Today we’re away from the rigors of class and are spending a ‘Day with Randa,’ a field trip to a resort called Ezba on the outskirts of Cairo near Saqqara. I’m grateful that the bus won’t leave till noon and am looking forward to a quiet night’s sleep with no early-morning wake-up call. Unfortunately I underestimate how tired I am. The phone rings me out of a dead sleep…it‘s Aurel wanting to know where I am because the bus is leaving! I‘m so deep in sleep I can hardly understand what she‘s saying and insist that they go along without me.
After a few minutes I realize what I’ve done and place a frantic call to Sara Farouk, our genius organizer and mother hen. If she’ll arrange a driver for me, I can take a cab and meet them at Ezba. She does, and in a short while (and still looking sleepy) I’m on my way.
My driver, Fayiz, speaks English well and tells me he was a career merchant marine. He’s traveled all over the world and visited most of its ports, but his favorite place is….Texas! Well I’ll be. He points out the many unfinished buildings that line the streets and tells me that building owners don’t have to pay tax on their buildings till they’re complete. So, even though they’re currently occupied they may be missing a wall or roof. I’ve noticed these buildings everywhere, occupied but with rebar sticking out the top like an unruly head of hair.
When I arrive the party is in full swing. What a sight! I enter the compound, a small cleanly resort and feel I’ve just stepped back into the 1800’s. Off to my left is a fire and a woman baking bread. A darling little girl in traditional garb carries her goat. For a little baksheesh (tips) I can hold him while our picture is taken. For only 20 Egyptian pounds, about $3.50, a camel-driver dressed in a galabaya (traditional men’s garb that looks like a long dress) takes willing dancers for a ride on his gaily decorated camel. We find out later that if you refuse to pay, he’ll take you anyway. Three musicians in fez hats with doumbec (drum), oud (pot-bellied string instrument) and violin roam from table to table playing lively music for the guests who can’t help but dance. I’m warmly greeted by Randa herself and thank her for her hospitality. Her warmth and good humor are contagious.
I find Aurel and off we head to the camel-guy who leads us around the compound on, who else, Ramses the camel. Ramses is a handsome fellow who seems to wear a perpetual smile. He’s bedecked in colorful blankets with red, turquoise and yellow geometric designs, and a saddle replete with tassels and pom-poms. There’s obviously great warmth between the two and when the guy puts Ramses in a head-lock and rubs his ears the camel doesn’t seem to mind at all.
We are taken for a long camel ride, very long compared to the five minutes the other guests get. First me, then Aurel, then Aurel and I together. The guide lets us feed Ramses and takes many photos of us. I suspect that we’ve overpaid him (which turns out to be true) but don’t mind. For a mere $3 each, we’ve had a ball.
Next we’re treated to a performance by the Palmyra folk dance company. The beautiful young women are alternately coy and strong as they dance alongside the men who energetically bend to the floor and leap into the air. Their costumes are colorful, and the choreography and staging interesting, with each dance telling a story of some kind. The highlight of the show is a dervish danced by a woman. I am unaware that women danced the dervish. She is remarkable in her spinning which easily lasts 20 minutes. Her dancing is very emotional as she silently sings along with the sacred song, her face bearing the joy or sorrow of each phrase. I find myself drawn into her emotional sphere, like the planets to the sun as she turns and turns. She also turns in a way I would’ve thought impossible, at one point bending from the waist and continuing her turns as she faces the floor. Her incredible performance is the highlight of the show.
Lunch follows as we head en-masse to another large roofed area, the outdoor restaurant. A feast of traditional foods beautifully arranged in a buffet greets us. We’re hungry and fill our plates before grabbing a seat. An ancient looking, decorated brass ‘hot-box’ filled with coals is placed on each table, a food warmer of sorts that is topped with various shish-kabob. More music follows, this time by three gents in traditional garb who look like they’ve just stepped out of National Geographic to join us. One plays a rababah, a Bedouin one string instrument played with a bow, another a nye (reed flute) and the third a doumbek. We’re torn between eating and dancing and soon the party is in full swing again. Some of the guys are dancing on their chairs waving money. The musicians roam from table to table and for 10 EP will sing your name….Kanina…Kanina…Kaniiiiinaaaa.
The party ends with a group photo by our resident photographer, Tracy, and tired but happy dancers we head home, chatting with new friends along the way.
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