Mons Claudianus – a trip to the Roman quarries

The Arabian Desert between the Red Sea and the Nile is not only rich in sand but also in gems, gold, minerals and stones. Appreciated by the old Egyptians, the quarries supplied them with pillars, sarcophagus and other building material for the pyramids and temples and with gems for all the jewellery and decoration we still can admire.

The Romans as well resorted to these treasures and improved the art of quarrying. In Wadi Hammamat, between el Quesir and Quena, lies Mons Claudianus, allegedly the best preserved Roman settlement amongst several quarries.

No matter whether you’re standing aloft the fort or inside: whatever the visitor gets to see is simply fascinating: In the middle of the mountains, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nothing and under the unforgiving blazing sun lie the ruins of the settlement. Apparently, Mons Claudianus was not just a simple temporary dwelling, but rather a luxurious home for well-paid craftsmen, who lacked for nothing. The one, who takes his time for a stroll between the laneways, will marvel even more: walls made by perfectly piled up stone slabs and well preserved mud bricks, water basins and bathtubs with steps, alcoves and water channels. Thousands of shards lie about – what was once stored inside?

The shepherd

Someone is sitting there alone next to a handful of sheep which are grazing on the single green patch outside a hotel in Hurghada.

Shall I stop by or not? Tact or curiosity? I hesitated this morning for some instants, the wind had cost me some energy, however, the shepherd’s friendly waving encouraged me. I cycled back, put my bike down on the sand and greeted the stranger.

He rose, surprised. The man in the green caftan might be in his early thirties although his sun tanned face is already wrinkled. His eyes gaze emotionlessly, his smile shows discoloured teeth which is typical for the poor here; they never ever see a toothbrush throughout their lives.

I asked politely whether I may take a photo of him and the sheep? Sure, he said, but… he wanted money! Where he was living, where is family stayed, I asked? In Qena and he was poor. Well, I did see that. Has tourism corrupted him as well? Or is he so desperate that he resorts to begging? This, however, I supposedly will never get to know.

The lost people II

(posted on my German blog 19 July 2014)

In May I posted an appeal for help. It was about helping the Bedouins living in the Red Sea Mountains after they had lost all their belongings due to the torrential rains in March. Thanks to all of you who contacted Robby Schropp and to all my friends for their confidence and support.

Off the lorry tracks, Robby and the Bedouins built a market place between 2009 and 2011. Here, producers from the interior met with purchasers from the coast who sold cheese, eggs, meat and wool. A huge water reservoir stored the most precious good in the desert.

Before choosing the site, the council of elders was contacted and none of them remembered having seen deluge of water in this area. The site was considered as safe – however, nature decided differently.

Please have a look of what has become the market place:

Whether the site can be rebuilt any time in the future is unclear for lack of funds. If you wish to help, please get in touch with Robby or with me.

The blue moon: a place for those in need (part II)

Clinic
The clinic is actually a gallery. Monica is a painter and her husband is a stone carver. Yet now, the operating theatre is in the gallery and the workshop serves as office and working room. Everywhere, handicrafts of the two artists are deployed, hung up and I literally step on them: even the floor’s tiles are inscribed and painted with saws in different languages. However, there’s hardly any time left for art, whereas animals get operated here inside and – what is known all over Hurghada – street animals get castrated for free. For many years, Monica has been the driving force to stop poisoning the wild cats and dogs and instead to have them castrated for free. HEPCA and other animal protection advocates supported her.

From home and workshop to an animal shelter
How did all begin?
“There was a cat meowing in front of our front door.” Her husband took her inside, they nursed her and one day she disappeared. “Thereby, we never ever had any business with animals!” Soon after that, her husband turned up with two budgies in a basket. Hence, they built an aviary on their workshop’s veranda. Since birds don’t like to live alone according to the information from internet – this is where she got her knowledge initially – they bought three more birds. While buying fodder in Cairo, they acquired a cat, since the other one had run away. The “street matador” made sure to produce some offspring and soon, Monica and her husband found themselves in the middle of a flock of kitten. They ought to be castrated and hence, they went to see a veterinary. Yet he killed them while castrating them. As compensation, they wanted a dog. However, he brought two friends along with him and so they also had become castrated. The result of the castration was the same as with the cats.

