An evocative account of a day in Cairo.
Very few people can afford a new car and even fewer can afford insurance. As a result, disputes over collisions are resolved at the roadside and generally involve lots of shouting and waving of arms. I was quickly introduced to the Egyptian school of motoring. I responded to Mohammad’s attempts at conversation with some reluctance as he darted in between cars and hurtled towards a backlog of traffic, braking only at the last possible moment.
Without hesitation, he reached for the horn and joined the masses in their unified protest against this ungodly delay. Judging by the ferocious nature of their honking you would think everyone had been sat there for weeks instead of a matter of seconds. Soon enough we were on the move again, like a bullet from a gun. Undeterred by an oncoming surge of vehicles, Mohammed swung the car around abruptly into a parallel road. The approaching cars got alarmingly close and still showed no sign of slowing down.
Just as I was about to adopt the emergency brace position and pray for my life, Mohammad chuckled. “Don’t worry, my friend. This is Egyptian driving.” Speeding along a highway, with stunning Islamic minorettes and high-rised apartment blocks fading behind us, we headed towards Giza. Situated about 20km outside the city, where the frenzy of motors is replaced with weary donkeys pulling carts of watermelons, this sleepy town is home to the magnificent Pyramids.
See the above page for the full story.
No comments:
Post a Comment