We went to take a look at Maadi Market the other day and to me it seemed strangely empty. The square was still there and the alley leading off it. I remembered it as a square full of noise and colored umbrellas shading the fruits and vegetables and baskets and crates in a happily untidy array of color and shapes.
There had been numerous ‘small’ sellers with perhaps a basket of eggs or a few bunches of mint. Occasionally a car would nose its way through. Now it seemed to be full of cars passing in both directions with the large orderly stalls relegated to the edges.
The fruit and vegetables displayed on the stalls themselves were regimentally and immaculately arranged and appeared to be balanced one on another ready to fall if one dared to touch. No rummaging around for what you wanted. No touching or testing or even tasting, as in the past.
Gone was the ‘island’ of trees that shaded the vendors at mid day when they enjoyed their lunch break water melon.
Many of the personalities are gone too, like the old lemon man whom I had always thought was crippled since he always squatted in the same spot, his knees almost level with his shoulders. I got quite a surprise the day he jumped up and ran on what appeared to be a pair of good strong legs.
There was the old gargir woman who sold nothing else and always seemed to be dozing in the sun with a newspaper or a folded bag on her head. She is gone and hopefully sleeping somewhere more comfortable.
The fish man with his stall along the alley way and his entourage of cats disappeared a few years back. There used to be cats of all shapes sizes and colors, around him waiting for the scraps. He knew each one and insisted the lucky cat kissed his cheek before being given the desired morsel. In early summer he would have a large basket of kittens by his stall which he jokingly offered at LE 4 per Kg.
Then there was Nadia with the lovely dresses in bright colors and wearing her beautiful gold ear rings, bracelets and a wedding ring. She sold little cucumbers and salad vegetables from large baskets, sitting low on a crate with a huge pair of scales beside her. I was surprised she had no children and wondered if she was sad about this. As the years went by and still no babies, I decided to paint a picture of her with a new born baby in her arms. I smiled to myself when several months later she had a baby boy.
These market vendors are a close knit group with many family ties and very protective of their own. One evening my husband and I were watching a group of three children, two girls about four and five years old and a boy no more than three.
The two little girls were sitting on curbside sorting fuul beans while they kept an eye on their brother. When my husband asked them if their parents worked in the market they said their dad had left them and their mother with a new baby, and was not coming back.
They indicated that they lived under the footbridge that comes down in the square, and thinking that we should give her some money we moved in the direction indicated. Cardboard packing cases had been used to screen off the area and we moved closer to see if she was there.
Suddenly we were surrounded by numerous male relatives asking us what we were doing there. I felt quite threatened for a few moments but when Mohsen told them we wanted to help, they altered their attitude and assured us that she would be taken care of perfectly well by the family.
They are a hardy lot who have had to put up with harassment from the police, which from time to time cleared the square of the stalls. But within a short time they were back. Even when the whole square was dug up in order to lay sewage pipes, they soldiered on, sitting amidst the piles of sand and huge pipes and excavations while their customers stepped carefully around or over or in between the obstacles.
Many of the smaller vendors were mothers, selling lettuces and bunches of spring onions. One might have a baby at the breast and a couple of youngsters asleep behind her on a blanket. Whatever she may have to do she was a mother first and foremost.
In Ramadan, there was an influx of lads from the south who came to earn money for the Feast. They sold plastic bags and carried one’s shopping so that quite a procession built up as we tried to give them all something to carry.
Wandering farther up the alley we found most of the chicken sellers had disappeared due to the avian flu scare. So had the old lady that sold pet food. She always called out “Mesh Mesh! our cat s name to remind us as we passed. She has gone and so has our cat. Now there is a new generation of vendors for me to get to know.
