I was still a neophyte traveler when Dr. Nasser Al-Rashid’s attorney, Curly Ferris, began dispatching me hither and yon to do interviews for what resulted in Coming to Texas / International Students at the University of Texas. If they were business trips done on the cheap, I sure got to see a lot. I am reminded of the first of these because of recent events in Egypt and Bahrain. What follows are sometimes-fuzzy recollections of my experiences in Cairo and Manama over a one-week period in the summer of 1993.
First, however, I must say that I am gratified to see the Egyptians and Bahrainis (preceded by the brave Tunisians) rising up against dictatorship and royal privilege. I do not know whether to identify myself as a lefty or a righty, but I consistently favor fairness and justice. Whenever I read history or visit places of historical significance, I care little about presidents, kings and queens, and other blue bloods, keeping my emotional and intellectual focus on the common people. So let’s hear it for revolution or at least evolution—progress of some kind—in North Africa and the Middle East!
The U.S. State Department had recently issued a travel alert pertaining to Egypt. It said, in essence, do not go if it is not truly necessary. What was the danger? I was going. I crossed the Atlantic Ocean and had an eight-hour layover in Munich, Germany. My inexperience if not timidity was manifested by just hunkering down in the airport and waiting for my flight to Cairo. Far better it would have been to ask some kind Deutschlander where I could stash my belongings while I went out on a taxi or bus ride around that historic city. I have two main memories of the Munich airport: First, the place was packed with smokers. Everybody, it seemed, was puffing on a ciggie, stubbing one out or lighting up again. There were countless overflowing ashtrays. Second, the security was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Where was I going? Where was I coming from? Who was I supposed to meet? What was my birthday? By the end of the interview, or should I say interrogation, I was halfway surprised not to be asked about the identity of my next-door neighbor’s sister’s hairdresser.
I arrived in Cairo about midnight. The airport was not exactly modern, but it functioned well enough. Almost the moment I stepped off the airplane, a man was at my side. He spoke excellent English and identified himself as an employee of the government’s Tourism Hospitality Department. He was there to answer any questions and help me get where I needed to go. After no more than one minute of talking with this very nice fellow, I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it. Dr. Sami B. Siragh Al-Din had been sent there by Abdullah Tariki, who I had come so far to see. The avuncular Dr. Al-Din and his friend, Muhammad, found my luggage, stuffed it into the trunk of a black car and took me to a hotel overlooking the Nile River.
On the way there, he handed me a note written by Sheikh Abdullah welcoming me to Cairo and stating that we would meet “if God is willing” at 10 the next morning. Although I was dead tired, I went to the rooftop swimming pool and did a few laps while trying to get oriented.
I had three interviews with Tariki, aided in part by his wife, an impressive person in her own right. Tariki had earned a master’s degree in petroleum engineering at UT in 1947 and returned to his native Saudi Arabia. He was primarily responsible for having wrested control of ARAMCO from Western oil men and putting it where it belonged—in the hands of natives of his country. Some writers have called this the largest transfer of wealth in human history. I thought it was interesting that he called himself an Arabian and not a Saudi.
Having lived in Texas most of my life, I thought I had experienced heat. But what I encountered in Cairo and a few days later in Manama was something else altogether. It just drained me of energy as I toured the city with Dr. Al-Din and Muhammad. We ducked into a shop that sold tasty green fruit drinks mixed with ice. I consumed mine with such relish that I had to ask for another. We went to a couple of museums that displayed Egypt’s fabulous antiquities, Al-Azhar University and Al-Azhar Mosque. I had been in Mohammedan (“Islamic”) houses of worship before, and my attitude was unchanged. I was respectful but dubious. You will never see me genuflecting to Mighty Mo and “Allah.” I wish I could say I remember being at Tahrir Square (scene of most of the recent demonstrations that led to the ousting of President Hosni Mubarak), but I do not.