The blue moon: a place for those in need (part I)

An animal shelter in the middle of the desert, built with much blood, sweat and tears

Hurghada has more to offer than only sun, sea and cheap alcohol and the related sex tourism. Now and there, thanks to personal efforts, private organisations and opportunities arise that do not focus on short term profit. However, they seek to improve unsupportable situations for a better future. The “Bluemoon” is one of those and I’m going to talk about it in this blog.

“Bluemoon“ is not the name of a cosy country inn, but the name for an animal shelter amidst the desert. At the middle ring road, Monica is waiting for me, sitting in her bright red Volkswagen Beetle. We are jolting over a dirt road for another 500 m into the desert. Getting off the car, we are actually standing in the heart of the animal shelter. A white puppy is greeting us waving its tail, cats are sniffing at me curiously and are stroking around my legs while I’m looking around. There’s a huge table surrounded by a dozen of chairs, behind it there are two sofas, covered with hand woven rugs, beside it there are a kitchen table, a bench, a water pipe. Further to the right, I see a big stone table on brick-built pedestals. Cats and dogs are everywhere. Walls and pillars are made of building rubble and broken stones from the desert, palm leaves and straw provide shade. The floor: sand. Of course! All made from nature. Bays in the pillars give space to art work. Immediately, I feel fine. The half open construction leaves the view open towards the corrals.

The corrals – an empire for each animal
“Let’s first have a tour of the place”, Monica suggests and shows me the young plants of her mini nursery. Here, succulents are grown and sold at the markets. “What are succulents?” I ask. These are plants that retain water“ is her answer, which I consider as logical as I feel ignorant. Right beside, birds twitter in an aviary. I peek through the narrow mesh and discover light blue and white canary birds perching on bamboo sticks and rocking. For an instant, I remember my childhood… my grandpa.. yellow canary birds… 

Yet Monica’s voice brings me back to the here and now. She marches out into the blazing nine o’clock sun. Stroking a donkey she recounts that even the government brings her abused donkeys that they have confiscated from burglars. Just the government! Ironically, she and her husband Salah were accused by exactly this government of stealing water from the pipeline and they have been sentenced to one year in prison. 

Why don’t you get up and fight?

Why don’t you get up and fight for your right? It’s this question that I’ve been asking again and again since my second visit to Egypt.

My first and my second stay in Egypt are worlds apart. Worlds of knowledge, quasi. Upon my first visit, contrary to what I usually do, I came unprepared and ignorant to a country which was completely strange to me. Yet what I observed inside and outside the hotel resort at that time fuelled my intellectual curiosity and I searched answers for the many “whys”. When Saddam Hussein was executed shortly after Christmas 2006, I dearly wanted to know what the Egyptian newspapers wrote and what the people thought. I got into a conversation with a jeweller and he replied: ”Egypt has other problems than Saddam Hussein.” As if he wanted to stress these words, he waved a French passport around. I will never forget that moment; I felt embarrassed and realised that I did not know anything about Egypt.

Hardly had I returned back home, did I stock up on information from internet and the library about the country and its economy. The more I read, the more I wanted to know and the more questions popped up inside me.

Four months later, I went back to Egypt, travelled around, asked and watched. I asked everybody that came across my way and to whom I could make myself understood, I let them talk and listened patiently. I heard amazing, distressing, unbelievable and incomprehensible things. It was about broken relations, financial distress, work problems, tribes, existing and broken dreams. Of course, I also wanted to know more about politics but many of my interlocutors shirked, whispered or looked asquint to the left and to the right before they answered at all.

„Why don’t you get up, stand up and fight for your rights?“ [Jimmy Cliff]

How can one live in such misery? How can one put up with the daily harassment of the police at each corner of the street, at numerous checkpoints, the dictation and the random arrests? How can one live with a tight censorship and lopsided information of the state media? How can one live day by day with an all pervasive corruption? How can a young person plan his life that leads straight forward into a cul-de-sac and that does not permit any vision? How can an elderly person put up with this cul-de-sac and experience a continual degradation of the living conditions since the 50ies?

One of the answers was: „Because Mubarak holds all the powers: military, police, justice and parliament”. Another one was: “We have opposition; we have got some Muslim Brothers in parliament.” Or: “There is no opposition abroad.” But also: “We have internet, we know how it is outside.”

All this did not satisfy me. I grew up in a liberal country and was brought up and educated with liberal ideas. My mind cannot accept such resignation and passivity.

Thus, I searched for reasons and soon found some:

Egyptians are lazy
I mean: without any initiative, without any idea, without any fighting spirit, passive, indulgent. Don’t they prefer to sit in coffee shops, smoke shisha, watch football games or try to cheat tourists? I wasn’t completely wrong with this answer but it was too superficial.

