I'm very worried about a kid in Cairo. He is a boy, about 10 years of age and works in a little convenience shop in a very, very non tourist area behind the hotel I stay at. I give him the latest copies of Automobile and Top Gear magazine on my visits and sometimes read the titles to him of the really hot cars.
The turmoil in Egypt is disturbing. I prefer freedom over peace and that's certainly what is going on now in Egypt, but I also deplore the failure of peace over violent acts of reform. I'm not really one to talk. I'm an American and we are quite the warring nation regardless of our intents.
I've travel to Cairo a number of times and it is a challenging city. I've visited Alexandria and it is also, a challenging city if only to find an actual beach. For a few visits, I simply camped out in my hotel room, far too humble, no, scared, to venture out into Cairo and deal with the chaos that is that city. I have the Frogger game on my iPhone as practice for just crossing any street. The errant donkey carts simply come out of the Nile!
One night, however, I did leave the room. I went downstairs, passed through security, turned right and entered an area few Westerners would ever travel. The pavement ended, the streets, or pathways, narrowed. The buildings closed in and the rubble increased. Oddly, mid-80's Open Kaddets lined the streets instead of the vintage Fiats. I moved at a commanding pace and frankly didn't care what I stepped in. In places like this around the world, you simply have to look like you have a purpose and show that. That is to say, don't look like a tourist.
Stray dogs broke there sleeps and took an extra whiff at me. Kids stopped playing and shyly smiled. Adults gave stares of curiosity. It wasn't the first time I ever found or put myself in a very wrong situation. I was once again, an anomaly.
The narrow path met a bustling, for 10pm, street that was somewhat paved but full of life and light. Unlike a Western bar scene, nothing stopped, but I could see the eyes of the people letting me know they knew I was there. Continuing my assertive walk, I made way without the turn of a head to a little shop down the street. I didn't know what I was going to buy, but I knew I had enough cash to get just about anything, maybe the shop.
What we would call a pint size 7-11, this shop had just about everything you'd need at a convenience store. All I wanted was water, some bread and maybe some hummus. The Egyptian Snickers looked tasty as well and despite my so called diet, I had to give that a try! Behind the well lit counter was an older man surrounded by some rambunctious kids, one boy and two girls. The boy was older than the girls but all age ten or less. My appearance brought them to that Western bar stand still.
I speak one word of Arabic and I hope it sounds like, “Thank you.” Just say the word sugar and add a little to it. I had a list of things I wanted and I just started in English with the older man, mixed it with French for good measure but with little result. The lone boy stepped up and started speaking English numbers. That's about it, but he was at least understanding the pointing I was doing. I wanted water, not bath soap.
I ended up with a bit of everything and didn't care. I was having a great time with very informal communication amongst the older man and three kids. There was lots of laughter from them but not in the condescending way, more of nervousness. Water, Fanta, hummus, bread, Snickers and of course soap, all tallied up to $2.00 US. That's a deal! I didn't realize that in the backpack I had with me, it was loaded with the newest Top Gear and Automobile magazine. I love my cars and those magazines were only half read. I don't share some things well.
Here though, in this back section of Cairo, this local section largely forgotten by the five star hotels surrounding it, this section not well visited by anyone but their neighbors and this section that has been incredibly accepting of my intrusion, I gave the boy the magazines. Actually, I gave what I believe to be the father my magazines to give to the boy as I didn't want at all to start some Arab vs. Western faux pas.
With the hand off, I saw the boy's eyes light up. I've seen them before. They were mine. They still are. When I was about the same age my eyes lit up at the sight of the beautiful machine of the world. I lived and breathed auto magazines and tellingly, even to this day I do the same. The boy took the magazines and quickly thumbed through them showing me the cars he liked. A small crowd gathered and although this set off my internal alarms, all seemed well and I felt very welcomed.
I've since made many visits to the shop, the boy and the street. I've ventured out down the street and found a few places to eat local food and make friends at the shop. The turmoil of Cairo is non existent on this street and the some of the friendliest smiles can be found. I've only taken a few crew members there but I've taken lots of auto magazines.
Over the course of a year, the boy learned how to read all the right words, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Mercedes, BMW and Corvette. I never passed on from “sugar” and that's fine. I secretly hope the boy can see there is a better world than dirt city paths and 1950's Fiats. He's too young to be part of the current fight but I hope he is well, safe and possibly thinking of a future, as we all do, of freedom and the possibility of driving the finest machines on earth.
