Khadija wrote this as an example of a pastiche.... I really wanted to share it: To serenity and havoc. Stepping out of the comfort of my empire into a realm I do not seem to recognize or know. Cairo. The unbearable humidity trying to pull me back, I walk. Driving through the anarchic boulevards, watching the old man pride himself for beating a ten-year old at “tawla”, observing the six year old girl whose stolen childhood has been sadly replaced by a life of selling tissues nobody ever bothers to buy. I watch. The calligraphy engraved on the walls of bustled streets speaking magical words every one sees but nobody seems to listen to. The smell of freshly baked baladi bread tingling in my nose, and I can hear the heavenly foul and ta’ameya stands summoning me from miles away. Pacing through the streets now marked with martyrs’ golden blood, I walk. Listening to the imam preach the healing power of unity. Walking through the squares where freedom is promised but never delivered. I hear the people screaming for even a taste of this marvel those foreigners call liberty. And for a second, their painful calls are put to rest. But only for a second. Everything around me moves slowly, the shopkeeper desperately trying to sell a simple keychain, knowing that at any second, everything could come to an end. His family legacy falling to ruins right before his own eyes, as shame makes its way,all the way through his galabeya into his bare feet. Cairo. The capital that once was the lively center of a liberated civilization. Standing on burning floors, I wait to smell the air of a free Egypt. Sadly, the smell never came.
Posted on: Sun, 15 Sep 2013 08:24:14 +0000
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