Other shops sell the materials for making galabias,
the long robes worn by Arab men in Egypt and around the
Middle East. In front of a busy shop, a man is sewing
hundreds of small packets of instant noodles, most likely
imported from Asia, into a package formed from plastic
sacking material. Other men weave through the crowds,
balancing wicker boxes laden with fresh Arab bread. The
crowds part to let those at work pass through and then
relax, closing ranks behind them. Standing to the side of
al-Muski Street for a few minutes, I witness a river of
human souls pass by. Small, bright-eyed children clasp a
parent's hand, elderly men with white beards stroll somberly
with their friends or grown sons, and young girls laugh
under their head scarves as they spy a foreign visitor
watching. "Welcome," said one girl, her voice confident,
just as Egypt seems confident and sure in the new period of
peace and relative prosperity its capital is enjoying.
 |
|
Traditionally dressed
men chat on a market sidewalk. |
|
The sweet potato man
Suddenly I spy the
sweet potato man. I had been hoping to find him again--him
or any of the few dozen men who sell hot potatoes from
wooden-wheeled handcarts they push through the crowds. Years
ago I had wandered through Cairo all day and deep into the
night, captivated by its teahouses, water pipes, mosques,
and restless humanity. It was late, close to 10:00 p.m.,
when I encountered a sweet potato man in the darkness of the
Khan's shuttered shops and alleys. The metal and ceramic
oven atop his wagon had gone out, but the embers of his fire
still glowed and he had a hot potato to sell for a few
pennies. It was delicious, its skin crispy and inside
steamy. As I walked away, trying to eat without burning my
fingers, the man spread a ragged blanket over his cart. He
lay down to sleep next to his small oven, taking some warmth
before the night would turn as cold as the dark, wet
streets.
I'd always thought of that man as representing the
struggle of the Third World--serving up a decent bit of food
at a tiny profit while barely able to stay alive himself.
Now, after so many years, I felt both happy and sad to turn
a corner and again encounter one of these vendors. His name
was Rabay Gomah. He told me he had been selling sweet
potatoes from his cart in the Khan for fifteen years. Each
goes for 25 to 50 piasters (about 8 to 16 cents U.S.)
according to the size and market price. On busy days he can
sell about sixty pounds of potatoes.
|
![](javascript:popUp("../Images/limg7.jpg"))
