inhabitants, home. The laundry sways on the lines off balconies, whispering stories of who lives where and what characters they may have.
Occasionally, someone calling up from the street beckons their friend, associate or acquaintance and a head pops out. Discussion insues, resolution found and the person disappears, closing the shutters behind, keeping in the peace but out the sun and noise.
Between the two buildings is an alleyway, just wide enough for two cars. Some old awnings hang lazily out, half stretching, half collapsing into the street. Ostensibly creating shade, but more accurately creating character. this is so and so's shop, who's been doing business here for 40 years, and his father before him and his father before that. I remember when i was a small boy, he used to give me sweets after school... and so on and so on.
The people walking up and down this street cannot be bothered to hurry in the heat, and i can't blame them. A couple young girls, arms interlaced whispering to each other and bursting into fits of laughter. A few old women, entirely in black, carrying their bundles in one hand and trailing grandchildren in the other. A rather young and important looking fellow in a suit, furtively looking left and right as if impatient for something big, something real to occur. And little old me, leaning on a railing, sipping some water.
A gentleman walks by and I notice his shoelace is undone. Not wanting him to trip and hurt himself and not knowing the Arabic word for "shoelace," I simply say: "Man, attention" and point. He pauses looks at my outstretched finger, looks at his shoe, looks at my face, smiles and points to the mosque just ahead: No need to worry, I am almost there and I am going to pray, barefoot.
posted by mg nightingale at 9:09 AM
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