Subject: Day 1 Aswan: No guide—no meet and assist (first gig without Mohammad or Essam)
Well, this is Egypt after all, so what could I expect. I arrived to no one waiting for me at the tiny airport. Easy
to see after the two tour groups left that I was the only one there—standing alone. I went outside thinking
maybe my “guide” was out there. There were 2 taxi drivers, but no guide. I waited awhile, then called Essam,
who said, “He has to be there—did you look around?” (yeah, not hard—the place was empty). Eventually,
after over a half hour, a guy dressed in a baggage handler uniform came out and said, “sheee-ry bee-renz”. I
waved--that's me! (Yeah! Relief!).
He walked up to me and said “you take taxi” (so much for the guide, or the meet and assist at the airport).
I had no idea where my hotel was, nor did I know the area. The guy that called my name argued for awhile with
the 2 taxi drivers, arguing over ‘me’ I guess because eventually I was told to “go with him” as he pointed to
one of the taxi drivers. The taxi driver immediately went into the same question game I get every where I go:
“How old are you?”, “Are you married?”, “Do you have children”. But this was in a mix of Arabic and very bad
English, so I answered in my bad Arabic. He gave me a confused look with my “teleta weh hamseen” (53). He
thought I didn’t know my Arabic numbers—he started going over them 20-30-40 in Arabic and with hand
gestures showing the numbers (I love it—but actually, women here age so young, that they look 50 when they
are in their late 20’s—so I shouldn’t take it as a compliment—but it’s fun nonetheless).
I now answer that I have 2 boys when I’m asked if I have children. I used to say I am married to an Egyptian
(true, and also solves some problems that tend to happen to me if they think I’m single), and I used to say we
have no children. But this always made people feel ashamed for me. I got tired of feeling kind of embarrassed
(like I’m unable to bear children or something—a big humiliation for women here—so saying I have 2 boys,
although not true, solves the embarrassment). The taxi broke down briefly while going over the old Aswan
dam (there was a nice view anyway). After tinkering with the taxi for a while he got it going. He pulled over
twice in town to make phone calls. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable and kept showing him my hotel
name (written in Arabic). He kept nodding that he knew, but didn’t seem in any hurry to get me there.
He kept asking me to call him and wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper (I guess it didn't
matter that I was married with 2 sons) and then pulled into a place where he told me, “hotel boat”. Suddenly
an enormous Nubian with a shaved head opened my door while I was struggling to figure out where I was
going and what was happening (I was not aware that I had to take a boat to get to my hotel). The giant bald
Nubian looked exactly like an illustration from a thousand and one nights—you know, the giant genie that
comes out of the lamp—no kidding! He told me, “I am Ahmed—did you give him money?”. I said “not yet”,
and the Genie said “good--don’t--come with me”. I didn’t argue. I grabbed my stuff and followed him to a boat.
After we sat for a few moments in total silence he said, “I over slept. You would have waited another 40
minutes at the airport if I tried to get there, so I called and told them to send you here”. (Ah, this is my guide
and meet & assist person).
He got me to my hotel and checked me in, said he’d wait for me to drop my things and would meet me in the
lobby. When I came to the lobby he walked me to a different boat where he had a long conversation with the
driver, then said to me, “he’ll take care of you”. I started babbling about what I wanted to film, etc., and then
stopped myself and asked “does he speak English?”. The Genie replied “of course”. But turns out the boat
driver didn’t. Another case of trying to communicate with a combo of my bad Arabic and his bad English. After
we set sail I again had to play the question game. Are you married? Do you have children? How old are
you?
I must have made the boat driver understand that I did not want tourist stuff, that I wanted to film real people,
and real activities, because he took me on the most fantastic cruise along the Nile. He took me inside narrow
little inlets with tall grass and where I filmed people with cows and goats outside their huts. There were lots of
boys fishing, swimming, or paddling in these small canoe/kayak type boats. I enjoyed it tremendously and
took lots of shots. We then went in more open waters and went by a camel parking lot. That was really fun. I
got shots of boys riding fast and horsing around (or should I say cameling around—it was great).
We went past a quaint village and he said “my village”, so I took shots of it from a distance. Then we pulled up
and docked at another village along the Nile that looked a little touristy from the dock, but I was willing to give
it a go. He started to change his galabeya (right in front of me—but I quickly turned my head when I saw what
he was doing). He put on a nice clean white one. He walked me through the touristy main street, but it looked
fun—Nubian masks for sale, lots of spices and stuff. They tried to sell me stuff, but Ahmed politely told them I
wasn’t interested (I was happy he wasn’t trying to do the commission thing).
