26. Cairo, 1995 - Arrival
In which Eleanor ponders bathrooms.
Eleanor arrives in Cairo. Apartment hunting throws up some…um…interesting challenges. 
Eleanor
Dear Meredith
I’m writing this to you from the first night in my new apartment! I finally found one! Yippee! Hooray! The novelty of living in a hotel wears off fast, I can tell you.
Where even to begin? My first month here has been such a whirlwind.
Cairo is insane and crazy and amazing and wonderful. In just a few short weeks it has totally wound its way into my heart. It’s an absolutely chaotic city, teeming with people and traffic, bursting with sound, sights, lights, animals and smells. It’s a full on assault of the senses—in the best possible way. Its beautiful mosques and Art Deco buildings stop me in my walks. I had no idea Cairo was filled with so much magnificent architecture. You think Cairo and you think pyramids. But no—they’re but a tiny part of Cairo, and not even the best part.
And Cairo at night! Now I’m really going to go into raptures. (Think some gushy heroine in some historical pulp romance going all gooey-eyed at her lover: that’s me thinking of Cairo at night). It’s like everyone comes out to play at night. If you thought the city was alive during the day, you realize it was actually sleeping once you’ve experienced Cairo at night.
Lights sparkle in the gardens and restaurants along the Nile. The cafes and coffee shops spill out onto sidewalks. Old men in galabayas (long robes, with wide sleeves—both men and women wear them) play intense games of backgammon. The smell of Arabic spiced coffee (gahweh it’s called in Egyptian Arabic) blends with the sweet smell of shisha. (Do you remember the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland smoking a hookah? That’s what a shisha is. Not to be confused with a bong — which is an entirely different thing.) They use tobacco prepared in molasses and flavored with fruit flavors. Apple is my favorite. Yes, of course I’ve tried smoking one! They’re actually much gentler on the throat than regular cigarettes—but pack quite the nicotine punch! Probably they’re terrible for your health, but who cares.
Couples stroll along the corniche—so much more exotic than the Esplanade in Durban. Even in black abaya’s, the women with their kohl eyes are like something out of Kubla Khan. I think it’s the very fact that they show so little that makes what they do show so alluring. A hint of an ankle in a sandalled foot. Carefully manicure hands. And the eyes! Headscarves draw all the attention to the eyes.
And then on the Nile dinner cruises mix with party barges mix with feluccas (the type of traditional sailing boat they have here, lateen-rigged—ask your Dad, he can explain much better than I, navy man that he is!) You hear Arabic music wafting across the water, catch glimpses of belly dancers performing. I’ll enclose a cassette with some Arabic pop music for you when I post this tomorrow. I wonder what you will make of it? My ear is still getting used to it—but it’s growing on me.
And then there are the donkeys. And the camels. And the perfumeries. And the constant conversation every single car is having with every single other car by way of it’s horn.
I did tell you it’s a full on assault of the senses!
And surrounding the city the desert, like a woman’s headscarf with only her eyes shining through.
Can you picture it all?
I’ve been transported to another world entirely. And every fiber of my being loves it.
After an epic tour of more than a dozen of apartments, we finally found one that checks all the boxes. By we I mean me and “Tannie Magda”, as I call her (but only between you and I). She’s the Counsellor at the Embassy, so the most senior political officer after the Ambassador. (We don’t count intelligence staff as political staff.) She’s your typical “Tannie”, quite officious and over-bearing, and built a little like a battleship, but she means well and is actually quite warm and caring once you get to know her. She totally took me under her wing to help me find an apartment.
At first the apartment search seemed hopeless. Magda dismissed the first few apartments within minutes—they didn’t have western style bathrooms. Even I was prepared to concede that was a deal breaker. On that basis alone everything we saw on day one was no, no, no and no.
The next set we saw a few days later was much better. But too expensive. Or too far away from the British Council where I am studying. Or the kitchen was tiny and cramped. Or the furniture and decor were so over done you felt you were in a hothouse.
On our fourth trip out, I was starting to feel it was hopeless and that Magda was just making it impossible. This time we started in Zamalek. It’s an island in the middle of the Nile, pretty much right opposite central Cairo. The first place met almost all the criteria—walking distance from the Council, budget, three bedrooms (mine, guest and one to become my study), western decent kitchen, furnished in a style I could actually live with—not dripping with tassels, gold spray paint and drapery that feels like a mausoleum, shower, but….no bathtub.
Surely I can live without a bathtub, I thought.
“Don’t settle,” said Magda, seeing me hesitate. “This is too important, It’s your home for two years. It’s got to be something you will feel truly comfortable in.”
My heart sank. Again. Because, yes, as you know, I really do like my baths!
And then we came to 11 Gezira Al-Wosta St. And it’s going to be home for the next two years. Cue happy dance.
As I can’t show you photos, I thought you might like a description of it.
It’s a five story, U-shaped building, with a small courtyard full of trees and flowers fronting the street. The bawaabs (doormen, every building in a middle class neighborhood in Cairo has them) keep the courtyard immaculate, so there’s none of the pervasive dust that coats everything in Cairo. Magda had to explain bawaabs to me—that was not something we covered in Arabic class in Pretoria. They run errands, maintain the buildings, park the cars, fix stuff, find stuff, put out the trash. They are the eyes and ears of the building. They know everyone and everything that goes on in the building. And it’s important to keep them onside, Magda says, as they have a hundred ways to make life difficult for one if not.
