A CITY OF CONTRASTS.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 10459, 19 May 1910, Page 1

A CITY OF CONTRASTS.

(By H. Hamilton Fyfe.)

In the centre of Cairo, before the Opera House (which was one of the extravagances that swelled Khedive Ismail's debts to their amazing total of .ninety million pounds) there stands _ a statue. It is. a statue of Ibrahim Pasha on horseback. He has his arm outstretched, pointing to the west. That seemed to me, directly I saw it, to be allegorical of the destiny of Egypt. Ismail the Extravagant said himself: "Egypt is no longer in Africa; we are part of Europe." ..It was not true when he. said it. It is not true yet. But every year the process of Westernisation 'brings the clay nearer when it will be true. The eyes of tfhe Egyptians are turned in the direction towards which Ibrahim Pasha's right arm is pointing. It is pointing to the West.

- Here, indeed, at the Opera Square one might almost be in Europe.- The, shops, the hotels with their broad terraces, the electric street-cars, the motor-"taxis," the neat litle two-horse victorias, the well-kept gardens where the birds are filling the exquisitely fresh' morning air with their cheerful melody —-all these conspire to deceive. Step into one of the victorias and in two or three minutes you will be among surroundings which seem -to be altogether Eastern. A few corners turned at a speed which arouses admiration both for the' driver and his dashing little steeds, and we enter the Mouski, the long, narrow street which is the backbone of the bazaar quarter. The cafe at this end of it has its tables filled already. The town Egyptian spends much _of his time sipping coffee and smoking with quiet enjoyment. All classes are the same in this respect. Here the men "are mostly in. European clothes and wear the tarbrush. But you pass numbers of little shops where en the rough divans within and on the benches outside the door are seated natives In robes and turbans, passing round the mouthpiece of the hookah pipe, playing cards and dominoes, and exchanging endless gossip at all hours of the day. As you look down the Mouski it seems quite hopeless to expect your carriage to make its way through the tangle of traffic. There is scarcely any division into roadway and pavement. The whole street is not much more than twenty feet wide. It is literally full of vehicles as far as you can see, and on each side, squeezing in as near the shops as possible, are picturesque throngs of people on foot. The noise is bewildering. All the drivers shout all the time as they steer desperately through the pack. At a corner there is a complete block. No car-line: goes down the Mouski, but one crosses it, and here there is a knot which looks hard to untie. Into the press from a side street shoots a dark-skinned boy on a bicycle. He collides at once with a donkey which can hardly be seen for the spreading burden of green forage on its patient back. Off he falls into the arms of a. tall Nubian .whose brilliant white teeth gleam against his shining black skin as- he smiles with indulgent humor. Better get'out and walk. We have almost got to the "real" part of the % bazaars. At first the Mouski is lined with chearj jewellery and watch stores, - rubbish from Europe and America; with modern boot shops, with fly-blown haberdashers, with doubtful-looking scent and soap emporia. There are one or two good general drapers on the lines of the Magasins du Louvre in miniature. It is odd to see them crowded with harem ladies, all cloaked and . veiled, turning over fallals with eager, critical eyes. They chatter excitedly in undertones as they pack themselves into the lift to go upstairs. Their dark, lustrous eyes flash humorous glances upon the stranger. But now we have left all signs of Europe behind us. Plunge into any of the narrow lanes on either side of. the Mouski and you are in ancient Cairo' at once. Here Europeans do not often come. They haunt the Khan Khalil, whose network of alleys dates from 1400, and where carpets, silks, red shoes, precious stones are set out to tempt the unwary. "No charge for look-at," say the insidious gentlemen in fezzes. They play the spider and fly game with infinite resources. In the quarters to which we have penetrated a fly is seldom seen. English is never heard. In their dark stalls, like big inverted packing-cases, piled high with wares of various kinds, sit dignified old men in turbans, their legs crossed beneath them, their fingers playing with their rosaries of beads. In some bargaining is going on. Shopping here is, of course, a leisurely business. Look at this group. A well-to-do Egyptian in a beautiful robe of delicately striped silk, and a green turban which' shows he went to Mecca last year, is making offers for a donkey Saddle gorgeous' with embroidery. A. number of. coins lie upon the ground. .Every now and then he flings another down. Talking goes on the whole time. Both he and the seller appeal continually to the spectators. Suddenly the Egyptian sweeps the money together and stands up. The saddler. shrugs his shoulders. The Egyptian turns to' go. But the saddler has him by the ■ robe in an instant, and next minute clown they sit again to continue the entertainment. If that saddle is bought by the middle of next week the business will have been very quickly done! • Before a grain stall three half-naked. .men pound maize in a huge stgne mortar with great iron pestles. One theni holds out his for me to try. I can only just lift it in my right hand. Close by a coffee-roaster with shaven head,, according to the fashion here, is making a delicious fragrance amid the unholv odours of this airless spot. Overhead "there, hang stuffs and straw trusses to keep the sun out, covering | the lane in. The effect is wonderful. A dim golden haze softens down all crudities of color. The whole place is in continual movement, • shifting like the patterns of a kaleidoscope. Specially good 'is the street of the tentmakers,' where numberless cross-legged. needlemen sew their strips of bright cotton into traditional patterns. Such a tent-maker must St. Paul have been before that great light shone upon him as ho rode. Just here, too, is a gateway where the spirit of a Moslem saint is said to dwell. On all the great nails of the door are shreds of stuff torn from the clothing of believers who seek his aid. Verv reverently the passersby touch them and stop to. say a p'raver. All day long there are supplications going up on this holy spot. Soon we emerge into more open l streets. We pass wide spaces cleared I of buildings, eyesores, rubbish heaps. Old Cairo is disappearing The Jain! boom of a few years back destroyed much of it. And then the ' slump came, and those who had pulleu down had no. money wherewith to build up. Many'of those who have built have given the new streets-a squalid, snaooy appearance. Here and there a beautiful old Arab house stands m pathetic dignity among the cheap and nasty. erections of Builder Jerry. But there are compensations everywhere. Look at this fine new fire station, with its shining engine and horses ready harnessed and smart firemen in uniform. Much is lost m charm- and picturesque. But much is gained in orderliness and security. There is talk even of giving Cairo a" drainage system, if the soil can be disturbed without, causing a fearful plague. When once changes begin no one can foresee the end of them- To look at, those two ■n-ave old Arabs exchanging their Snileless greetings appear altogether untouched bv the spirit of change. Yet out of the pocket of one sticks a newspaper in Arabic. Appearances are deceptive everywhere, but more so m Cairo than anvwhore else.