Waiting for the wind في انتظار الريح

Cairo – Heat. Endless Heat. It hangs in the trees. It hangs on the shoulders of the man carrying a heavy  pack on his back. It hangs on the dogs sleeping.

Heat and dust that does not move, that seems glued in place and that is waiting for the wind to carry it away. Heat that does not go away. Heat that does not belong here and now. Heat that exhausts the exhausted.

No breeze here in Giza. No breeze here downtown. Nothing stirs in Bulak and Zamalek and on and on.

The sun sets and the Nile’s admirers gather, seeking haven.

Crunched together on the bridges, standing in the few dark places along the Corniche, stetched out on the tired grass, sprawled alone on benches, hunched over in bunches, tensely waiting on benches, couples talking, staring, wondering, waiting, hoping, thinking, sleeping, smiling, crying, they are waiting for the wind that they hope will flow through them. The wind that they think will refresh and give them a new spirit.

Heat. No relief



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