On the course of further stays in this wide, varied and incomprehensible country, I uncovered lay after lay of the surface and gradually started to understand better. There are many reasons for the seemingly or real passivity.

The political system
Just imagine: the one year old boy who tries his first clumsy steps with his baby legs, sees Mubarak. The same boy who plays football with his comrades day after day on a dry sandy court and most probably dreams of a football career with Ahly, sees the “father of the nation” Mubarak on TV. The teenager, who sends sneaky looks at girls, only knows Mubarak, the “father of the nation”, praising his good deeds on his daily TV speech. The young man who is about to marry his young bride doesn’t know anything else than Mubarak, the National Democratic Party, a rigorous police state and no freedom. The young father, who fights every day to feed his family, hears and sees only Mubarak…

About 50 % of the Egyptian population doesn’t know any other state system than Mubarak’s dictatorship. How should a human being, who has never ever during all his life – 30 or 40 years – experienced anything else should be able to imagine another political system? I don’t mean to say that Egyptians are too stupid to do this, please, do not misunderstand. No! I want to say that the majority of those who are between 30 or 40 years old have never known anything else and therefore, cannot imagine a different political system. The freedom that we in Europe live and take for granted, does not exist in Egypt and is unknown to many.

Education
The Egyptian educational system does not train up independent thinking human beings. Pupils have to learn by heart in order to obtain a certain number of marks. According to the points achieved, different Universities or ways of education can be pursued. Those who don’t get the highest marks, simply study law, teaching or anything else instead of becoming a doctor or an engineer. Children neither learn how to learn nor to use their brain to find for example alternatives, scrutinize facts, to criticise or to analyse. Teachers work for a pittance und therefore usually have another job to make ends meet. Only the one who can afford private lessons or go to a private school can make progress. The others learn by heart, repeat, obey and do what they are told to do. There is no place for personal development, creativity or even revolt.

How should anybody become initiative in such a system?

Culture, tradition and religion
I’m unable to separate these three values; for me, they are entangled, inter-dependent and tightly linked. Same as the religion demands obedience, such does the family that recognizes and respects the father (and later the eldest son) as family patriarch. Everything is done for the family; there is no way against the family (respectively the patriarch) except one risks the thorough and final breach with the family. In a wider circle, it’s the same within the tribes.

Furthermore, Egyptians are pacific and full of zest for life. Revolt is something that others do.

Obedience towards the superior (family, teacher, employer, police, and president) is entrenched and every time when I am a silent onlooker, I get startled. However, this is Egypt.

I cannot say that I „grasp“ now why this people doesn’t get up and fight all together, however, I understand much better. They just have another hard disk in their head that is built, programmed and loaded with different data – this is what I sometimes think.

Nevertheless, there was this uproar, this revolution that continues, that is pasty like cold honey and that comes in half-heartedly. I keep on asking my interlocutor “Why don’t you get up and fight?” and frequently the answer is “What can we do?”

This helpless sentence is a stich into my mind and into my heart as well. It makes me aware that a lot of time still has to go by until something really changes in the land of the Nile. Meanwhile, those who can, emigrate and the others somehow huddle through having faith in Allah to support them.

Happy New Year Egypt

Actually, I did not have the intention to publish more greetings for the year end. Yet along with the disastrous news coming from Egypt right now, I wish myself and Egypt from the digastricus of my heart:

May the New Year bring a miracle for Egypt!

A normally thinking human being is at a loss in imagining a way out of the desolate economical and the messy political situation. However, Egyptians see it differently. Two of my Egyptian acquaintances (one of them an activist) and a well-known blogger and activist expressed the same during the last three weeks: they expect, no, they bank on the unexpected, on a surprise as it is typical for Egypt. And they count on the second anniversary of January 25, 2011.

I shouldn’t be at all surprised…

Amidst the protest

Last Friday, the opposition has called for another protest and people followed this call all over Egypt.

I joined the protest in Hurghada again. The activists added a small red lorry to lead the protest. On top of it they fixed loud speakers and two or three men rotated in transmitting the chants. Flags, banners, posters and papers with slogans were handed out.

Some people observe me suspiciously. When my Arabic teacher S. arrives, I forget about it. M., one of my students is here and another foreigner joins. I’m not the only one anymore! I., another activist, remembers me and shakes hands with me.

