If you are visiting the Sphinx and the Pyramids you should always go….Downtown!
Giza city, Egypt. July 2024.
Did you sing the title of this chapter in your head as you read it? Dusty Springfield?
Depending on what order you are reading the various chapters of Simunye! We are One, you may have already read about my new location routine.
By the way, although I’d recommend reading stories with multiple chapters in order, the book is meant to be an ‘African Salad’ like combination of sights and stories picked up on my journey from Ancient Stones to African Shores. Laid out for you to enjoy however you prefer!
This is the story of day one of my first day in Giza and my chance meeting, I no longer believe in coincidence, with a retired Egyptian lecturer and historian who, not only, shared my view that the pyramids of the Giza plateau were older than the official narrative of 4500 years, he had actually taught this in Cairo’s prestigious Al-Azhar University.
Much older in fact.
More of Rubi and the reason I don’t use his real name later though.
For now let me set the scene. Giza was my first experience of a typical Egyptian city and, unlike the modern New Giza, New Cairo, New Aswan etc. is an intoxicating maelstrom of car horns and camels, silver and silk, perfumes and pistachio nuts, buskers and brass, vendors and vipers (no pun intended), incense and Isis.
I could make word pairs using every letter of the alphabet.
Zinc and zodiacs.
Told ya!
What I want you to picture is bedlam.
Noisy, smelly, exhilarating bedlam.
I spent days exploring the streets of Giza, having realised that the city is about far more than just the Pyramids.
“Just the Pyramids”?
Don’t get me wrong. The spectacular great Pyramid that mainstream Egyptologists attribute to 4th dynasty Pharaoh Khufu, more on that shortly, dominates the view from almost anywhere on the western edge of the city.
Especially now that most of the ashwa’iyat, or informal shacks, that housed up to 2 million of Giza’s poorest, most vulnerable people, have been demolished.
Poverty isn't good for tourism.
More on that later too. Suffice to say that I have witnessed first hand these modern, everything is provided, or, 20 minute cities standing virtually empty all across the Middle East and East Africa.
Ghost towns the colour of white elephants.
Once you head into the downtown area with its hundreds if not thousands of informal stalls and stoves you are faced with a full on sensory barrage that could leave you feeling overwhelmed if you are unfamiliar with the region.
My advice is to dive in feet first and immerse yourself in the smorgasbord of the scents, flavours and most importantly, the people. Eat the food you don't recognise, drink the drinks you’ve never heard of, go down the side streets filled with litter, goats and beggars.
Say hello to people! Merhaba will earn you a smile and a wave in most Arabic speaking countries although it is polite to greet the older generation with the more formal, as-salam alaykum.
Be prepared for poverty that will break your fucking heart!
Missing a courier delivery is a first world problem.
Try being an eight year old who lives with a group of twenty or so children, forced onto the filthy streets because their parents couldn't afford to feed them, or who ran away from home because they were going to be sold into Egypt's thriving organs for sale blackmarket!
You have to wake up before everyone else because, just for fun, if they catch you sleeping on the streets, the police could;
Kick the crap out of you and / or.
Steal the meagre possessions you own.
Remember that trade in human organs I told you about?
Be prepared as well for the constant ‘excitement’ of children following you pretty much 24 /7.
The urchins of Giza tend to operate in large groups with ‘jurisdiction’ for specific areas of the downtown area. Safety in numbers.
Each large group then has splinter groups of around six or seven who each have their own corner, street or attraction where they work.
The kids will approach you and ask for money, food or often, for you to buy them stationery and school supplies. You don't have to give them anything.
You can shout at them to go away, yabtaeid will do the trick. Sometimes, if a police man sees that you appear uncomfortable, are getting annoyed or looking anxious he will chase the kids away.
Then you have to deal with his request for baksheesh.
Baksheesh is a traditional way for working class Egyptians to supplement their income. Tipping, local taxation or bribery, call it what you will.
It was never intended as a way for the police to supplement their income and the word has now become synonymous with having to bribe your local police officer or bureaucrat if you want to avoid lengthy delays.
Or pass through a road block.
Or get permission to travel around Egypt.
I spent the equivalent of £6 sterling and bought a group of 5 or 6 tiny orphans shawarma, chips and a fizzy drink each. Another £2 got them each an ice cream.
From that point on I was treated like a local. Whenever this group spotted me they would run over to me waving, smiling, offering high fives and of course asking for money or food.
I don't have a problem with that. These kids, and many adults, have nothing and here’s the thing. Doing something nice, feels nice, and that's absolutely as it should. It's the basis of the Buddhist concept of Dharma.
Since leaving the UK I have given away far more than I could afford to, be it in cash, medical supplies, food or equipment. I've had to cut short this trip because, apart from the huge, unexpected travel costs, that resulted from the closure of land borders in the area, I’ve given shit loads away!
Maybe I’m a sucker for a sad story.
That’s OK.
So I’m broke and at risk of being stranded in South Africa!
I’m happy, I’ve got all this good karma to come and I have still got more than the vast majority of the people I've met in the past twelve months.
People who greeted me with a smile every time they saw me. Who called me Brother.
Who invited me into their homes to share the tiny bit of food they had with me.
People who showed me beyond any shadow of a doubt.
Simunye! We are One.
Another little tip for any would be travellers. Take a few little toys or trinkets and bags of sweets.
And keep small notes and change with you. Great for tips and for giving to beggars.
The photo accompanying this story is of three, waif-like, Giza street kids who were beyond grateful for the cheap, novelty sunglasses I'd taken with me. Ten pairs for £1.
Ten smiles. Ten things that could be suede for food.
One memory I will never forget.
Within a couple of hours my new location checklist was complete. I had an Orange SIM card, which gave me great coverage whilst I was in Egypt, enough local currency for a couple of days and I was on my way to a tiny cafe opposite the place I was staying that had a sign promising, if I’d translated it correctly, iced coffee.
I've drunk a lot of iced coffees.
I haven't had many conversations as interesting as the one I was about to have.
As I approached the tiny roadside cafe with a little awning providing shade for 2 wrought iron tables, each with 2 chairs, from behind the hazy cloud of a shisha pipe came the words, “hello my friend, would you like to join me for shisha”?
Over the course of the following couple of hours we would discuss the Pyramids’ age, who built them and I would learn a handy trick to stop the coffee granules from floating to the top in the traditional, tiny espresso-like cups used when drinking traditional coffee.
