El Bawaab

You see them sitting in front of every building, smoking endlessly, with their gabbabiyas rolled up their legs in an attempt to rid themselves of the heat. This is el bawwab, ‘the gate keeper’. Everyone, everyone, in Cairo has one. Except me, that’s it. I don’t.

Which explains why there is garbage mounting outside my door.

I used to have a bawaab. In fact I had four. They all left. Well, they were actually asked to leave by my upstairs neighbour, who tends to shout at everyone who is unfortunate enough to cross his path, but that’s an entirely different story….

My first bawaab was called Mohammed and he was a real SLB (sad little B***ard), who complained about the smell of my baby’s soiled nappies ( as if HE himself smelt any better!), expected us to pay him more than the rest of the (egyptian) residents, and generally made us feel very uncomfortable.

Our second Bawaab, surprisingly enough, was also called Mohammed and he was good humoured and pleasant enough, although terribly lazy. The best thing about Mohammed II was his wife, Nababya, who happened to talk a lot. Except that she spoke only Arabic, which I don’t (see previous posts). Nababya was the sort of person that when starting to talk, cannot stop, and does not care much about the listener. She was happy to carry on talking for as long as my presence provided her with an audience; whether I was bored senseless or could no understand a word of what she was saying was circumstantial and not to be noticed. Anyhow and besides, Nababya was great company and I eventually learned many Arabic words from her. Did miss her a lot when she had to go.

And then came the third, and Mohammed was his name. Mohammed III and his wife, Sheimar, were really very bizarre. Probably the most annoying thing about them was the way they seemed to look at us , like if we were creatures from outer space that just happened to land in their building. ..

It was worst when we were in our (private?) garden, doing some work or playing with the children,: they would creep in, come really close to us and just STARE, a curious and amazed expression in

their faces.

Mohammed III was soon replaced by Mohammed IV, his wife, (who was also called Sheimar, but hey, at least I had no trouble remembering their names!) and his five year old son, Islam. Not much to say about them, other than Sheimar slept all day, Mohammed IV was nowhere to be seen, and Islam…well he practically lived in my house with us . If a window was left open, he would climb up and squeeze in, run to the fridge and help himself with whichever snack he fancied, all this while I was blissfully unaware of his presence . Islam was a sweet and bright little boy. My daughter adored him. And so did I.

And now, with no bawaab, I am for the first time enjoying the privacy of my home,. So there , no moral to this particular story, and I’m sure many other Mohammeds will come and go. That’s the charm about my building.