My Habibi

Bursting with excitement I rise early on our first day in Cairo, the thick smoggy air tickles my nose as I anxiously await our tour guide. An hour behind schedule, Mohammad appears and our journey begins. We scurry from the great pyramids, to nearby sphinx and the national museum, which seems to me more like an old warehouse for the ancient pharaohs to store their surplus goods. In the evening we grab our bags and run for the night train. Full of adrenalin we eagerly begin the ritual of getting to know one another, throwing questions into the air eagerly grabbing details of each other’s lives. Amidst the gaggle of trivia I sneak a glance at Mohammad, his head slumped on the window with eyes gazing out at the dark abyss. It is not the first time today that I have heard him sing ‘my habibi, my habibi’.

The next day we board our Felucca, a traditional wooden boat with what appears to be a mosaic of old bed sheets for a sail. That night as we greedily drink Ankor beers on the sandy shore we turn our attention to Mohammad and under the smoky haze of his shisha, on sweet apple-scented breathe the story of his habibi, his beloved, is revealed. On an earlier tour a beautiful yet elusive girl had caught his eye and after a whirlwind romance that took them from the murky waters of the Nile to the pink granite peaks of Mt Sinai, she left as abruptly as she arrived. With a heavy heart and a belly full of beer Mohammad warned us about the perils of this life, full of excitement and adventure but always alone.

I sit quietly in the departure lounge looking down at the torn piece of paper in my hand and gaze at the addresses of the new friends I have made. I think about the ancient pharaohs, long gone but not forgotten. I feel a sad appreciation for Mohammad’s perception, these people that I have come to regard like family may never cross my path again and all I have left are a few rolls of film that will stand like the pyramids as a reminder of this moment.