Know Thyself

I would go to Egypt again at the drop of a hat. There is a special energy in Egypt, not only at the pyramids and monuments, but everywhere you go. The Nile has a power all of its own. I was lucky enough to cruise down it in luxury for three days. The route was from Cairo to Aswan . We stopped along the way at various ancient cities and, in Aswan, we saw the magnificent temple, Abu Simnel. It took my breath away.

An Egyptian asked me what I liked best about Egypt. I answered, “The Nile.”, and it thrilled him. The Nile does have a vibrant, life-giving pulse. Farmers can be seen with their water buffalo, turning ancient water wheels to irrigate their land. Naturally, they love the Nile; it gives them life. It was such a thrill to find myself actually sailing on the Nile, watching people working in their fields, and seeing the little houses dotted along the route. Sometimes people would wave and sometimes little boys would paddle up to our cruiser in homemade boats. For the most part, they had cut oil drums in half, lengthwise. At approximately eight to ten years of age, they could fit in them quite nicely. They made their own paddles, which attached, rather like table tennis bats, to their hands, and they paddled up to the tourists’ vessels, singing songs, such as “Row, row, row the boat, gently on the stream.”, while they waited for someone to toss some money into their little boats. This money would be used to help support their families.

Life is different there alright, with an emphasis on family, friends, religion and, in most cases, simply surviving from day to day. The Egyptian people are most friendly, polite and hospitable. I was fortunate enough to be invited to many homes. Without exception, they were clea n and simple, and I was offered food and drink, and treated like a queen. Even in one home, where I knew there was no more food, I was graciously offered a pita bread potato sandwich. I have many stories about Egypt. I was impressed, however, with the simplicity and kindness of the people.

One time, when I was there with a tour group, we were in the habit of hiring caleches (horse drawn vehicles) and drivers to take us to visit places. In Luxor, there was a big Nubian driver, Hamad, who seemed to like my company; I always sat up front with him, and he let me drive the calech. He could speak just a few words of English and, at that time, I spoke no Arabic, so our discussions were fairly simple. He wondered about life in Canada, and I wondered about Egypt . He was from a class of Egyptians known as the Fellahin, which basically means a peasant farmer. We drove through his neighbourhood one time, and little boys chased the caleches, as little boys will do. Hamad pretended to threaten them with the whip. It was a great game for them. Some of the tourists gave the children candies, but the drivers didn’t like to encourage the children.

As we drove by the simple houses, people would sometimes come out and shout “Hello!”, and little children would proudly hold up their English school textbooks for us to see: “Hello”, books 1, 2 and 3, etc. They were delighted when we yelled “Hello!” back, and waved to them. I noticed the washing lines. There was always washing hanging in the hot sun, and the clothes were always spotlessly clean, despite the dust and desert sand. Many of the washing lines displayed raggedy clothes. In shreds they were, but they were clean, spotlessly clean. I doubted that there would be washing machines in the homes. I knew they used TIDE. I had seen it in the grocery stores.

During one conversation, Hamad asked me about myself, and I told him I was a widow. With a serious face and all sincerity, Hamad put his hand on his heart, and offered to marry me. It was so sweet. I found it difficult to know what to say, as I didn’t want to hurt his feelings after such a genuine offer had been made. It was an awkward moment. Hamad and I had various conversations about horses, and discussed who had a good horse, and who didn’t, who fed his horse well, and who didn’t. We discussed the cost of shoeing a horse in Egypt, compared with the cost of shoeing a horse in Canada, and everyday topics in general. Hamad did his best to care for his horse, as they all do, but income is limited and most Egyptians are thinner than their horses.

But the question I will always remember, as long as I live, was when Hamad, leaning forward with great interest, asked me, “How much does a chicken cost in Canada ?”. I felt ashamed that I didn’t even know, as I never checked the price when buying a chicken. I just tossed it into the supermarket cart, along with the rest of the groceries. Had Hamad been American, Canadian, or European, his question would most likely have been about the cost of a house, or a car, a boat, or even gasoline. In Hamad’s life, the focus was on the cost of a chicken. I did feel somewhat ashamed that I had so much, and yet Hamad had offered, so gallantly, to save me from widowhood.

I’ll never forget Hamad. I’ll never forget his question.

If you would like to help people like Hamad look after their horses, which is their livelihood, or if you love horses, please check out this link http://www.ace-egypt.org.uk/