Taxi Ride

There's going to be a huge anti-war demonstration in Cairo today -
about 1 million people - according to the taxi driver who brought me to
work this morning. He said, "They're flocking to Cairo from all over
the country. From Mounifeya. From the villages. They're all walking to
Cairo to say no to war!"

Taxi drivers in Cairo can be divided into two basic categories. The
first category - they ask you where you're going, and then turn up
whatever radio station it is they're listening to - and don't say
another word to you. I have to admit - I prefer these taxi drivers -
cause then I can sit in the back seat, and just watch Cairo fly
by.

This morning's taxi driver fits into the second category. Very
talkative. Extremely opinionated. And hardly gives you a chance to get
a word in edgewise even if you wanted to. They basically talk from the
minute you get into the taxi, till the minute you get out. Most of the
time, I just nod and smile, having trouble understanding half of what
it is they're saying.

Except for this morning. He was complaining that half of the streets
all over Cairo, from Saraya El Kobba to downtown, were already teeming
with demonstrators, blocking the way. And so his route was limited. He
was telling me this, I think, so that I'd pay more than the required 4
pounds from my apartment to the office. Taxis in Cairo don't use
metres, so you have to estimate how much to pay. And I was getting
ready just to nod and smile, when he asked me, "What do you think of
these demonstrations?"

At this point, it has to be said, I have a lot of trouble expressing
myself in Arabic. Sure, I can pull of a conversation, but a political
one - that isn't so easy. I smiled, trying to buy myself some time,
trying to form a sentence in my mind in Arabic, and came up with
something dull like "They are doing what they think is right." He
wasn't convinced, and launched into a speech, "Yes, but do they think
they're going to accomplish anything? They are running around the
streets, shouting no to war, no to war, and no one is listening. How
many of them really care? How many of them are sincere about their
support for Iraq. It's all psychological." I started to get worked up,
"But this is their way of making their voices heard" - which I said as
a direct translation from English to Arabic - and it sounded absolutely
ridiculous. He looked at me in the rear-view mirror, raising an
eyebrow, a smile dancing around his eyes. I laughed, and tried to make
my point, "This is all they have. This is the only way their opinion
will be heard." He wasn't convinced, "Maybe 1 percent, 2 at the most,
are doing this in all sincerity. But the rest - they're just along for
the ride. And tonight - I will go home, and watch Al Jazeera and see
what those crazy people have to say about the Egyptian protests!"

And so the conversation took an instant turn, to Al Jazeera, an Arab
news channel, known for bashing Egypt's foreign policy, bashing Israel
and any other political movement they don't agree with. I don't watch
it, cause I just don't understand anything that is being said. "Do you
watch Al Jazeera?" he asked me. "No I don't," I replied.

"You're not interested in politics? In war? In destruction?" I shook my
head, seeing this as the easiest way to get out of a conversation that
was bound to get sticky. "That is better - you young people - you stick
to your music." Again, the conversation took a turn. "My daughter - she
is in college - and at home - we are always fighting over what to
watch. She always has the music channel on. And on the other TV - my
wife watches soap operas and films. And my son - he has control of the
radio. And they broke my VCR!" (I wasn't sure who he meant by "they",
but he was obviously in the middle of a rant - and I wasn't about to
interrupt him.) "They said they needed to get inside the VCR, to clean
something - but they went and took all the buttons off! Why did they
need to take the buttons off to clean it? And now it's just a useless
box! And either way - I can't watch Al Jazeera - I want to know about
the war - the destruction - that's what I'm interested in - and instead
I'm watching soap operas - or music!"

At this point, there wasn't much else I could do but nod and smile. But
he didn't seem to mind, he still had lots to say. "And that music
channel - they always play the same song - the one that goes 'Di di di
di mamma! Di di di mamma!'" I started to laugh, as he tried to imitate
some song - but I couldn't figure out for the life of me which one he
meant. "You know that song?" I shook my head. "It's that one - where he
wants to bury his mother. You know - he's digging a hole in the ground
- the crazy boy with the very short hair - and he has tattoos
practically carved into his arms - and he wants to kill his mother -
because of all the bad things she did to him when he was a child!" I
realised he was talking about Eminem.

Now, for an Egyptian taxi driver to know about Eminem, and even attempt
to sing his songs - that isn't exactly common. Taxi drivers his age
usually listen to old Arabic songs from the 40s and 50s. "You know
him?" I nodded. "Do you like that song?" I shook my head. "My daughter
- she likes that song. But I don't know why! He's crazy! Wants to kill
his mother!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

He went quiet for about 5 minutes, and I thought he had run out of
things to say. I was wrong. "So are you in school?" Despite being 23, I
could easily pass for a 17 year old, and most people don't believe me
when I tell them my age.

"No - I graduated from university."

"From where?"

"I got my degree in English Literature." I never tell them which
university, cause if I say that I went to the American University -
they'll assume that I'm filthy rich and hoarding my millions. I'm not
going to exactly tell him my life history - that AUC was my only option
cause I can't read or write Arabic, and so I couldn't possibly attend
an Egyptian university. I'm not going to tell him that my parents did
everything they could to put me and my sister through university,
saving up, or that I was on financial aid, and that I had a partial
scholarship. Luckily, he didn't ask me which university, and went on to
his next question. "And are you working?" I nodded. His face broke into
a huge smile, "Bravo! Bravo! It is so hard to find work in this
country. Bravo! Well done!" I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm
at my finding a job, but kept quiet. He repeated himself, "I said
bravo!" I laughed, thanked him, not sure what I was supposed to say,
and he went on. "Yes! It is so hard to find a job in this country. Well
done!" So I replied, "Thank God," which is what I think he wanted me to
say. Apparently it was, and satisfied with my reply, he continued, "My
son - he is studying computers. He has a year to go - but I am going to
make him get a job this summer. He has to get experience. He has to
learn how to deal with people. How to lie. How to swindle. These are
qualities my son doesn't have. But he must learn them to survive.
Public relations are very important." I wasn't sure why lying had to be
an essential part of public relations, but wasn't prepared to argue it
out with him, so I went back to nodding and smiling.

By this time, we were almost at the office, and then we hit a traffic
jam. So we sat in the car waiting, while he complained about Cairo
traffic. We were next to a construction site - and a lorry full of
bricks was blocking the way. "They should do this sort of thing at
night! Not in the morning - when people are trying to get to work!" And
I just kept nodding and smiling, feeling like a complete idiot. "This
building," he said, pointing to the huge hotel and apartment complex
that they've been working on for over a year, "It's very ugly."

Nod and smile.

He switched the engine off, something taxi drivers tend to do at
traffic lights, to save petrol. Then he whipped around, looking at me,
exclaiming, "What if the demonstrations have reached this area? Oh my
God! We'll be stuck here for hours! Oh my God! But no - it's still too
early - they can't have reached here yet - but you know - they are
going to come to this area - so you must be careful when you are
leaving."

Nod and smile.

The cars ahead of us started to move, and he switched the engine back
on, and we couldn't see what had been holding up traffic. Two minutes
later, we reached the office, I asked him to stop the car, and giving
him a five-pound note, thanked him and got out of the taxi.

Crossing the street, I was feeling a bit shell shocked, but this
definitely was one of the most entertaining rides I've had to work
yet.