The Maharram Bey Mafia

Some nights, it's hard to sleep here. I put it down to a combination of our having adapted to the Arab lifestyle (lots of caffeine, sugar and smoke), barely any exercise and looming exams. Watching creepy stop-motion videos past eleven is probably not the best idea either.

Rewind to yesterday night, or rather, very early this morning. I and a friend give up on the idea of a good night's sleep and decide to go for a walk. What begins as a casual stroll around Wabuur al Maya, which is still alive at this hour with speeding cabs and groups of men smoking shisha in cafes, turns into a slightly surreal wander into Maharram Bey, the district behind ours on the other side of the train tracks. Maharram Bey is a much poorer area and stretches a long way but looks more or less the same throughout; narrow, dusty streets with criss-cross washing lines overhead and piles of rubbish lining the pavements, skinny cats and streaked, rusty cars with no wheels plonked by the side of the road. Unlike Wabuur al Maya, it's eerily silent here at night. The longer working hours of the average resident as well as the lower income means the night is not time for leisure, but for a well-earned rest.

After some time walking through streets in which the only sign of life has been a single hooded youth drawing something very detailed on a wall, we emerge back beside the main road that leads down to Carrefour and find a tiny ahua (coffee shop) still open. Of course, everyone glances our way - this would be normal anyway, but somehow we get the feeling they especially don't see many white faces - but there is none of the overt staring or behind-the-hand gossip we have come to expect of more upmarket places. The owner is curious, but polite. People are too busy to sit and speculate for hours on two people there for exactly the same reason as themselves.

On the walk back we notice the guy we saw before has been joined by about eight others, all in hoods. In London this would make me quicken my pace but they hardly look at us, absorbed now in spray-painting a vast and curling Egyptian flag across the wall. In Egyptian society generally we have noticed poorer people tend to be far more ddevoutly religious, and talk more fervently about love for their country; despite many being forced to work morning till night for a monthly wage of about 35 English pounds, most are so vehemently opposed to theft that whole groups of strangers will chase and beat anyone caught in the act on the street out of sheer principle. That said, we are not completely naiive and try to walk with purpose when a few heads turn.

On the way back we try climbing the stairs to the bridge, where train tracks run through long grass. There is a single immobile train on the far side of the tracks that does not appear to have moved for some time, rusty, caught in a tangle of creeping plants and eerily silent. In a moment of lunacy we consider going over to look inside. However barely two steps across the ten yards or so of vegetation, we hear a shout from behind us. A grinning middle-aged Egyptian with a cigarette beckons us back over.

Speaking in 'aamiya is always a bit of a mission. The dialect varies from region to region and older men especially (like our 70-something doormen) often speak in such a thick, slurred fashion we are forced to give up entirely, or the Egyptian becomes so exasperated they turn to other forms of communication. An example from the other day:

Me: "Shaaria Fou'ad." - a well-known main street very close to our house.
Driver: "Shaaria Fou'ad fayn?" - "Where on Shaaria Fou'ad?"
Me: "Al mathaf." - "The museum."
Driver: "Ahh. Al mathaf tfyertub5etubwertgfhsfgh wizaara (ministry) ghdfgsertsetgaesrtkaergasfgs?"
Me: "Mish fahima, asifa. Al mathaf Aleskandariia." - "Sorry, I don't understand; the Alexandrian Museum." [It's the only museum on the road and a ten-minute walk away; I'm just feeling lazy.]
Driver (changing direction and going down a very weird route that adds an extra fifteen minutes to the journey): "dfjglskjesrtglksdjfesrlkglsdnfger! kfdslseirjlakesd? gnkjnr! dglkajwlrskawlje (sings) ALCOHOLA MIYA MIYA" - "ALCOHOL ONE HUNDRED PERCENT"
Me: "Ey?"
Driver: "FAYN?"
Me: "Ala tuul!" - "Straight ahead!"
Driver (taking both hands off the wheel and singing to the tune of 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go): "ALA TUUL ALA TUUL ALA TUUL, ALA TUUL ALA TUUL ALA TUUL, ALA TUUL ALA TUUL ALA TUUL." He then tries to charge me double the price for the journey. Lesson learnt.

This man, however, clearly finds us amusing but also clearly has a point he wishes to make - he speaks incredibly fast but repeats several times that if we don't understand anything, to tell him. Francis's eyes are already glazing over before he has even begun to explain that the train we see before us, below the level of the windows, is full of people sleeping rough. He also mentions it is a meeting point for a word we don't catch - noticing my quizzical expression he tries "shabaab", "youth", but then, dissatisfied, lands instead on "zay (like) al Mafia". Gangs. Apparently, since the fall of Mubarak there has been a huge increase in gang culture in this area; he tells us it's not safe, and most non-residents walk alongside the main road (even though there is no pavement there and you have to take your chances with the traffic) because they are scared to go through Muharram Bey at night. He concludes by making some kind of chopping motion towards his shoulder; we've seen this before and it's to do with armed theft. Pointing us towards the steps on the other side of the bridge, he says goodnight, still laughing at our stupidity.

It seems that even in a culture steeped in religion, there are exceptions. Particularly, as with any society in the world, among the disaffected youth. Looking back it now seems like lunacy to have gone wandering around Maharram Bey at one in the morning (especially with a phone in my pocket); though the conversation has not scared me away from the area in its entirety, it seems in Alexandria that for a half-decent, non-awkward cup of coffee, you must be prepared to risk life and limb and all personal wealth, rather like a London Starbucks actually. Bring it on I say. The quest continues.