Cairo and the Khan al-Khalili market

February 23, 2009

The market buzzed, it was similar to the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. It was nighttime and our sweaters were on. People called out, as we walked by in a daze. Sayed, our tour guide, had told us all the things that were sold there had really been made in China and that fact, had somehow made the bazaar less attractive. Fayez, Sayed’s boss, was now leading the way, yet we were tired and certainly looked that way. Both of us waiting for the moment when we would sit for that cup of coffee Fayez had promised.




We had started the day with the pyramids, a camel ride, the sphinx, the hanging Roman church, a papyrus factory, an essential oils demonstration, lunch and had said good bye to our habibi (Sayez) after a two hour tour of the Egyptian museum. We were about to sit for coffee, I think, finally. We were at a spice cart, when a sound of thunder rumbled through the air and shook the ground. We all stopped and looked up to the sky. Then there was silence.







It was the radio of the slouching police of tourism that broke the quiet, as his radio rambled what sounded like very hyper, yet serious sentences in Arabic. Crowds of people were walking quickly towards us, they were nervous, scared, relieved. Yet, there we stood, we knew nothing. Annie and I grew instantly quiet and our eyes widened. Calm, I felt calm. It was as if, the world moved a little slower. I felt my heart move to my head and I asked the question, silently to myself, “Should I be scared?”

My head answered, “Stay alert and focused and trust your instincts. You will be fine.” Our guide was curious and led us toward the noise. He said everything was fine, even allowed the spice seller to continue to give his sales pitch to Annie.

“Smell!” the old man said, as he presented his mixture of saffron and curry. Annie nodded, as they then, put it toward my face. I obligingly sniffed, not noticing the smell at all. Instead, my eyes stayed on the people passing. Quiet. I longed to be alone.

Annie before the bomb had wanted curry, and now found herself smelling a curry saffron mix, while an old man told her how she could cook with it. Annie doesn’t cook, she was being polite and I had become a mute. She finally handed over money for the mix in order to end a pitch, which had no other ending than a purchase.




“Amy will use it.” She said as she met my eyes and mouthed, “Should we be worried?” But before I could answer, we were following again. It is an interesting feeling to know your life is in the hands of a stranger you do not know.

Fayez told us the merchants were closing their stalls because they had broken a law of displaying clothes too close to the street and the police would soon be there. We nodded in agreement, both of us secretly longing for it to be true. Absolutely knowing it wasn’t, but not knowing what to do or what was even the best course of action. The sellers looked at us and I thought I saw pity. Our blonde hair and blue eyes shown and it was clear, we were at least western, certainly a target if a terrorist was looking for such a thing.

Fayez asked, “Would you like to eat something? I know a great Egyptian restaurant, not touristy at all.”

We said yes for the opportunity to duck away. Perhaps we should have said, “Take us to the airport.” But instead getting off the street seemed like a good idea.

He led us and we walked up the stairs of a quaint Egyptian restaurant, where the owner looked at us suspiciously. We ate grape leaves and kebabs and meat and rice dishes that seemed to go on forever and for awhile, we forgot about what had happened. Fayez got calls, he was calm answering in Arabic and we ate.

It wasn’t until we returned to the Khan al-Khalili market that the outside world came back. Crowds, barricades. Annie paused to look down a street and drew the attention of the police. We were stopped, questioned. Fayez, answering. We could only tell that they knew we were American. The police were clearly concerned. Fayez said what seemed to be, “I have it under control.” And again, we followed him. Another barricade and there was a young woman with blonde hair and a North Face fleece jacket, who approached us.

“Do you speak English?” she came up, her eyes wide and soulful.

“Yes.” I answered, realizing the rumbling I had heard must be connected with terrorism.

“I am with the BBC. Are you American?”
“Yes.”
“What happened in there?” She asked again, as a camera and microphone was now in my face.
“We have no idea. We know nothing. We heard an explosion and then people rushing toward us. That is all I know. I am sorry.” I said, following Fayez.

“Please, Miss. We are the BBC, please talk to us.” The camera man, behind me, insisting.
“I am sorry, “ I said turning, “ I don’t know anything.”

Again we were following. Again I saw pity. Again, I felt quiet. Our eyes widened and the world moved on in a muted volume.

Police were everywhere. Swat teams with shields surrounding a building.

“Are you ok walking?” Fayez said, “We just need to get the van and the traffic is impossible. It might be a little bit. Are you ok?”

“We’re fine.” Annie said, forcing a smile, “We can walk off dinner.” That is what happens in a situation like that, you joke about dinner and exercise and you don’t comment on the fact you are weaving through police barricades.

I opened my phone, as we walked and I finally texted Amy, “Get on the BBC and find out what the hell happened in Cairo, we are fine, but we were close, trying to get to the airport now.” The van appeared and our driver looked at us and he was clearly relieved.

“Are you okay?” he said, taking time to listen for the answer.

We got in the van and Annie soon saw sweat running down the temple of Fayez’s head. His hand shook a bit, as he played American music on his phone, to make us more comfortable.

“You will like this one!” he said as we drove to the airport.

No text. So, I sent the same message to Lisa. Amy called, as Annie was given a questionnaire on the quality of Fayez’s tour. She looked at me and shook her head, as if wondering ‘where am I and is this really happening? A questionnaire on the quality of service!? I am alive, I think that pretty much says it all!’

I heard Amy’s voice and I started to shake. Someone died, a French man died and other tourists injured. I had been in the al-Khalili market when a terrorist or terroriststs killed and tried to kill people exactly like me.

Lisa texted the embassy’s number, Annie called it.

“Call my parents, call my sister.” I said to Amy. I should have said, call Justin. Of all people Justin would hear first. He had spent the last year studying and analyzing terrorism in Africa daily. Why did I think he wouldn’t be concerned? I don't know.

Annie and I looked at each other, waiting to board the plane to Sharm El Sheikh, a beach resort town on the Red Sea. It felt weird, or wrong to even go. We stood there in silence feeling the gravity that someone’s vacation ended in death. I looked at Annie and said, “Well, at least we know what you do in the time of a terrorist attack… You buy saffron! I can still see you telling me to smell it. I was thinking, ‘what the fuck are we doing?’”

“Oh my God, I KNOW, I was too! But I just couldn’t help but play along, I didn’t know what to do. So I just gave them money, I don’t even know what I bought.”

“I know. It was crazy.”

It IS crazy. I suppose it is hard to grasp that some die and some get to live. Some get to buy and travel and others sell and struggle. I don’t know how you reconcile that without going crazy.



Instead, I suppose I will say a prayer to a god that is not a being, but a universe, a world, and the prayer will be more like a promise than a wish. I shall do what I can, for love and to promote it. A whole lot hokey, but anyone who really knows me, knows that to be me.