Paula Broome
‘wanderlust’ photo series
2. Egypt, Africa
Using a sarong as a makeshift headscarf and tugging at my linen
sleeves, willing them longer, we disappeared into the belly of Cairo.
After spending the previous day negotiating the pyramids, I longed for
anonymity and quiet, both alien concepts in Egypt. You were everyone’s
property and nobody would leave you alone. I was constantly being
pushed to buy something, eat something, say something. I was tired
and irritable and yet I still felt the draw. We sought refuge in an old
colonial hotel, ordering a hard-to-come-by beer and contemplating our
next move.
I have always loved markets, both local and abroad, and was keen to see
Egypt’s offering. The noise hit me first – the booming voices of the local
vendors, the squawking caged chickens, the yelps of scolded children
and the calls to prayer. Then the smells – the herbs and the perfumes;
it all drew us in.
A gentleman appeared at a doorway. Where were we from? Was it our
first time in Cairo? I answered his questions politely but edging away.
Oddly, he seemed very knowledgeable about Manchester and was keen
to refresh his English and reminisce. We didn’t want a tour guide, but
he looked hurt when we refused.
So, unusually, we went along with him, and spent the next hour
together, laughing and exchanging stories. He was born here and made
and sold jewellery boxes. He introduced us to his friends and we bought
trinkets to express our appreciation and encourage their craftmanship.
Life seemed tough here, although they appeared happy. The winding
alleys of the markets seemed to go on forever but the heat was getting
unc