The group starts: ahead is the lorry, then some men carrying big banners and the Egyptian flag, behind them we the women and at the end the men.

Women of all age walk next to me, in front of me and behind me, chanting full-throatedly. They hold up banners or flags, raise their fists in the rhythm of the chants. People step on my feet, push me from the back, from right and left. An Egyptian lady links arms with me and tells me that she knows that I am S.’s friend. This is my legitimation, I’m accepted.

It’s hot, much too hot for this time of the year and there is absolutely no wind. Most people are dressed according to the season – not according to the temperature – that means, much too warm. The respective odours linger in the air and mingle with the exhaust fumes of the small lorry.

Me too, I also step on other’s feet, smile, apologize, try to find a gap in order to avoid it. Yet now, a flag is waving around my head und I can’t see anything. Now and then, the march stops and I look back to take pictures. I discover another friend of mine and greet him.

Men make again a human chain around the protest march. I walk at the side to have more fresh air and freedom of leg movement. But I. appears and shouts “goa” – inside. Inside, in the middle of the group. I raise my eyes to the frontages: there are much more people on the balconies, they applaud and join the chants against Moursi, the constitutional declaration, the constitution and also against the Muslim Brothers. A companion shouts into my ear „dustour diktatoria“ – dictatorial constitution.

I leave the group for a moment to take pictures from the edge of the street. The group is somewhat bigger than on Tuesday. Someone on the side-walk is mumbling what this foreigner has got to do there. This affects me a bit, but this is typically Egyptian. I return to the group. Now, men hold a rope around the group.

I walk deep in thought amidst the group to Sekalla. I do this to support Egyptians and not to interfere. I do this because I know what all is about and how difficult it will be for Egypt. Last week, I wrote “continuation of the 25 January 2011”, even before I knew how Egypt would react on Moursi’s decree. Meanwhile, the draft constitution, hastily assembled mainly by Islamists, was voted over and a date for the referendum is scheduled. Judges are on strike, protests continue, UNO and EU put pressure. Intellectuals, politicians, ex-presidential candidates and activists fight united against an imminent dictatorship which would restrict the people’s lives even more.

My feet hurt from the many blisters from last time, my legs from the hours-long march. I compare with Western Europe: democracy, state of law, legal security, separation of powers, and compliance with human rights… We all have this and it is taken for granted. We make use of it without being aware what it really means. They also had to be fought for and achieved. Even today, they have to be observed and preserved carefully.

And here in this third-world-country that is mainly known as a sunny destination for diving and beach holidays as well as for its unique historical treasures? Where tourists relax from their hard labour in gorgeous hotel resorts? There is nothing, absolutely nothing. But people know what they want and they are ready to fight for it. This is why they take to the streets. This is why the iconic Tahrir square is once more filled with hundreds of thousands of protesters. They will not give up before having reached their goal.

Someone beside me calls my name. It’s my friend B. who walks on my right and is part of the human chain. I’m glad to see him and we talk a while. We’ve arrived in Sekalla and on both sides of the street people stand side by side. It was like this all the way – unlike Tuesday.

The march turns at Arouse square and I leave the group, say farewell to my acquaintances.

I remember as how one of my students had to form a sentence with the German verb “möchten” (to want): “Wir möchten Demokratie” (we want democracy). I wish that my students soon will be able to form a sentence with “haben” (to have).

„Erhal Moursi“

„go ارحل يعني!“ and „no ارحل يعني“ („go“ (in Arabic) means „go“ in English / „no“ (in Arabic) means „no“ in English) and other funny chants could I hear tonight.

On my way to Dahar, I was surprised to see that people in the street and in shops continued their routine. I arrived at the big round-about in Dahar: still nothing. I walked towards the courthouse and there I saw them: a group of protesters, starting their march. I took out my camera to take pictures from the posters and people, deciphered an Arabic banner… and heard somebody calling my name: my Arabic teacher S. in the first row!

From that point on, I was one of them. We walked to the big round-about and further all the way through Nassr Street and to Sekalla, and still further till the “Central”. Again and again the group halted and chanted at the top of their voices and with megaphones “we are the people”, “go Moursi”, “you (the Muslim Brothers) are Egyptians as well”, “the people demand the purging of the system”, “Muslims and Christians are one”, “we don’t want the Muslim Brothers” etc. The demands were accentuated by tambourines and hand clapping.

Women held their hands or linked arms with each other, tried to stay close to one another. As soon as we were about to drown in the crowd, S. pulled me and her friend forward, there where there was more space. The men hold their hands forming a human chain to protect us from traffic and other surprises. Passers-by stopped on the street and the side-walks, came out of shops and buildings, stood on balconies and joined with quickly designed card-board-posters. They joined with kit and caboodle. I carried a small child for a while so that it could rest a bit.

For sure, I was the only foreigner. A woman on my left asked me if I knew what all was about? Hm… yes, roughly… I’m an ignorant foreigner, am I not?

However, what I did not know when I went out, is that I’d walk six or eight km in sandals. I have blisters and my legs hurt. The blisters will disappear, the memories won’t.

And what about the rest of Egypt? Protests everywhere…

In a foreign land but not foreign

Wonderful tomatoes, big, red, juicy, fruity and fresh. The dark skinned black curled vendor dressed in a brownish-grey kaftan is shouting with all his might “tamaatiim kwuissa bi talaata gineh!” Flies bustle about, sit on the flawed and overripe fruit and vegetable. Here and there incense sticks are burning in order to chase away the flies. The ground is bumpy and slippery from the juices, the remains of the vegetables and fruits, squeezed tomatoes, guavas, grapes and the kernel from the pomegranates. The hustle in the fruit and vegetable market is big, the shouting loud.

In the midst of this oriental confusion, oblivious of all around me, I chose tomatoes without being unsettled by the hustle and the shouting. One kilo? No, I better take one and a half; they are eaten away so quickly. One kilo doesn’t last until the next shopping in a week’s time.

Something softly touches my arm. The nasty poking of the beggar women that begs day after day in the market to make her living? No, that’s different. In amazement, I look into the direction from where this touch comes from and smile: it’s a Swiss lady who lives here, who comes across my way frequently! What a surprise, we met some days ago at a completely different occasion. We laugh and talk naturally about tomatoes and salads. Over there, the salad is only three pounds, she claims, and bargains a better price for me. Then, each of us goes our way that is so different from what our common language might let speculate.

In a foreign land… but not foreign. More and more frequently, I occasionally meet acquaintances in the street, in a café, in a shop or in the bus – it gives me the comforting feeling of not being foreign anymore.

Before the press conference – typically Egyptian

There is a festival in the (only “real”) shopping mall of Hurghada. Italy and Egypt are the theme and I am also invited to the press conference.

As I usually do, I get on a microbus and get off at the Go-Kart parking because from there, it is less far and more convenient to walk to the mall’s entrance. There is neither sand nor are there broken sidewalks and hence, it’s safe, even for high heels. Hardly having walked a few steps, one of these small city trains comes by that you can see almost in every European or American city, guiding tourists criss-cross past sights, souvenir shops and through narrow alleys. The driver gives me a short glance and I beckon him to stop; I sit down on the bench at the very back, looking towards the following cars. I almost fall off the bench in curves and the people in the cars are grinning at least as amusedly as I do. It was a first for me and I’m already looking forward to the next ride.

In front of the cinema entrance there are a stage and a few stalls. I am walking towards them and – ftttt! – the lights go off and the complete scenery with parking, stage and stalls are in the dark. Typically Egyptian, I think and am smiling good-humouredly into the dark.

However, the blackout lasts only a few seconds and stage and stalls are again brightly lit. The parking not yet, but the numerous police cars are unmissable. There are even brand new fire engines… I’m wondering if these are the same as I saw at the recent Mohamed Mounir concert. And while admiring the marvels in red and white I ask myself if they have ever been used – either in training or in an emergency. They simply appear too clean, somehow as impeccably as in Switzerland.

The press conference with a buffet afterwards should start at 7 pm. Mind you, Hurghada’s governor, the tourist minister of the Red Sea governorate and others shall speak and I’d like to see these personalities, especially I’d like to listen to what they have to say.

Shortly before seven, I enter the iced cinema hall, where the press conference should take place. The Italian hostess, the Italian organiser, an Egyptian minister, an Italian dance group and friends are present, as well as a fistful Egyptians. Have an hour later, the first Egyptian journalists show up  - neither hide nor hair from the governor or his entourage. After 45 minutes, head phones for the simultaneous translation are brought in and passed to some few illustrious guests.

Meanwhile we get to know, that a demonstration is taking place outside. What for or against what remains unknown, but it is taking place on the red carpet over which the governor should step. I also learn where to buy hygienically clean meat and in which supermarket the shop assistant tastes the food with the same spoon with which he serves the customers. Sometimes, waiting makes sense! – I’m glad that I understand all different kind of languages.

