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Shares
It was at the end of 2017, just before I turned 18, when my mother had to go to Caïro for work. She decided I was allowed to come along and that I would get a personal guide so I would see the city from a locals point of view. We first went to the Tutankhamen museum and after that he told me about the time he was a photographer during the Arab spring. We were standing on the Tahrir square that once was filled with thousands of people as he pointed to the roads where he had seen tanks appearing as the army closed in on them. He asked me if I wanted to grab some lunch after that and I, realizing I had become very hungry, agreed right away. He wanted to know if I wanted to eat at a fast food chain restaurant, but I asked him if he could take me to his favorite place to have lunch. He took me to this small place across the street from a big bazaar, and his friends that worked there made sure we had the best table. He ordered us all types of food, falafel, different types of meat, you name it. As we were eating, he told me stories about his wife and children and how it was growing up in Caïro. Once we were finished, I saw that we had a lot of leftovers and I told him I thought it was a bit of a waist that we couldn’t eat more. He chuckled, as he packed up all the food and suddenly gave it to this woman and her child who were begging on the street. I don’t think I ever felt that much of a “first world child” in my entire life. The fact that I didn’t even think of sharing the leftovers, instead of throwing it away. He looked at me and said: “We don’t have leftovers here. It’s a concept that doesn’t exist. We share and give.” I apologized around five times for being so ignorant, but he just smiled and said I would learn from this experience. After that, we made our way in to the bazaar, since I wanted to find some souvenirs for friends and family. The bazaar was placed in this small street, and many powerful colors of red, orange, yellow and purple where hanging like a roof over the small shops as far as the eye could see. He suddenly took a left turn, in to a very narrow street with a long staircase. We went all the way up and found ourselves in to a small squared area with a garden in the middle filled with trees and colorful flowers. Here there were shops too, but they were inside walls, instead of being under carpets and wooden constructions. A friend of my guide worked here and he was selling nice bracelets and necklaces. I bought around eight and after that, I was invited for tea outside on the patio. I sat on a very questionable chair, as stray cats were bumping in to my legs and the owner of the shop was telling me all kinds of stories while he smoked from his blue water pipe. And as I listened to the men talking about their life’s and how it was after the Arab spring, I realized life was meant to be lived. And that finding happiness in the smallest corners of the world, was very easy to find.