Ahmed knocked on a white washed mud house with a bright blue door (so beautiful), but after quite a
long while he gave up and said, “sleep”. We continued through dirt roads and alleys of quaint mud huts and
small white houses, until we got to a white washed house with a bright pink door (really, really beautiful). It
opened and he gave the guy who answered a big bear hug. “Brother” Ahmed said. (Hmm, what’s up?) In
Cairo you can get taken advantage of easily—everybody has a relative who sells some tourist item and they
push their wares pretty heavily, but my doubts were quelled quickly. I had a great time. The door opened to a
tiny open air courtyard which had a hallway to a bedroom. The brother asked me if I was hungry—Aiwa! (Yes!),
he then said, “Nubian o.k?”, “Yes!” I said, Quais Owie” (very good). Although I had no idea of what Nubian
food was—I was game. I was then escorted to the bedroom. The bedroom had 2 narrow beds against the
walls, an oriental rug on a dirt floor in between, and a t.v. on the floor blaring an American movie I didn’t
recognize (subtitled in Arabic). Nothing else was in the room, and nothing on the beautiful immaculately white
washed walls.
Food was brought in, so I moved from the bed to sit cross legged on the floor and they both looked surprised
and said “You Nubian!” I ate with my hands with great gusto, knowing that all Egyptians, Nubian or otherwise,
love good eaters. I recognized molaheya, but didn’t know what else I was eating and didn’t care. One dish was
particularly tastey—although I couldn’t figure out what it was. There was no meat served, so I knew they must
be very poor. All Egyptians love meat and it is a symbol of hospitality, so they serve it if they have it.
Afterwards we had nay-ya-ney-ya (mint tea) and while drinking, the brother rolled a marijuana cigarette and
offered it to me. I said no thanks in Arabic and gestured calmly with my hands to say ‘you guys go ahead’.
They looked a little worried, so I said,“inaharda belayl ana shogle” (tonight I work) and I pointed at the joint and
then put my head sideways on my hand to gesture that the marijuana would make me sleepy. They laughed
and nodded.
The wife entered holding a baby a wedding album. The baby was adorable and the wedding photos were the
most beautiful wedding photos I’ve ever seen. The wife had been decorated all over her body with elaborate
henna designs, especially on her hands and arms, feet and calves, and was posed on the floor, laying in her
husband’s lap showing off the henna designs. She had Jasmine petals between each finger and between her
toes. The husband held an enormous whip (symbol of control over the wife). She wore the most beautiful
clingy, yet flowing red gown that flattered and hinted at her nice figure. I oohed and ahhed at every photo.
They were very proud of the pictures.
I was getting kind of tired (maybe it was the second-hand pot smoke) and made a social blunder that I normally
wouldn’t do if I was more alert. I told them their baby was beautiful. Eeek! They gave me startled looks. You
do not compliment a baby here, it’s bad luck. It brings on the evil eye. Instead you tell them it’s the ugliest
baby you’ve ever seen. It was obvious I realized my blunder and I tried to smooth things over. They calmed
down (stupid American!). They switched from Arabic and talked for awhile in Nubian while they got high and
then Ahmed said, “yalla shee-ree?” (lets go?). “yallah” I answered. Before we left I was invited to a wedding
that was taking place the next night (Oh Boy !!!!).
We sailed back to the hotel and I got freshened up and ready to meet the Shiek. I waited in the lobby for over
an hour. Turns out the Shiek couldn’t find the hotel (like me, he didn't know he had to take a ferry). The Sheik
finally arrived with two other people, his brother and a driver. None of them spoke English. We got lost 8
times trying to find the location of the Moulid (a religious festival celebrating the birthday of a saint). After the
5th time stopping to ask directions I decided to keep track for the fun of it—it was obvious to me that we were
going in a circle—and I was thinking this might be a world record for getting lost and asking directions. We
continued circling and I got to see a lot of interesting back alleys. Finally we varied our pattern and took a turn
and drove right into a blocked off street where a wedding was being set up. We couldn’t get through, although
a man we asked directions from pointed through it saying that the street we wanted was right through the
blocked off street on the other side. We sat in the car quite a long time while the 3 of them contemplated this
dilemma (I almost laughed out loud).