Shortly before eight – one hour late! – the governor gets announced. And suddenly, police men and personalities by the score roll in. The most important persons can be easily discerned by the high number of police men, the submissive gestures of the surrounding people and the perfectly fitting suits of the stout men. Pardon my irony!

The hostess welcomes everybody – in Italian. The governor has his say, first in English, then in Arabic with simultaneous translation – which can obviously not be understood by everybody due to technical problems – then again in English. The tourism minister and the other gentlemen don’t even try in English and the microphones don’t work properly. What I understand from the Arabic is, that every single one thanks for the event and emphasises on the importance of tourism for the Red Sea governorate.

This is where my patience snaps. It is too cold, too unprofessional and I renounce the continuation including the buffet. I take flight outside where the night temperature matches with the iced cinema hall and order a Shish Tawouk (grilled small skewer with spices, wrapped in pita bread) in order to warm up.

While eating and looking around, I see more police cars and the governor’s car with the number plate “RS1“ (Red Sea 1). It’s a long time since I’ve seen as many police cars as this – although there are permanently police controls with a large muster of police at any possible and impossible places and times.

I quit this “typically“ Egyptian event. It was my pleasure! And tomorrow and after tomorrow I still have the opportunity to admire singers, fashion show and dancers. I’ll get myself informed about the press conference from the media (Al Ahram and Egypt Indipendent were present with journalists and banners) or somehow else…

Away from the daily routine

Cultural live in Hurghada is a bit dreary. There are lots of bars, cafes, restaurants, night clubs, beach clubs and discos.

That’s not enough for more ambitious minds. There is no theatre, no classical music, no ambitious cinema, no reading and so on.

Yet now are feast days (Eid el Adha) and there are exceptions.

El Gouna
I was in the Marina in El Gouna, where live bands play music, comedians cause you laughing and artists thrill with their skills. In El Gouna, the crème of the Egyptian’s society romps about (tourists from all over the world as well, of course) and it did me extremely good to see neat, civilised, well-dressed people. I couldn’t get off my eyes from an elderly man with huge old-fashioned glasses and a horrible hairpiece. Where have I seen him before? When a young man had a photo taken shaking hands with the elderly man, I asked my colleague, who this was. Moufid Fawzy, a TV presenter, interviewer and journalist, who had his own TV show that was critical towards the old regime. And this here, pointing to an elegant gentleman, is a famous Egyptian actor… I smiled and somehow felt good and cosy, a bit like at the Côte d’Azur in summer. The smart yachts some meters behind us and an immaculate starlit sky intensified this feeling.

Sahl Hasheesh
This is another wonderful place outside of Hurghada, where I’ve recently been to a festival. The exceptional thing there is the setting: the event takes place in a captivating oriental building with water gardens, sea view and an astonishing starlit sky.

Mohamed Mounir live
Was it the most beautiful experience? Yesterday, Mohamed Mounir - the “king”, as Egyptians call him – gave a concert in Makadi Bay, about 25 km outside of Hurghada. When I got to know it, I wanted to attend by all means; I love Mohamed Mounir’s voice. He has a special status with Egyptians: he is aware of his responsibility as a famous and popular star and his songs deal with all the present problems, call for temperance, patience and solidarity. His music neatly combines traditional Egyptian instruments and rhythms with Jazz, Reggae and African rhythms. In addition to that comes his strange voice singing in Arabic and Nubian.

I went with low expectations and was all the more surprised: there was security; there were ambulances, a fire engine, chemical toilets and food booths. The parking ushers made big efforts and most of the cars were parked correctly. The stage décor, light- and stage-show and cameras were as it is supposed to be at big concerts. Remarkable? Somehow yes, since I’ve seen only little quality in Hurghada up to now.

Again, the setting was exceptional: a huge sandy place, lightly sloping towards the stage, outside a holiday resort a bit uphill, starlit sky, an almost full bright moon and a cool breeze.

 

Yes, it was the most beautiful experience I’ve had since I settled down in this country three and a half years ago: for two hours I forgot daily life and enjoyed the music, fireworks and the peaceful ambiance…

And shortly before the end of the concert we quickly went to the car to avoid the upcoming traffic jam.

Albeit, I stayed away of the crowd and that was good; as I got to know today, unfortunately, there were again harassments.

