The oasis

Years ago, on my first visit to Cairo, my friend who I was travelling with and I spent a lot of time sitting in a downtown cafe until the early hours of the morning; talking, playing backgammon and drinking copious cups of tea. After a week or so of this, we were ready to have a wander around the city that we had as yet barely seen in daylight.

We walked along the street, with no idea where we were going. We just kept walking. Although it was only April, it was already so stiflingly hot that soon my jeans were sticking to my legs and my hair was glued to the back of my neck. After walking for a couple of hours we were wilting fast, thirsty and tired with no idea where we were. The small street we had started out from had somehow, without us realizing it, morphed into a multi-lane highway the width of the River Nile.

We started to cross the road in order to catch a taxi back and, like all wet-behind-the-ears travellers new to the joys of Cairo traffic, got stuck in the middle, with cars rocketing by so fast we just froze. If I felt a sense of rising panic, I don’t remember – although I’m sure I must have. What I do remember is the scene directly in front of me, which even now floats before me like a slow-motion movie scene: sandwiched between the two directions of traffic-laden highway was an oasis of dishevelled grass with a couple of small trees that provided the smallest amount of shade. Beneath one of the trees sat a large extended family who appeared to be extremely happy with their prime position in the middle of the large, noisy, polluted highway. Oblivious to the maelstrom circling around them, they sat around an enormous picnic hamper and ate their late lunch.

There were cars everywhere, screeching along the highway bumper to bumper with their horns blaring nonsensically. But there was the family, in the middle of this vortex, as though they'd discovered a hidden paradise. The older ones sat close to the hamper talking and watching the children as they played around them. A young woman sat with her back against a tree, a baby nestled in her arms, feeding it from her breast. A very old woman sat still and seemingly sombre in her black robe and headscarf until one of the little boys fell laughing into her lap. Giving him a hug, she handed him a chicken leg before being rewarded with a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. A couple of young men joined in the children's games, chasing them around the trees and, when finally catching them, picking them up and turning them upside down until they screamed with frenzied excitement. They had taken a prosaic piece of highway and transformed it into their own personal Utopia.

As cars poured down the highway, I resigned myself to a long wait until a break in the traffic would allow us to cross to the other side. I looked back at the family, who were now all waving at us enthusiastically. And then, suddenly, one of the young men ran into the street, dodging cars, and helped us to the grassy strip. The whole family cheered and clapped, showering us with enormous smiles and cries of "Welcome!" Amused by their passionate cries, we shouted back, "Thank you!" The children had stopped playing and stood with their arms stretched above their heads, still waving vigorously. The old woman pulled herself to her feet and came over, pointing to us then to the food, making eating motions, insisting that we stay and eat with the family.

Not wanting to intrude, we shook our heads and said we couldn't stay; we had to go. The young man helped us to the other side of the street and hailed a bus, which stopped in the middle of the busy highway to collect us. We thanked the man, shaking his hand as we climbed aboard. Looking out the window, I watched him cross the street back to his family, ducking between cars, buses and motorcycles with ease.

And this is what it is like in Egypt. Especially Cairo, which on the surface is a place of habitual chaos, frustration, confusion and mirages. A place that twists you and tests you beyond any preconceived limits you may have had. Where often you trust people and they rip you off; where you don’t know who is your friend and who you can rely on. Time and time again you reach a point of utter frustration or total despair and then, from nowhere, an oasis will appear like magic. An oasis in the form of a smile, or a kind word, or a gift from someone who has so much less than you. Or a family offering to share their food or help you across the street. This is the real heart of the Egyptian people.