On my first jaunt out into Cairo alone I made it relatively near to my destination after an only slightly awkward and opaque exchange with a cabbie. I didn’t really know where I was going, and wouldn’t have known exactly how to tell him if I had. I picked a big street near a big landmark downtown and off we went.
I was searching for the Townhouse Gallery, a multipurpose art establishment at which I would attend an exhibition opening later that night.
I arrived at my approximate destination and wandered into a nearby Hilton, approached the balding Egyptian man at the Information Desk and announced that I was lost. He chuckled and gave me a map, then scooted me out the door. I told the concierge outside which street I was looking for, and he said it began beneath a billboard we could both see from the hotel steps. “Great,” I thought, and took off in that direction, only to learn a few seconds later that he had neglected to mention that in between where we had stood and the beginning of Mohamed Bassouny St. stretched the four busiest streets in the world.
Cairo traffic is a seething, fluid mass of chaos, rubber and metal. Lanes aren’t even guidelines, and the cars are packed around each other on all sides, with motorcycles in between. It is more impressive in scope and composition than the pyramids. It’s a hulking beast that operates according to the riddle of the sphinx.
Luckily, my days as a traffic control worker on highway construction sites have steeled my nerves in respect to cars zipping by my vulnerable body at close quarters. One learns quickly that a car must only miss you by a quarter of an inch, or less, for it to do absolutely no damage, no matter how fast it is traveling. My friends with whom I’m staying here explained to me that crossing the menacing lanes of Cairo is largely an act of faith. “You step off the curb, and … Insha’Allah,” they said.
I also observed on my first days in the city a tool used by Egyptians that seems to help put God on their sides when venturing on foot into traffic. I call it “The Cairo Force Field.” It’s always a good idea to find a local going the same way you are and to cross busy streets downstream from him, because people who live in Cairo are masters of this tactic, but if you are on your own or have gained sufficient confidence to cross by yourself, learning the force field is a must.
There is a secret language to Cairo traffic. A single honk from a driver means, “I’m going,” as in, “there is a gap in traffic in front of me and although you other drivers around me might be intent on filling it, in fact I am going to fill it.” A double honk means, “Get out of the way, I’m coming in,” and so on, with slight variations.
The Cairo force field is a pedestrian tool and is something of the adverse to the honk. When a person is crossing a street and using the force field, which is actually just a hand held out with a palm facing oncoming cars, it means, “I’m going,” as in, “I’m going to walk out in front of you now because I have ascertained that you have seen me and are going slow enough to be able to not run me over.” It’s really amazing how well it works. It’s like holding two magnets with similar charges together – they simply repel each other. It’s as if cars have positively charged magnets in their front bumpers, and when you’re in Cairo crossing the street, you have them embedded in your palms.
The force field only works on cars moving forward, however. A favorite, utterly befuddling move I have seen here repeatedly is when a cab or bus driver misses a turn, and instead of going around the block or flipping a u-turn, they simply back up into oncoming traffic. The drivers, understandably, do not want to be backing up into oncoming traffic for any longer than they have to, so they go as quickly as possible. No force field can stop them – you simply have to jump back onto the curb and be thankful for your life.
This video is not mine:
