In a village called Samanoud, on
the Delta of the Nile, 160 km south from Alexandria, there was a group of
travelers, coming originally from Europe and America. On our way to the
village, we saw many emblematic portraits and landscapes so specific to Egypt, but
a new one was the radish goddess: a lady selling radish in the middle of the
streets, as many street sellers do, but she had gathered a bouquet of radish
and tucked it on the top of her head, making it her humble vegetable crown.
The reason for our presence in
this village is yet another token of the Egyptian hospitality: a wonderful lady
and her husband, a great embodiment of the Egyptian family, carrying this
country and their children on their shoulders and standing proudly upright, had
invited us to their place. A beautiful place, near the family juice factory, where
each brick and plants were built and planted thanks to the efforts and hard
work of the elder and current family generations; a haven in the middle of a
small village, gated by banana trees and weeping willows, trees of my childhood
that I hadn’t seen in a long time.
The people who catered for us are
at the image of the place they welcomed us to, and "Alhamdulillah" for the magical
hands of the two wonderful ladies who prepared a feast for us three times a
day. Egyptians people are absolutely wonderful when it comes to honouring their
guests by their presence, their homes and the means they use to ensure that you
are spending the best possible time you could fathom at that particular moment.
We were fortunate enough to catch
a glimpse of the village of Samanoud, on our walk outside of the villa. If you
wander the streets of Egypt, whether you are at the pyramids, in Mokattam, in
the streets or in the villages, and if you own a camera, one pleasant and recurrent
occurrence is the magnetic attraction that you will have on children. They will
come and gather around you, and be the best possible models for your
photographs.
Once you have photographed them, you
will be expected to show it to them and each will look, smile and run for yet
another one. This has happened several times and I am ashamed to admit that,
when it happened the first time after my arrival here, my European fearful and patronizing
self thought that they would come to me to request money, but this has never
happened, they are just children excited to see their photos.
Since then, when that wave of
little bodies fluctuates towards us, it is with a genuine welcoming smile that
I let them gather and take their pictures, as all of our traveling companions
do. I have seen many children, who I have wanted to snatch out of this life and
take home, and I hate our materialistic and judicial system for not allowing me
to do so, but until Samanoud, I had not really connected with any of those
children.
Perhaps it is the western guilt
that generates this feeling of wanting to save everybody in the village; the
children do not have a guaranteed education, and most of them will never set
foot outside of their village. They will be expected to work very early, gather
enough money to marry and will have their own children, with a daily struggle
to provide for them as much as they possibly can – these children I see today
are the dots that start tracing the infinite traced and carved natural circle of
life in the village.
Yet, as sad as it may sound, to a
Western, comfortable person whose worries are as pathetically materialist and
meaningless on the grand scheme of human tragedies, their lives could be much
worse. Out in the village, they play and run around with their friends, a continuous
kinesthetic experience that gives them much awareness of the world they live
in. They also have enough food and clothing to be comfortable and enjoy the
beautiful nature, fields and environment around them. Comparatively, their
lives are blessed to the ones living currently in nations torn apart and open
by implanted wars, such as Syria or several other nations on this continent.
However, this time was different,
because one child planted a seed, in all of us. I wish you could meet Ahmed,
who did nothing different and yet left an indelible mark on the canvas of our
souls.
Ahmed came along with most of his
friends, bearing a huge and typical beautiful smile on both his lips and his
eyes. When the traditional photo shoot had started and body language wasn’t
sufficient to be understood, he started talking with us in Arabic, which was
translated by our friends. Ahmed expressed how happy he was to meet us, and his
inquisitive self came to each of us to ask where we were from and other
questions; when confused about the geographical location of Austria and France,
he was satisfied by the overarching term of Europe and knew about America. He
often said that he was having the best day of his life. All this time, he is
walking alongside with us, respecting our walk but satisfying his own need for
answers.
Once we reached the village, our
group looked like as though we were on a school trip with a class, and more
children started to gather around us. For the first time, in the past half an
hour, some girls appeared amongst the masculine crowd.
My older Bul got a little scared,
given the amount of attention and willingness to touch his hair, I tried to explain
to him that this is simply sheer and uncontrolled enthusiasm and curiosity, we
turned around.
He requested individual pictures
with each of us and asked whether we would re appear tomorrow. Ahmed, with his
curiosity, smiley eyes and kind manners, left us all nostalgic to leave him.
I wouldn’t wish to snatch him
away from his family but I wish I could stay here, come back regularly and
support his bright little self.
