City of the Dead

Thousands of Egypt’s urban poor have nowhere to go, and live in cemeteries. They live in mausoleums. “Previously, Cairo rulers chose the area for their tombs outside the crowded city in a deserted location. “This area was used as a burial ground for the Arab conquests, Fatimids, Abbasids, Ayyubids, Mamlukes, Ottomans, and many more…In modern times, because of Egypt’s housing crisis, a lack of satisfactory and affordable housing for a rapidly growing population, many poor Egyptians have made these rooms (graves) their permanent homes. More than five million Egyptian live in these cemeteries,” (http://touregypt.net/featurestories/city.htm).

After weighing various warnings against going with the Rough Guide blurb that it is okay if you are careful and my own insatiable desire to take risks and see something interesting (and dangerous, yay!) along with Greg and Atif’s general agreeableness, we went to the one such cemetery.

We felt really out of place. We walked quickly once inside the gates. There were people eating and sitting outside mausoleums. There were graves in the “streets.” We took winding a winding path so as to be able to snap a few photos. Then, having been discovered, we took more winding paths to as to avoid those following us. Eventually, we lost all but one. We ended up talking to him (well, Atif did. This might be repetitive, but I don’t speak Arabic). He was rather shady, rotten teeth even though he probably wasn’t more than 18. He asked us where we were from, Pakistan (I love Osama bin Ladin---the common response. I thought that was incredible as I heard it over and over again), Switzerland and Switzerland. (USA USA USA—but no one was ever the wiser). He produced a silver evil eye medallion and gave it to me. He wanted something back in return. “Something interesting.” I looked through my purse for a suitable gift. It was kinda tough cuz I had, let’s see, an iPod (no) some headphones (nope) camera (nope) notebook with my “Arabic,” a bunch of Moroccan recipes, and Kaitlyn’s address (no), and there was no way I was taking out my wallet. By some stroke of luck, I found some body spray and gave it to him. We explained how to use it and demonstrated. He loved it. As we were leaving I strayed behind a minute to look at an inscription (okay, and to try to take one more photo---I know, I know), the guy walked with me and took my arm stopping me in my tracks, puckered his lips and pointed to my mouth. “La,” I shook my head and finger and touched my right arm to my chest backing away. Not making out with this dude, nooo thank you. He was trying to ask me something. “Uh, guys—wait for me! What’s he asking?” He wanted to know if I was married (are you seeing a common theme here?). “Aaah” I say and point at the rings I wear on my pinky finger (not exactly wedding bands) but they did the trick. “Aaaah,” he nods, understanding. We left the cemetery triumphantly. Though uncomfortable, we came away having seen something really cool and what could have been a Sisqo experience turned out to be positive (except for the near kiss) all around.