90 Cents

November 1, 2008

The Egyptian Museum of Antiquities is over 170 years old. It was moved around several times before finding its current pink permanent residence in downtown Cairo…which was built in 1902. There are so many Egyptian Pharaonic, (a real word), artifacts housed there that it’s kinda mind boggling to think someone dug all of it up out of the sand where it had been buried for thousands of years. Everything from giant stone or granite statues, to the tiniest little turquoise beads…no bigger than a pin head, is on display there. I only spent about 3 hours wandering around the museum, which I’m sure wasn’t hardly enough time to experience its full effects. But I saw what I went there to see…the Mummies. I saw the mummy’s of Kings and Queens, and even their mummified royal pets. And to top it all off I saw a mummified crocodile that had been placed in the burial chamber of some important person. The thing was huge…easily 35 feet long! And in its mouth they found the mummified remains of a baby croc, (also on display.) How or why it was there I have no idea. But it was cool as hell just the same.

The one thing that steals some of the limelight from the wondrous things I’ve seen here is the way everyone has their hand out for the almighty dollar, (pound in this case.) Money is the ONLY thing that matters here. I guess that truth can be said for all the Arab places I’ve visited. But here in Cairo it’s so much more pronounced. There are common beggars on every street who ask for money without offering a thing in return. And then there are the meager workers offering a shoe shine or flowers for next to nothing in return. But most offensively are the local cops who have their grubby hands in the game too. I stood on the corner outside a coffee shop waiting for Mahmoud to pick me up the other day and watched the local police put on their dirty little lucrative show. If someone double parked, even if just for a second to drop off a passenger, a cop was right there at the window of the car hassling them until money finally exchanged hands. If a car was parked for too long in one spot a wrecker truck appeared out of nowhere and a boot was placed on the wheel so the owner couldn’t leave without first seeing the nearest flat foot. I watched a man come out of a bank to find his car had a boot on it. He looked around and found the nearest cop, (they seem to be everywhere), and got into a conversation with him. I don’t know exactly what happened but I saw the man get into his wallet and look as if he didn’t have enough money on him. So the cop had the wrecker driver take the boot off the guys car and then get in with him to zoom off down the road…I presume to go get more money. The cop sent the wrecker driver with this guy to go get more money! I stood on the corner laughing as I watched the show and was glad I wasn’t involved. That is, until I took a walk onto the bridge to get some pics of the Nile River. As I was standing there a cop came and sat down in this little shack I was next to. He looked at me and asked in broken English if I was American. I should have told him I was Canadian and maybe he would have left me alone. But I am proud, so I say, “Yes, American.” Then I tell him I am a policeman in America just to make conversation. He looked at me funny and gestured towards my beard. Apparently cops in Egypt can’t have beards. I said in America it was OK. He smiled and then put out his hand and asked me for “faloose”, or money. I was kind of expecting it, but not just a blatant hand out. I thought he would tell me it cost money to take pictures from the bridge or something, or maybe to stand near his shack. Hell, he could have charged me for having a damn beard and I would have been less incredulous. But he made no attempt to disguise what all cops in this city do so commonly. He just looked at me blankly and asked for money. So I was at my first real crossroad of this trip. Give the crooked SOB money and lose a little pride in the process. Or, tell him to get bent and maybe lose something more valuable…like my freedom. Or I could do a little dance and talk my way out of the jam I seemed to be getting into. I hadn’t seen anyone hooked up and hauled off yet, so my fantasies of an Egyptian jail and “The Midnight Express” quickly faded. And then there was just no way I was going to give this guy money for simply sticking his hand out to ask for it. I have looked stone cold, broke-dick beggars in the eye and said “La” so many times I have lost count…and each and every one of them could have surely used the money more than this servant of the people. Where was the dignity? Where was the blue-pride that I thought was universal? And most importantly…where was Indiana Jones when I needed him!? So, I decided to do a little jig, a little two-step, a disco dance of my own to get off the bridge and out of this guy’s site. I was all smiles when I started to walk away, all the while throwing every English word I could think of at this guy to confuse him. The look on his face was more resignation than objection, and he didn’t make any effort to stop me as I walked away. I could have written a good book about my experiences in that Egyptian jail though…maybe Spielberg would have made the movie.

At the museum the cops made another lasting impression on me. We were walking all over the place snapping photos, just like all the hundreds of other tourists. But we went upstairs and all of a sudden a cop comes up to me and wants to take my camera. Luckily Mahmoud was with me so he could talk to the cop and see what his problem was. They talked back and forth for a minute but I didn’t really need an interpretation of what was happening. I guess I wasn’t allowed to take pictures…all of a sudden. But as I’m putting my camera back into my pocket the cop winks at me. Son of a bitch winked at me! “Mashi”, (OK), I said with a knowing grin on my face and I got into my pocket and gave the guy a 5 pound note. (.90 cents) He was cool like the other side of the pillow then…all smiles and pointing me in the right direction. But I was kind of hot now…I know it’s only .90 cents and all, but it’s just the damn principal of it! So Mahmoud and I headed to the Mummy area, which is an extra cost to see and has signs posted all over the place, “No Photography Allowed”. So they posted it this time…OK, I was good with that. I mean, a rule is a rule and I can abide by that. So I stuffed my camera into my pocket, paid the 100 pounds, (2 pounds for Mahmoud since he is Egyptian…thieves I tell you!), and went in to see some mummies. The room was cool and dark and the mummies were all laid out in these glass cases that had little thermostats in them for climate control. It was all very impressive, as far as mummies go. But Jim’s not thinking about history anymore…forget thousand year old Kings and Queens…I am going to get my damn picture! So Mahmoud was very impressed with everything, he was all smiles and seemed pleased to be seeing his own mummified history…until I told him my plan to take a picture of one. His face went blank and he just turned away from me and walked out of the chamber. So much for my wing-man! I guess I can’t blame him really because if I got caught it’d probably have been him who got busted as the local and me just kicked out as the dumb American tourist. Well, no one got busted, no one got kicked out, and I got my 100 pound Mummy picture! When I walked out Mahmoud was looking at me with a sick stare. I just laughed at the poor guy. He is a good and honest man and I am fortunate to have him as a friend and guide in this city. But I am an American dammit, a rebel by nature, and too proud to let .90 cents just fade away into the Egyptian sunset! Who needs Indy…where’s my damn hat and whip!

-Jim Franks