SANDStorm

Ataba is a neighborhood in Cairo where you can get anything for cheap. You want to try out your bargaining skills? Head to Ataba for a wide variety of acrylic sweaters, pajamas, plastic remote-control cars, and, at the time of my most recent visit, Christmas decorations.

Ataba is filled with bargain hunters and vendors every hour of the day and there is rarely room to catch your breath and take in the scene.

I walked through Ataba on my way to the metro station with our friend visiting from DC. As we entered into the flow of shoppers, two young girls, maybe four and seven years old, came running up to us.

“Hello! How are you?” said the oldest with a huge smile on her face.

“Hello! I’m fine. How are you?” we replied. They just giggled, ran back to their mother, and we continued on down the alley. A few paces later, we heard the girls from right behind us, “Hello! What’s your name?”

“Sarah.”

“LeeAnn.”

The girls practiced our names and then ran away. We continued shuffling through the crowd, until we heard our names being called out from behind us. We turned around and the young girls were again at our side. I felt a small hand take my hand and looked down to see the oldest girl smiling up at me. I smiled, and tried to shake her hand out of mine. She didn’t budge – her hand stayed in my hand.

I looked back to find her mother. Her mother looked at me and looked at her daughter and yelled her name. The daughter didn’t budge and wouldn’t release her death grib out of my hand. I yelled loudly toward her mother, hoping she’d hear my name and apology.

“Ismee Sarah…kwayyis? Ana asfa. Kwayyis?”

I quickly realized that my colloquial Egyptian Arabic lessons have not prepared me for this situation. How do I convey to the mother that I am okay, trustworthy, and do not want any harm whatsoever to come to her daughter? In fact, I want this situation to end as quickly as possible!

But the flow of shoppers was too much to fight and we were carried along with the crowd – me, LeeAnn, the two young girls holding my hands, their mother, and two teenage girls with their mother who were related somehow. All eight of us were trying to stay together as we walked through the crowd. I was in the middle of the line with the little girls, holding on to dear life, watching the mother behind me and yelling up to the other mother who was leading our group, when the distance between us all got too far apart.

Oh my God, I was in a crazy, exciting and intensely terrifying hell which wasn’t going to end anytime soon because the family was also headed to the metro station. I was walking through complete neon chaos while trying to keep eight people together, trying to listen and respond to the girls’ questions in Arabic, and trying to make sure my camera and bag was still on my shoulder. I was getting a really big headache.

We got to the edge of a four-lane street and I finally was able to tell the mother my name, where I was from, and that we were also going to the metro. Again, I apologized and asked her if it was okay if we walked with them. The mother seemed to realize that the little girls controlled the situation right now. So, we all stood in a line and stepped out into the traffic together.

“I think I’m about to have a heart attack,” I’m thinking.

I knew the metro station was close, on the other side of the street. As we neared the station, I heard LeeAnn yell to me that some man is grabbing her butt. I couldn’t tell her what to say to him though – I didn’t want the girls to hear my vulger Arabic!

We made it down into the station and learned that the family was going in the opposite direction (thank goodness! il hamdullilah!). The girls though were not ready to leave us and, I think, invited us to their house. I begged out of it though, assuming that the mothers had probably had their fill of this adventure (as much as I would honestly have loooved to go to their house!). As we neared the entrance turnstiles, the girls started squeeling with delight and ran right behind me so they could enter through the turnstile with me. We then stepped onto the escalator, hand in hand.

At this point, it was time to say goodbye. The mothers dragged the girls away and down the entrance to El Marg and we turned towards the direction of Giza. On the platform, we waved to each other across the train tracks and the girls called out our names. We watched the family then turn back towards the stairs and make their way to the exit. We assumed they were probably going to the front of the train, which is reserved for women, but not so.

Five minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see the entire family on the platform to Giza with us!

“What the ~? Why, hello again!” we smiled as our train pulled up to the platform.

The teenage girls explained that they wanted to say one last goodbye and we quickly smiled and said our “Ma’salaam‘s” as the youngest girl tried to grab onto my hand again. I shoke her away as tears welled up in her eyes and stepped onto the train. The doors closed and we watched the family as our train pulled away.

“What just happened…what…what was that?”

I was dumbfounded, my head was aching, and I was paranoid for the entire ride that one of the girls had somehow snuck onto our train with us.

Tags: Egypt, Travel, Tag Index

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 19th, 2006 at 12:52 am and is filed under Egypt, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.