El Gouna, Sahl Hasheesh and Makadi Bay have lots in common: they are groomed, expensive and far away from Hurghada – being without car. I was invited by friends and colleagues and I joyfully accepted.

Away from daily life – it did me extremely good and I’m still dreaming…

 

For those who wish to know more:
www.elgouna.com
www.sahl-hasheesh.com
http://hurghadablog.blogspot.com/2011/05/orientalischer-traum-sahl-hasheesh.html
http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohamed_Mounir

Cool Man

As I do so frequently, I’m standing at the roadside, waiting for a microbus. As usual, a taxi stops although I haven’t given any sign. I let the driver understand, that I don’t want to take a taxi.

But hej, what’s that… there’s great music resounding from the car! No Qur’an recitation, no Arabic pop music... it’s: Gipsy Kings and Reggae. I smile and tell him, that his music is great.

I should come in only because of the music; he is on his way home anyway, it’s the end of his shift. No, I don’t want to and give him the sign for: no money. He insits, but I refuse.

Soon later, I get on one of my beloved microbuses, get off in the banking district, settle my business and 15 minutes later, I’m standing once more, as I do so frequently, at the roadside… waiting for a microbus.

Yet, who stops again in front of me? The same taxi driver with the same cool music! He is smiling and says that this is destiny. I agree and get on the taxi. We have a nice chat about music and Hurghada’s taxi-mafia and lough a lot. Reda speaks English rather well, his grey hair is done in a ponytail and on top of it he wears a baseball cap. Before I get out at the Marina, I take his telephone number for the next time. This time, my ride was for free.

This also is Hurghada!

Ibrahim – a PET collector like many

The compound is rectangular: in the middle, there are a swimming pool and a restaurant, and the apartment buildings are set around. The compound is well maintained and clean, at least considering the local conditions.

Outside of the compound, daily Egyptian routine prevails. There is a single trash barrel (some months ago, there were three) that should contain all our rubbish and our neighbour’s as well. That’s not possible of course, and late in the evenings, heaps of waist lay also beside the trash barrel. The wind eddies everything all over the place to where it does not belong. Once per day, the HEPCA guys come to empty the trash barrel.

But before, some others are interested in our remains. I always thought that they were only cats and dogs as well as poor adults who ransack the trash can. Several times per day, men and women living in the nearby shanties carefully ransack bag after bag to find anything usable. Although it is a daily view, I am shocked about it every time. The consequence of the ransacking is a big mess each time around the trash can.

Late at night something else is moving beside the trash can. Amidst of countless open plastic bags scattered around, there is a small boy sitting quietly. Not an adult man, no, a small boy with black curly hair. Due to a lump in my throat I can hardly articulate in Arabic asking what he was doing there. “I am gathering plastic bottles to earn money.”

In the following night, I walk along the uneven way that is lined with garbage and already from far do I see: there he is sitting again between opened garbage bags, calmly throwing used plastic bottles in a huge, strong bag. Again, I have a lump in my throat but after hesitating, I head towards the boy and talk to him.

 „What’s your name?“
„Ibrahim“, a clear child’s voice answers, like a well-educated pupil who answers his teachers questions assiduously.
„How old are you?“
„Thirteen and a half.“ I can hardly believe it.
„You’re so small! Where do you live?“
„Over there!“ and he points towards something in the dark that I can’t see. Over there, there are only bare brickworks and shanties.
“Do you still go to school?”
“No.”
„Why not?“
„We don’t have the money for books“.

I tell Ibrahim that I might see him again the next night. But this night, I can’t find sleep for a long time – too many thoughts assail me, among them memories of other countries where I saw such misery.

Next morning, I call my Arabic teacher to whom I’ve already spoken about the boy. She meant that we foreigners as well as the better-off Egyptians usually believe that help can be brought to such a child and his family by offering food or money. She’s right: it’s the easiest way and silences the conscience, isn’t it?

Yet, it would be better to make it comprehensible to the child that it should fight for going to school; that it is worth to bite through it in order to get out of the misery and not to have to continue as an adult the life of a garbage collector; and to make him understand that he is able to achieve this. The expenses for the books are not the reason – the books in public schools do not cost a lot.

My Arabic is not good. But if I see Ibrahim again, I’ll try to talk to him about school and about life. Although he is only one of hundreds of thousands living in this misery.

Finally a cycling mate

Early in the morning, I was crossing the street after having walked and jogged in the desert and saw – oh dear! – another cyclist! But too late to call him: he was already driving down the road and I only saw the helmet, a blue shirt and two drinking bottles behind the saddle just as triathletes keep them. This was some weeks ago.