Patience is the key to survival here. And time—you’ve got to allow lots of time. Finally we arrived at the
Moulid where I was immediately mobbed by kids. I made it to a bench while the Moulid was being set up. The
police came—I was told “mushkella” (problem). After a big debate and lots of confusion, I was taken upstairs
above the Mosque and kept out of sight for over an hour in a tiny dark room. I was alone most of that time and
contemplated whether I should call Essam or Mohammad. I didn’t know how serious the ‘problem’ was. This
trip turned out to be full of mis-communications and lots of confusion for me. Eventually the Shiek came in
and we tried to discuss the ‘problem’, but we couldn't understand each other, so I gave up. He left and then
came back later and gave me a set of prayer beads as a gift (he must have felt bad for cooping me up in the
tiny dark room). He kept biting the beads to show me they were real stones and not plastic. I thanked him
profusely. I was eventually escorted down to the Moulid. The police came again, a total of 4 times. The first 3
to inquire about me. It was obvious the Shiek wasn’t prepared or qualified to deal with police, he was terrified.
I am not a name dropper, too many years in Hollywood made me have an aversion to people who name drop,
but I mentioned the first lady’s name in every phrase I spoke to get out of the hot spot I felt I was in. It seemed
to work. The last group of police who stopped didn’t bother me, just watched me carefully as I filmed the zikr
(religious dance).
Men formed two lines. There seemed to be a leader of sorts in each line that gave a cue as to what the other
fellows in the line were to do next. Suddenly there was a big grunt, then just as suddenly, all of them in the
line would do this big grunt sound in unison to the rhythm. Then suddenly one of them made a sound like he
was hocking a big loogie (a real big one), then just as suddenly all of them started hocking big loogies in
unison (it had quite an effect when done in unison). I was standing on a rickety chair to get a better shot over
the heads of the crowd and almost fell off of the chair at the sound of the first big loogie—I wasn’t sure where it
was going to fly. Turns out they weren’t actually spitting—just sounded like it. What it really was, was a sound
expressing a ‘love from the soul’, from ‘all of the body’, coming out from ‘deep within the body and soul’ (but it
sounded like hocking a big one to me).
I’m pretty blind, its the only thing that upsets me about getting old—my eyesight. I wear my contacts for
distance, which I love and they help me move around with ease, but even with my contacts on I struggle with
seeing from my nose to my outstretched arm. So I wear glasses to see the camera’s LCD screen while
filming, but can’t see the tiny details clearly. So I peek up periodically to make sure of what I’m really seeing.
When they started doing the “hock a loogie” sound, I absolutely had to stop and look at them to see what the
heck they were doing. It was very loud, combined with about 20 guys doing it—well, it had to be seen to
believed.
The Zikr lasted for hours, some of the dancers got tired and left the line to sit and watch. The remaining
dancers were very good and I got some great film. The only thing that was slightly disturbing was that one
man kept repeatedly walking around throughout the crowd spraying Raid—and he did it right up close and on
me several times—it was kind of unnerving—I hate bug sprays of any kind, but especially direct inhalation of
them. Yuck, the things I do in the line of duty.
I may make the Zikr sound odd or funny, but it was truly exciting to watch. I moved around a lot to get
different angles, but most of the time I was positioned near a group of older male spectators near one of the
lines of dancers. When it was over one old man said to me “Quais?” (Good?). I broke into a giant smile and
said “quais owie, owie, owie” (very, very,very good). They roared with laughter and one of them mimicked me
and said it to the others, “owie owie owie” and they all laughed again (they don’t use more than one owie
here—but I’ve always found it very effective to do it that way—it always gets a laugh, and, Egyptians love to
laugh).
As usual, by the time I left, the people were fascinated by me. I was surrounded by kids who wanted to test
their English and talk to me. “How are you?” and “What’s your name” was shouted over and over. I
shook their little hands and asked them their names—they looked at me like I was Wonder Woman or
something. The Shiek made them go away and then the important males surrounded me (there were no
women at all at this event—not even in the crowd). With hand gestures and Arabic, the Shiek made it clear
who was who (sufi master, sufi teacher, man in charge of the mosque, etc). I’ve gotten good at a make shift
Arabic sign language, and after shaking hands, and thanking them profusely, and endlessly saying “quais
owie”, the driver finally said ‘yalla” and parted the sea of people and led me to the car. As we slowly drove off
I gave each and every person at the window a wave and a ‘masalaama’.
'til the next adventure, love, Cheri