The building is on the north western tip of the island, just a five minute cab ride from the Council, or a twenty minute walk. The street is tree lined and it’s surprisingly quiet. The din of Cairo’s traffic is barely audible. There’s a quiet peacefulness to this street even though it’s only a few blocks away from the roar of 15 May Bridge, the elevated highway that cuts across the northern section of Zamalek, connecting Giza on the West Bank with central Cairo on the East Bank, and underneath it 26th of July Street, the main thoroughfare across Zamalek. An aside: one of the quirks about Cairo is how many street names are named after important dates in Egypt’s modern history. 15 May 1971—the purging of Nassar’s loyalists by the Sadat regime and the start of the “Corrective Revolution”. 26 July 1952—the day Egypt’s last king went into exile.
My apartment is in a beautiful Art Deco building. Its walls are grayed by Cairo’s pervasive pollution and dust, but it's balconies, shutters and wrought iron grille work still have their grace. The elevator is another Art Deco marvel. Gleaming wrought iron grill work on the outside; etched glass and wood polished to a mirror on the inside.
My apartment is on the top floor, and from the balcony I can see the Nile through the trees and other buildings. It’s L shaped, with one side of the L facing north onto the Nile and the other on the west side of the building. The two main bedrooms both face north and open onto the balcony. Then there’s a huge combined living room and dining room that also connects onto the balcony from the other leg of the L. The kitchen, bathroom and third bedroom (what will be my study) are opposite the lounge and dining room.
The apartment has beautiful gleaming hardwood floors, is simply furnished with the minimum of gilt and some beautiful original Art Deco pieces (the dining room table and sideboard). Apparently Louis XV style furniture is the thing here. Who knew? That’s one of the major appeals of this apartment: only two Louis XV chairs in the whole place. Most of the other apartments we saw were absolutely stuffed to the gills with Louis XV furniture.
My stuff from South Africa should arrive in another month or so, so it will be a bit spartan living for a while. I also foresee many, many, many trips to the Khan Al Khalili in the coming months. That’s the historic souq (bazaar) in old Cairo. I’ve spent hours there already, enchanted by the Oriental lamps, Egyptian glasswork and pottery, Bedouin carpets, and the bolts of gleaming Egyptian cotton and Syrian damask. I can’t wait for my sewing machine to arrive!
And what about what I’m really here to do: study Arabic?
We spend mornings on fusha1—that’s Modern Standard Arabic; the formal Arabic used across the entire Middle East, and for all books, official communications, newspapers, news broadcasts etc. And then the afternoons are ‘ammiyah, that’s colloquial Egyptian spoken Arabic. While it’s absolutely Arabic, it’s really more like a dialect. It has wholly different pronunciation, and sometimes even wholly different words, than fusha. I put a little apostrophe before the first A in ‘ammiyah—that’s to signal that the A is pronounced as a glottal A, from the back of one’s throat. Arabic also has another “soft” a, which is like our English ah.
There are seven of us in the morning class, and nine of us in the afternoon class. The others are an eclectic mix from all over: there are missionaries (yes, actual missionaries—in 1995!), study abroad students, various volunteers, aid and NGO workers, and some spouses of other various expatriates and diplomats. We have people from England, Finland, the Netherlands, Germany, and Australia. No Americans. I’m the only South African. I’m still getting to know people, but am connecting most with a trio from St Andrew’s University in Scotland—as they, like me, and two others (one from Finland, the other from the Netherlands) are the only ones doing both the morning and afternoon classes like I am.
Ok, that’s all for now. Do write and tell me all about the new album you’re working on. You can post a cassette through the diplomatic mail—just use the address on the back of this envelope. If you hear from Alasdair, tell him I say hi. Last I heard he was going to be coming back to South Africa sometime soon with his fiancée…?
All my love
Elle
I put my pen and writing pad down on the bedside table, and turn off the light. I am finally feeling tired and sleepy. It’s been an exciting day, getting set-up in the apartment with some borrowed stuff from other embassy people until my stuff arrives.
The window onto the balcony is open. I drift off to sleep, listening to the distant sounds of Cairo, dreaming of Mahdi.
And am jolted wide awake at 5:30am by the first call to prayer.
I get up and step out onto the balcony. I stand listening for a while, fascinated. All across the city the call rises, like mist lifting from the river. This early in the morning, and here on this leafy street in Zamalek, I can barely hear any traffic. Just the twitter of sparrows and the call to prayer. I close my eyes and listen. A shiver goes down my spine and I get goose bumps.
The sound rising all across the city rises like a mystical, ethereal magic carpet, transporting me to a place of wonder.
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Bonus Material
Cairo Scenes
Galabaya’s: the “dress” for everyone, of any age
Cairo’s Art Deco buildings…and elevators
The British Council
El Fishawy: Cairo’s most famous coffee house
Book Club #3: Saturday January 4, 2025
Young Diplomats in a Young Democracy
It was the dawn of the new era. Freedom had come. And we were young and literally right there, starting our careers as diplomats.
Sober? Generally. Sedate? Sometimes. Hopeful? Overflowing.
Our guests this month are Linford Andrews, now head of Electoral Support at The Commonwealth, and Ingrid Kirsten, who’s career has focussed on nuclear disarmament and non-proliferation.
Pronounced fus-ha