*****

Early in the morning, I was riding my bicycle on the inner ring road when a car stopped in front of me giving me the sign to stop beside. As usual, I passed by since I do not appreciate the usual silly small talk of Egyptians who are trying to pick up a foreign lady or just want to take a picture (as it happened last year in Ramadan). Yet, the car came alongside and a young guy asked me politely if I usually rode in the mornings. I affirmed and he said he too was cycling regularly. He asked if we could have a ride together the following Friday. Before I agreed, I asked some questions about his bicycle and his shirt – and I knew that he was the one I had seen before. This was some three weeks ago.

*****

Early in the morning today, we already went for our second ride, fighting the opposing wind and enjoying the tailwind together, enjoying not to have to ride alone in the deserted streets. After more than a year, since Sussie has left, I’ve found another cycling mate and we hope to find some more in Hurghada. In these blazing summer days we start at 6 am. Who wants to join?

Drinking water scarcity

They are getting more and more. I mean the everyday problems.

It’s five months now that queuing at petrol stations is normal. Buses, lorries, taxis and private cars are waiting until three or four o’clock in the morning for the much sought after fuel.

Like every year, this summer as well, Egypt is suffering from power cuts that last from a couple of minutes to many hours. Sometimes, there are “only” current fluctuations. Only is meant sarcastically, because not only food in the fridge and the freezer become inedible but also electric appliances can’t deal with it and die. That may get expensive.

Since a couple of days ago, drinking water is not available everywhere. First, there were no 6 and 7 litre bottles anymore and I put up with the 1,5 litre bottles. They are more expensive and each single bottle means more rubbish, even though there are PET-collectors. Since two days ago, there are not even any 1,5 litre bottles to be bought in my supermarket. Not all parts of the town are concerned in the same way. I already imagine that I’ll have to ask my students to bring their own water along with them and I will boil water for me.

Today I was lucky enough to have a car and a driver and so I went to buy 35 litres of water in another region. I hope that its consumption, the supply will be less worrisome. Otherwise, I really will have to boil the water. Egypt teaches to help oneself.

Why is there a drinking water scarcity? Allegedly because of the fuel shortage. And why is there a fuel shortage? And why are there power cuts? And why? And why?

Yesterday evening, an (Egyptian) friend and I discussed many of these Whys on which Egypt doesn’t seem to have an answer. But of course there is. But nobody is seriously asking about them. Why? Because Egyptians put up with everything, accept everything, don’t question anything, don’t criticize anything. You just have to spend a couple of hours at a train station to witness the following: even if a train is late for several hours, nobody complains. My friend said that Egypt hasn’t changed at all for centuries. Even Napoleon described Egyptians to be extremely indulgent, patient and fatalistic. Egyptians put up with almost everything.

Sometimes, I could fall into despair about this.

At the roadside

An old man is crouching at the roadside. Beside him, a very young woman with a small child is sitting. His daughter? His wife?

It’s seven in the morning and temperatures under the umbrella put up are still pleasant. Two wood boxes are set up on the sidewalk: a cloth is spread over it and on it neatly arranged are some bags with kernels and nuts, paper tissues, cigarettes and chips. Things that nobody needs but everybody buys.

While passing by on my bicycle, the man is greeting me and waves his hand. I smile and greet him too.

But my smile freezes. This scene is neither in the middle of the city nor in a residential area. It’s outside on the ring road before a huge roundabout. It’s seven in the morning and there are already 30° C. Who would stop here to buy anything from these people? How long can they bear up with the heat on the sidewalk with the child? What would they do at noon, when the temperature in the shadow climbs up to 40° C? From where can they get cold water?

Anyway: how did they get there? I calculate: a bag of kernels costs about two or three pounds. Maybe they add 50 piasters or a pound. Or maybe even two. What would remain at the end of the day? Given that they are able to sell something, the turnover might be 20 pounds. That’s the value of 3 kilos of rice, a big pile of subsidised pita bread, a chicken, 300 g of meat or a bag of vegetables. It’s more difficult with fruit, melons are cheap but they would get only one and a half kilo of mangos.

This smile… can’t get it out of my mind… so friendly… so satisfied… and so honest…
And remembering the scene, there is again this strange feeling in my stomach that so often happens to me when I’m out and about. I wonder if this also happens to the Mercedes Kompressor and BMW drivers?