October 2002
The gallery director, Dr. Nadia had invited me to visit a well known artist, Salah Taher, at his home. I had looked up the address on the map and found the street so I didn't think I would have any problem getting there. Little did I know that my map was wrong. The first taxi I got into didn't know where the street was and he was difficult to talk to, so I got out and grabbed another taxi. Before I got into the second one, I gave him not only the district, but the street name. He seemed to know what I was talking about, but once in the car he asked about the street name again. Half an hour later I found out that not only did he not know the street, neither did the soldiers on the street next to it, nor anyone we stopped to ask except finally someone who was actually on the boulevard we were looking for. This was not some small side street but one that was wide enough for three or four cars. I don't think I ever would have arrived except for the mobile phone which fortunately Dr. Nadia answered immediately each time I called!
Having arrived at the building, I mentioned Salah Taher's name to the doorman and he took me directly to the apartment. The ceilings were ten foot high and the walls were covered with Taher's paintings displayed salon style and interspersed with book shelves that went right to the ceiling. I can't imagine anyone trying to get one of those books from off of the top shelf! I have been in other well known artists' homes and studios and they are all similar, in that none of them have a quiet, clean separate space to work. It is amazing to me that they can produce amidst the bustle of their apartments or in tiny garret or basement places. The paintings were large abstract bold pieces that jumped off the wall. And there was also a whole room filled with paintings based on the calligraphy word "He" which refers to God. Each of this series was so different from the other I would not have known that I was looking at actual letters of the alphabet. In the room where the people were sitting a large winter green painting jumped off the wall. This was his latest piece and it contrasted strikingly with the realist portrait next to it. "I make my living off of the portraits" he later confided to me. There was a photograph on the wall of him painting the famous singer, Um Kalthoum. And others of him making portraits of important government officials.
Nadia had answered the door. She as usual was dressed very fashionably in a European cut silk outfit. Her bright red toenails complemented the yellow and green patterned jacket and dress. The three men, on the other hand, were not dressed up. She first introduced me to her husband, a former Ambassador for Egypt, then to the man next to him holding a lute, who they said was a former airforce general, and finally I said hello to the professor of architecture who had accompanied Nadia to my apartment a couple of weeks ago when they were picking out work for the show. Soon after we sat down, Salah Taher appeared.
He is 92 years old, but I would have thought that he was 80. Very elegant and obviously happy to have friends over, he sat in his chair and immediately began swaying to the music of the singer with the lute. The whole group began chiming in to the songs, and waving their hands. Occasionally Salah would shout, "Allah" and at the end of each song, there would be praise and shouts and an occasional "God be with you!"
It was wonderful to sit in such a small group and have live music. Although everyone there could speak English and French most of the conversation was in Arabic, so it was relaxing to have the music since my Arabic is not strong enough to follow a conversation. Sometimes they would translate for me the words of the songs which seemed to be all about longing, the moon and the stars and ultimately about love.
Salah's wife has passed on, so he lives with two maids dressed in long peasant style gallabeyas with kerchiefs wrapped around their heads. Both were rather large, and they drifted in and out serving us food. At the height of the music, Nadia got up and started dancing for us. She was very graceful in her movements, sensual without being explicitly sexual like the belly dancers I have seen. It was the first time I saw her rather plump husband give a smile. And as the music ended we heard from the back room the amazing guttural high pitched noise from one of the maids. It is the cry that one hears at celebrations. It sounds more animal than human and is impossible to describe if one has never heard it, and impossible to forget once one has experienced it.
I felt very privileged to be invited to this evening. While this was probably a normal Wednesday night for them, it seemed like an exotic experience to me. The food served -beans, cheese, chicken, yogurt, tomatoes, cucumbers, and fruit - was simple but the food is always so much better in people's homes than in restaurants. I now have tasted for the first time a fruit they call Khaki. It looks a bit like an orange tomato but is sweet and doesn't have a tomato taste at all. I wonder what we call it in English. Almost every time I visit an Egyptian's home, I am introduced to a food I have never tasted before. Last time it was termis which I now buy regularly in the market.
Because of Salah Taher's age, the evening at his home ended at 11:00. The others were going to go somewhere else to party until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. I excused myself to go home since it was a school night. Even without that excuse, I still don't think I can handle the Egyptian late nights. Nadia is a dentist as well as a gallery owner. I don't know how she manages to be diplomat's wife, dentist, and gallery owner and still seem un-harried and content. Her children are in their early twenties now, so at least she doesn't have major responsibilities in that area anymore. I do think Egyptian women seem very strong. They are brought up to handle much more than I think I could ever handle.
Aside from that, things have been fairly normal. Except for the time when I went to meet a friend at our regular meeting point at the end of my street which happens to be in front of the Iraqi Embassy. They have taken down the signs that indicate it is Iraqi but the soldiers still guard it, and they were quite nervous about me with my backpack waiting on that corner. They wanted to know what was in the backpack. I thought to myself, "Do I look like a bomber?" and then realized that to the Iraqi Embassy, an American woman was probably exactly the prototype of their image of a bomber! Maybe I should wait on the other side of the street next time.