Egypt 1992
From donkey cart to cab
(Excerpt from the diary)
It is already late afternoon when our dusty bus comes to a halt in the Siwa oasis with screeching brakes. A boy rushes towards us with shrill shouts. “Taxi, mister! Taaaxiii!” The boy is waving a poster in front of us with the address of an accommodation facility written on it. Laughing, I take his poster and turn it the right way up so that I can read the name of the hotel. The cab turns out to be a small wooden cart pulled by a donkey. Delighted, we load our rucksacks onto the vehicle and enjoy the leisurely ride.
Siwa looks like a painting from One Thousand and One Nights. The setting sun shines in warm red on picturesque clay castles that look like honeycombs and tower up to six storeys high. The alleyways are so narrow and dark that the houses have to be lit even during the day. An acrid smell wafts into our noses from the market. The aroma of smoked products mingles with rotting tomatoes and hay, which the dozing donkeys munch on with relish. Figs, dates and grapes are sold. Freshly slaughtered lambs hang dismembered on rusty hooks, and thousands of flies feast on them.
As the sun breathes out its last warm light in the nearby desert, the roof of the sky arches over the oasis. Stars sparkle like diamonds. Small fires flicker between the palm trees, where the residents warm themselves. They chatter and laugh and a misguided cock crows at the top of his voice. Time stood still here a thousand years ago.
In stark contrast to Cairo. Our battered cab races blindly towards a completely congested intersection. Shortly before the crash, the driver slams on the brakes. I fold my sweaty hands in prayer and hope that the brakes on the wrecked car are working. We are wedged in a stinking ball of metal. Then, even though all the visible traffic lights are red, the tangle starts moving again. A frightening concert of honking horns accompanies the swirling heap of metal that makes our ears ache. Suddenly we are overtaken by a cyclist on the left. Our driver seems to ignore him completely and rams into the swearing man with his wing mirror. Blinking between my hands, I see the poor man land rather roughly between two garbage cans at the side of the road. “Inshallah,” says our driver as if nothing had happened and steps on the gas…
From hunter to hunted
Our camel guide Achmed, Tanja and I sit close to the crackling fire because it’s a cold night. We have been in the middle of the Sinai desert for days, crossing it by camel. We listen to the nothingness, the silence of the desert, the painting pines of our camels and watch the flickering flames. The moon bathes the surrounding mountains, which cast their monstrous shadows on the cold sand, in a pale light. We set up camp in a narrow gorge, right at the foot of a huge mountain massif. The gorge looks menacing when the wind blows around protruding, bizarre rocks. I reflect on times long gone when the Bedouins still had to protect themselves from lions. Suddenly an unpleasant feeling runs through me. Are there still lions here today? I can’t let go of the thought and I ask Achmed. “Ohhh,” he replies thoughtfully, raises an eyebrow and begins his story.
“Yes, it wasn’t so long ago that our camel herds were attacked by wild lions. When my grandfather was still young, his family repeatedly had to mourn the loss of a camel. Back then, camels were worth much more than they are today. For some families, a camel was even the only valuable possession.
One of my grandfather’s neighbors was a rich man. He owned 15 camels. He was respected, people asked him for advice and he determined the route when the entire clan set off for another oasis. One night he was woken up by a terrible roar. At first he thought he was dreaming, but a repeated roar finally tore the veil of sleepiness from his face. He immediately realized what it was about and hurried with his rifle in the direction from which he had heard the terrible sounds. “He’s back,” it flashed across his lips. “The beast is back to eat one of my camels.” He ran, stumbled, got up again and rushed on. Just last year, a lion killed one of his animals. He shot at him and wounded him. He followed the trail of blood for days, but the lion was smarter than him. Then he lost the trail.
Now he was back to take revenge on him. Deep inside him, he also felt the fear that permeated his camels. He stumbled again, but this time it wasn’t a stone he fell over. One of his camels lay twitching on the desert floor. To his horror, he could still hear the cries of his animals. He had no time to mourn the loss of the lead bull, who lay before him covered in blood. He had to chase after the lion. Suddenly he realized the extent of the battlefield. Another four camels lay in the desert sand, some with their heads dislocated and their bellies slit open. Tears ran down his heated cheeks as he saw his animals dying miserably.
He had owned the camels for years. He knew them well, yes, he knew them like his own brothers. At the terrible sight, all the characteristics of his faithful companions flashed through his mind. He was particularly sorry for the loss of his two bulls. He didn’t always have it easy with them. Especially during the mating season, they were often unruly and did what they wanted. But they were strong and persistent. They could even go 10 days without water and it was no problem for them to walk 14 hours without a break with a load of 400 kilograms each. They were his pride and joy and now they were twitching miserably in the desert dust. Another loud cry of distress tore him from his thoughts. He carefully crept on through the dry bushes. Oh God, there were still two camels lying there and one camel cow was limping away on just three legs. The sight was so horrific that it choked him up. He stood there paralyzed and realized that he was a poor man again. Suddenly his whole body shook with a deep, bloodcurdling rumble. He realized that it was his turn now. His life reeled before his eyes in a flash. He was still young. He didn’t want to die. He could feel an irrepressible will flowing through his body. Like an arrow just leaving the bow, it shot forward. While still moving, he shot at the approaching shadow, which crashed to the ground next to him with a low roar. He felt a sense of relief and only now did he realize how his knees were trembling. He ran back to the camp with a feeling that only winners know. He no longer cared about anything, not about his dead camels and not about the dead lion. He simply ran back to the camp to report what had happened.
At dawn, he and a few men from the camp set off to inspect the scene of the horror. Everyone wanted to see the dead beast he had spoken so pompously about. But when they reached the spot where the huge lion was lying, it had disappeared. Shaken, he ran around looking for the deadly hunter. He heard laughter in the background. It wasn’t hard to see that it was for him. He felt hatred inside him. The great hunter had taken everything from him. In just a few hours he had made him poor and now he had also exposed him. He was a proud man and could no longer live in the camp without his dignity.
The next day, he set off on the hunt for the beast that had ruined him. It was to become a life’s work, because he pursued his mortal enemy like a bloodhound. On the years-long hunt through the Sinai, he shot every lion he could get in front of his rifle. And so it happened that the hunter became the hunted, for he gave his arch-enemy no opportunity to rest.
During his hunting years, he became famous as a lion hunter. It is said that more than 200 trophies adorned his home and that his hunting is the reason why there are no more lions in Sinai today,” Ahmed ends his story quietly.
I sit thoughtfully by the almost extinguished fire and feel a deep sadness inside me. “How cruel nature can be,” I whisper, listening to the wind blowing through the nearby ravine.
Egypt 1992/2004
Even today, it is still a country where stories are whispered as if in a thousand and one nights. A land of rocky mountains, oases, deserts and the bright colors of the Orient. The breathtaking pyramids, sailing trips on the Nile and the whispering winds of the Sinai desert were just some of Tanja and Denis Katzer’s experiences.
