At Sidi Gaber tram station, a woman in a gallabiya, Umm Muhammad, sits down on one of the few benches available, awaiting the tram. It's eight o'clock in the morning, but she's been up for a couple of hours now. Next to her feet is her prized possession: a large metal bowl full of dairy products or vegetables that she plans to sell today. The contents of the bowl are covered with a heavy cloth. Every day, Umm Muhammad and dozens like her make the train journey from their villages in the Beheira province to Alexandria. They vary in age, but they all have the same aim; to sell their products. They make the trip to Alexandria every day because they can sell for much higher prices than in their villages. This is the main source of income for themselves and their families. In the distance, a loud rumbling sound is heard, followed by a horn. The familiar sound indicates that the tram is about to arrive. Commuters get up from their seats move closer to the tracks and stretch their necks to make sure it is arriving. Once in the station, the doors open and a sea of passengers spills out; oblivious to the signs “Entrance” and “Exit”. The new passengers wait impatiently for the tram to empty, including Umm Muhammad. Her huge metal bowl has a diameter too large to fit through the door, so she yells at an unsuspecting young man standing by the window and asks him to lift the deceptively heavy bowl inside, without telling him that his arms will be sore for a few hours. The tram moves at a turtle's pace through the succession of stops until her destination is reached; Camp Caesar (pronounced chezar). Her huge bowl is carried out through the window by another young man; the first one having moved to another window to avoid the ordeal. The day's business begins now. As if through magical abilities, she balances the bowl on her head without having to support it with her hands, and crosses the tram tracks to enter an alleyway where she will spend the day; Souk Shidya. Shidya is not merely an alleyway; rather it is a marketplace in the traditional sense, unchanged for years despite the new hypermarkets popping up all over Alexandria. Wooden stalls and carts displaying an array of fruits and vegetables compete with each other for a few square meters of land. Some vendors specialize in only one good, whereas others offer a variety. Tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, pepper, guava, mangoes, apples and oranges are all arranged in separate piles. Each pile has a cardboard sign propped up declaring the price per kilo. All day long, the vendors display their legendary lung power as they boast the best prices. Umbrellas bathe the produce in shade to protect them from the noon sun. The more affluent of the vendors own permanent shops which are piled to the ceiling with crates. It is an unwritten code that the sidewalk in front of every store belongs to that store; where fruits and vegetables are waiting to be sold. Bunches of bananas dangle from the ceiling. Every vendor, whether store, stall or cart, has their own scale. Not an electronic one; rather an ancient one that places the purchased goods in one tray and a counterweight in the other. The metal trays are rusty and disfigured by age. Worry abounds as people wonder if Souk Cleopatra will suffer the same fate In the midst of all this commotion, Umm Muhammad finds an empty area of land where she will sit cross-legged for the rest of the day. Her load is placed in front of her and the cover removed to reveal eggs, white cheese or vegetables. Here she sits throughout the day selling to the shoppers. In the early morning, customers are few, but as the day progresses, they multiply rapidly. In the afternoon and at night, shoppers are inseparable as they squeeze between each other with their purchases. Many of the vendors play music on stereos to create a festive mood. Sometimes, young children are seen running through tiny streets and playing with each other. This souk is the only means of livelihood for the vendors. For countless years, Souk Shidya has been a bustling marketplace that has provided a decent living for many families and good quality, low priced food to Alexandrians. That may change forever. For now, the crowd has dispersed and the mood is gloomy. For two weeks now, the souk has ceased to exist. Now, it is simply a narrow alleyway with the occasional car passing through. For the first time, the crooked, poorly paved road that shoppers have walked on for years has emerged. The stalls and carts and peasants with their metal bowls have all disappeared; and with them the shoppers. The actual stores are the only ones who remain, and even they have stopped putting their goods on the sidewalk. For the numerous vendors who worked at Shidya, a new place must be found to earn a living. Souk Shidya is now a shadow of its former self. Silent, virtually deserted, with a few despondent shop owners sitting in bamboo chairs idly chatting and smoking, waiting for customers. The reason for this disastrous transformation is expressed by them in one word: Government. The vendors don't have a license to operate where they do, and shop owners are legally forbidden from putting their goods on the sidewalk. They don't pay taxes, and the Governorate of Alexandria does not receive any payment for the streets and sidewalks they utilize. But that never stops these brave, sometimes indifferent, people from striving to earn a living. In popular districts like Mansheya or Khaled ebn el Walid street, lone men spread whatever they have to sell on the sidewalk; be it clothes, cheap perfumes, lingerie or food. Anything goes. Every now and then, a police crackdown takes place with a characteristic scene. The first to see the police cars coming from a distance shouts “Hokooma!!” at the top of his lungs; the Arabic word for government. This is the signal to move, and move fast. In a second, they all stop whatever they're doing, collect their goods and run. Those with light merchandise or a small mobile cart are lucky; they disappear in the narrow side streets while the unlucky ones back on the main street suffer the heavy hand of the police. Their merchandise is confiscated by force and fines are imposed. Those who protest may be beaten. When the police are satisfied with their treasure hunt and the street is dead silent, they take off, leaving behind them women wailing and men using the vilest language known to mankind. BM