One day and deep into the night, Muhammad and I went driving in his little car. Verbal communication was nearly impossible, but we managed. He was a fine companion. When he sensed I wanted to stop, we stopped. We visited a souk (traditional market) where I bought a leather wallet that I used for the next 10 years. We went to an outdoor restaurant and spent a leisurely half-hour as he chatted in high-speed Arabic with some friends. Most unforgettably, we went to the Pyramids, the three huge edifices along with the Sphinx on the plain of Giza just west of the Nile. How many people have said that seeing the Pyramids—nearly 5,000 years old—is one of their fondest dreams? And there I was, gazing upon them. The largest contains 2.3 million limestone blocks, quarried, hauled and put in place by men whose names have long since been forgotten. King Tut, Pharoah This and Pharoah That matter much less to me than the people who built the Pyramids. I wondered: To what extent were they compelled? What were their lives like during that long period of construction? Were they aware of the magnitude of what they had done? At any rate, it was a civil engineering feat that continues to amaze us all.
I would be remiss not to tell of an interesting event that happened in a souk close to the Pyramids. Muhammad steered me to one where perfume was sold. Every wall was covered with bottles of perfume. The proprietor sat down with us and began a languorous explanation of why his perfume was the very best. Tea was rather ceremoniously served, and it was looking like the foreigner would end up buying some perfume whether he wanted it or not. Inevitably, the time came when price was discussed. He gave what I considered an exorbitant figure, and I so indicated by asking how much he was going to charge me for the tea. He responded, “Please, do not insult me.” In the end, I bought a small bottle of perfume. Nearly 18 years later, I still have the last quarter-ounce or so.
Being in Cairo was fascinating beyond words. The place was extremely congested with seemingly every spot occupied. I saw impromptu cookouts on street corners, forlorn donkeys pulling old wooden carts, five people riding on a motorcycle (husband driving with two kids sitting in front of him, wife behind him with a kid tied to her back) and other amusing scenes. When I had free time, I walked on back streets and jostled with people different but not so different from me. Perhaps I was naïve, but I never felt the slightest danger.
The flight from Cairo to Manama was on an airbus, and that is an apt term. It was the most crowded airplane I have ever been on, the air was stale, and I saw some women wearing full burkhas. I was prepared for the veil, but not this. Did the Taliban have influence in Bahrain? I was about to find out. We had a 30-minute stopover in Doha, Qatar, a place that has changed a lot in the intervening years. The population has more than tripled (mostly expats from south Asia), huge skyscrapers have been erected, and enormous sums have been spent on sports infrastructure; the 2022 World Cup will be played in Doha.
At the airport in Manama, I was met by a colleague of Dr. Safia Dowaigher, a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Education. She had gotten her Ph.D. at UT in 1985. The man, whose name I have long since forgotten, was wearing the full white thobe and keffiyeh headwear typical of the upper class in Bahrain. Dr. Dowaigher was a very articulate lady who had good reason to be proud of what she had done as a female academic in a culture where that was not easy. The interviews were conducted at her kitchen table.
Manama was just as brutally hot as Cairo had been. I could understand why Bahrainis had long ago mastered the construction of wind towers to keep homes and other buildings relatively cool. An island country like Qatar, it too was chock full of foreigners—54% at last count—although they do not have nearly the rights of native people.
Dr. Dowaigher informed me that I was visiting during a religious holiday, Ashura. I would be on my own for one day, so I signed up for a bus tour of Manama and the surrounding area. When only one other person got on the bus, the two young men in charge lost interest in showing us the city. Before we knew it, we were heading back to the starting point and the tour was over. During that one hour, though, I saw something that will stay with me for as long as I live. As mentioned earlier, I am not an adherent of Mohammedanism and so I really don’t know or care too much about the schism of Shi’ites and Sunnis. (Who should have been Mighty Mo’s successor? Doesn’t matter to me!) Sunnis rule in Bahrain, but Shi’ites are in the majority. At any rate, I saw a large number of men walking on the streets with blood covering their heads and torsos. Naturally, I asked the tour guides what that was about. They informed me that zanjeer—ritual self-flagellation—was right and proper. I will refrain from saying more on this topic, other than to note that the men I saw seemed perfectly alert despite having lost considerable blood and beaten themselves with chains and lashes.
I headed back to Texas with several tapes full of recorded conversations with Abdullah Tariki and Dr. Safia Dowaigher. I also had the certainty that my life had been enriched by what I had done and seen.
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