Yalla ya bet

Ramses Square, 1956

“Yalla ya bet” Fatma’s uncle pulled her suddenly to get out of the train station; she opened her sleepy eyes to see the huge Ramses statue filling the sky. She stumbled while trying to follow her uncle’s quick steps, and absorb the new scenes and sounds of Masr. Her first minutes in Cairo were strange; she could not understand how people live in these high buildings, how the streets are wide and clean, where is the dust and dirt that invade her villages alleys. How can women move with such short dresses and no scarves? Her mother won’t have believed this, but her mother died last week and as her father wanted to please his new young bride, Fatma had to leave.

The old Nubian butler was always nervous; he believed that I was stupid, lazy and good for nothing. He kept shouting and cursing, but the more news about foreigners leaving the country, the more nervous he became. After few months, our Italian masters left, as Oum el Donia was turning her back to the whole world. I did not know that I’d miss the piano, their parties and the young lady’s colorful short dresses that much.

From a house to a house, and from a lady to the other, there was always the same, “Yalla ya bet” , even when she became older her husband made sure to repeat it as much as he could. It seems that all the people of Cairo don’t have time or don’t care to remember her name. Fatma forgot her village and her life there, it seems that her life started when she first stumbled in front of Ramses. Cairo became familiar, and became home, that poor peasant made her own roots, but she doesn’t know who won.

Ramses Square, 1981

“Yalla ya bet” Fatma followed her mother in the crowded streets of Ramses Square. They had to take two microbuses to reach the square and then walk for a while. She looked at the crumbling moulds of the buildings; the entrances, the grand staircase, the stained glass windows and the intricate handrails; these were faint reminders of Cairo’s Belle Epoque, yet she did not understand. The littered corridors, flashy colors and blocked balconies did not bother her. All of this was too good compared to the slum where she lives, an instant concentration of peasants who wanted to be part of Cairo.

She was squeezed by the crowds and noise, in a narrow room filled with smoke, half filled tea glasses, flies and endless piles of papers. Her wedding ceremony will start, but who mentioned a wedding or a ceremony, she should be grateful that she would get a paper. Her father was clever enough to find her a dying Saudi husband, who also wanted to take a part of Cairo, and for him Fatma was white and tender and will be a fresh addition to his collection of wives. At that time Fatma was not there, as if she was only watching, she kept gazing at the part she can see of the Ramses statue from the small window.  Fatma did not resist, she was sure that it’s only a nightmare. Only in nightmares parents sell their daughters, only in nightmares men import young girls and call this marriage, only in nightmares one’s life can be ended by a single piece of paper, so she only has to wake up.

Four years later Fatma returned to the same office, the smoke, the half filled tea glasses, the flies and the endless piles of paper were all the same, but the place seemed dirtier and uglier. This time her parents did not come, only a young girl on her shoulder, this time Fatma is not watching, she is dying to get another piece of paper to prove that this girl had a father. After several humiliating hours she had to leave and without noticing she was whispering, “ Yalla ya bet”. 

Ramses Square, 2010

“Yalla ya bet” Fatma was shocked, this was the first time to be called a “bet”, but suddenly she realized where she is, a dirty clinic hidden in one of the alleys near Ramses Square. The rough woman kept shouting “ Yalla, yalla”, it was Fatma’s turn, she pushed her fear and followed that woman, the butcher had a sick smile, he tried to comfort her, while the woman was pulling her cloths. His eyes and hands were eating her body; he believed that he has all the right to taste a bite before burring the problem. The humiliation was too much for her; his fingers were creating new scares, and opening the fresh wounds. The disgust and shock were greater than her fear, she started trembling and shouting, bringing the rough woman to the scene and ending the butcher’s invasion.

The anesthetic’s strong smell and the cold tools touching her skin took her back to Mustafa’s first touches. The first and only man to love, the one who tried to change her character, the way she talks, the way she dresses and even her feelings. In fact he succeeded only in changing her body. Fatma gave him everything, the more she gave the more he asked for more.

Dizzy and tired, she put on her clothes slowly, unable to walk; she had to stay for a while in the crowded reception.  The monotonous soundtrack of the women’s gossips was as painful as the surgery, was she punishing herself. Was it her fault to love? Or the real fault was that she loved Mustafa. Suffocated by the thick air of the room and the women’s stares, she dragged her legs and left. Accompanied by her bitter memories and Mustafa’s words, she walked slowly. Like a sandy storm, his words were hitting her, “ I won’t marry a girl who’s not a virgin”, she smiled as she reached the main square, for the first time she realizes that large mounds of rubbish and some street kids were replacing the grand statue of Ramses.