On The Second Time (Part 1)

(1)

Even Police Stations look different in Heliopolis; so clean and so much light. I tried to remember what time it was. I could not tell for sure. The last time I looked, it was 8:30 pm. But it seemd like it has been such a long time since then. I just got through the station front door and was practically dragged by anonymous strong arms. To where? I could not tell. We were moving quickly and a lot of people surrounded me, all talking at the same time. I understood every word they said but did not make anything out of it. My mouth kept on a monotonous murmur: It was not my fault; it was not my fault…

Finishing school was never really a viable option for me. Just passing my third preparatory year (at 17), my father sent me to take care of the Family Kiosk in Heliopolis. A prestigious, well paid job that made me the envy of almost every guy my age, and the desire of a lot of girls, in our desolate alley situated deep inside Imbaba. My day was fairly simple, I would take a Microbus everyday from Courniche to Heliopolis, open up to customers at around 9:30am and close at 9:30pm. Almost all my clients were regulars. The school kids from the private primary near by, people from the neighberhood and regular pass buyers consituted my day for almost two years. "You should start looking for a wife." El Hagga said. "It is still to early" I replied and thought to myself "Why stick to one when you can have a lot." I smiled sheepishely.

- I have never seen a similar car, wow... My friend Ahmed said. I tilted my head a little bit and he was right. An amazing big black 4x4 just pulled in font of us.

The electric window opened up and the man inside asked for a pack of cigarettes. I got what he wanted and put it on the selling board in front of me. Without even looking at me, and without getting out of his shining car, I saw him getting out the money of his pocket, stretching his hand to me.

Some people think they own this world. Even more, they think they own us with it; as an irrelevant bonus. I make less than 50 piasters profit per pack of cigarettes. If this moron thinks I'll leave my chair to serve him he is gravely mistaken. I continued my imaginary phone converstation.

- A pack of Lights please. I heard him say.

- .... So, Ahmed you said that the goods will be a little late. I went on my fake phone converstaion.

Incrudelously, he got out of his 4x4. He slammed the door, went all around the huge vehicle and gave me a 10 pounds note.

- We don't have change. I said. Do you have 50 P.

He gave me 50P. Grabbed the pack and was gone in less than a second. I despised him so much. I hated him, his smell and his car. No one owns me.

(2)

There is a king in everyone of us. I smiled to myself. Even this little bugger in this wretched Kiosk thinks that he is better than to pass me a pack of cigarette.

He does not look at me and even fakes a phone conversation just to avoid moving his.... and does his job. Egypt will never be a respectable country as long as these lazy worms live in it.

Everyone sees the new Chevrolet Blazer, dad got from Saudi when he came back, thinks that we got in bed with a Saudi Prince or something.

Twenty seven years of hard labor, twenty seven years away from his family and for what?? A small appartment in Helipolis, the big 4x4 and a small sum at the bank. Small business men in Egypt make more in a year then what he wasted his life upon. I puffed loudly the smoke of my cigarette.