deepundergroundpoetry.com
Zaky, The Wheat Rioter Turned Policeman
©vessa07DUP2016
All Rights Reserved
It was early morning on August 7, 2008 and like everyday the Cairene air smelled of dust, car exhaust, and fish. Zaky had lived on the corniche off of Bahr al Azam street for 19 years, he had been educated at a French Language School with thousands of other kids and was now enrolled at the prestigious Cairo University for sports medicine. He was a competitive volleyball player, so naturally he towered over the crowd that was gathered outside the bakery that morning. "The price of bread has gone up again," he said impatiently. With only 4 pounds in his pocket he would barely get enough for each of his 6 family members to have one slice a piece!
Zaky by no means came from a poor family, his dad made at least 600 pounds a month, which is the equivalent of $80. Since there is no such thing as property tax and their apartment had been bought by his grandparents and inherited by his father they didn't pay a mortgage. His and his twin brother's college tuition per year was close to 200 pounds each, so their only real expense every month was food. Seeing as he and his brother were both athletes, his older sister was a doctor and his younger sister was also an athlete there were a lot of appetites to contend with! Now that bread prices were going to increase again to 25 piasters a piece they would not be able to buy enough bread to last the day and he was tasked to get bread for the whole week.
(Egyptians are the world's largest consumer of wheat products, surpassing even the croissant laden diet of the French)
The crowd was getting belligerent as cuss words and threats emanated from the old men in galabiyas and sandals-and the women covered head to toe in black. Both genders were equally displaying the behavior that other countries would associate with pre-rioting. Zaky looked down at his shorts and slowly trickling beneath his Adidas sandals a warm wet liquid was oozing its way towards the back of the crowd. Moments later the entire weight of a 30 year old man fell on his backside and he noticed underneath the white summer uniform shirt of a police officer, he had been stabbed! Shaken by what was happening, and knowing that he would be blamed for the act if he made a scene-it was sort of a 'he who smelt it dealt it' kind of mentality-he pushed his way forward in the crowd to distance himself from the still conscious officer.
As he made his way to the front disgusted by his choice to leave the wounded man, his fellow countryman, his brother in Islam, each step a violation of his nature, of his raising, of his principles. His steps were weighed down by bricks of guilt and so, he looked back and then began to hedge his way back to the man whom he saw was still trying to get the attention of the crowd smothering him. He grabbed the young officer by the shoulder, and surprised by his frailty he carried him towards the back of the crowd. He expected the officer to have muscle, but not only was he a lightweight his very bones seemed to be hollow. Zaky began and inner dialogue with himself: Why did he turn away? Who stabbed this man? Why was he more afraid of being blamed for this man's injury than being blamed by God for turning away? He was raised to know better, was this the man he was, was this a test?
As he passed each face in the crowd he studied each expression, eyes squinted concave wrinkles lining each face, anger, despair, hunger, and desperation. He then turned down to the officer; beneath the obvious pain he was feeling and the shadow of paleness slowly passing over him as if death would be upon him any moment, Zaky's heart heaved in his chest, even the officer appeared hungry.
Zaky finally got to the back of the crowd and finally heard the officer saying prayers, preparing his soul for death, and even though this man was a stranger and represented every evil act of oppression shoved down upon the Egyptian people by their dictatorial government, he realized he was a man just as he. He too was hungry, and even though Zaky thought he was in the crowd that morning to quell the rioting he realized that he too was there to buy bread.
The man's weight bottomed out and Zaky saw the officer struggling for his last breath and the consequences of possibly being blamed for this man's death didn't stop him from trying to revive him. Tears began to run down his dust covered face creating lines on his cheek bones and Zaky collapsed with the man on his lap, coddling him in his arms. The man had seemed so light and now in death gained what seemed to be double his weight, Zaky even seemed heavier. The guilt of walking away would haunt him each day!
-------------------
Two years later in the same month Zaky returned home in his new white summer uniform, a graduate of the Mubarak Police Academy. His father came home to greet him, his mother had prepared a feast, and as he sat down at the table, his twin brother brought a basket and sat it in front of him filled with hot bread....August, 2010.
All Rights Reserved
It was early morning on August 7, 2008 and like everyday the Cairene air smelled of dust, car exhaust, and fish. Zaky had lived on the corniche off of Bahr al Azam street for 19 years, he had been educated at a French Language School with thousands of other kids and was now enrolled at the prestigious Cairo University for sports medicine. He was a competitive volleyball player, so naturally he towered over the crowd that was gathered outside the bakery that morning. "The price of bread has gone up again," he said impatiently. With only 4 pounds in his pocket he would barely get enough for each of his 6 family members to have one slice a piece!
Zaky by no means came from a poor family, his dad made at least 600 pounds a month, which is the equivalent of $80. Since there is no such thing as property tax and their apartment had been bought by his grandparents and inherited by his father they didn't pay a mortgage. His and his twin brother's college tuition per year was close to 200 pounds each, so their only real expense every month was food. Seeing as he and his brother were both athletes, his older sister was a doctor and his younger sister was also an athlete there were a lot of appetites to contend with! Now that bread prices were going to increase again to 25 piasters a piece they would not be able to buy enough bread to last the day and he was tasked to get bread for the whole week.
(Egyptians are the world's largest consumer of wheat products, surpassing even the croissant laden diet of the French)
The crowd was getting belligerent as cuss words and threats emanated from the old men in galabiyas and sandals-and the women covered head to toe in black. Both genders were equally displaying the behavior that other countries would associate with pre-rioting. Zaky looked down at his shorts and slowly trickling beneath his Adidas sandals a warm wet liquid was oozing its way towards the back of the crowd. Moments later the entire weight of a 30 year old man fell on his backside and he noticed underneath the white summer uniform shirt of a police officer, he had been stabbed! Shaken by what was happening, and knowing that he would be blamed for the act if he made a scene-it was sort of a 'he who smelt it dealt it' kind of mentality-he pushed his way forward in the crowd to distance himself from the still conscious officer.
As he made his way to the front disgusted by his choice to leave the wounded man, his fellow countryman, his brother in Islam, each step a violation of his nature, of his raising, of his principles. His steps were weighed down by bricks of guilt and so, he looked back and then began to hedge his way back to the man whom he saw was still trying to get the attention of the crowd smothering him. He grabbed the young officer by the shoulder, and surprised by his frailty he carried him towards the back of the crowd. He expected the officer to have muscle, but not only was he a lightweight his very bones seemed to be hollow. Zaky began and inner dialogue with himself: Why did he turn away? Who stabbed this man? Why was he more afraid of being blamed for this man's injury than being blamed by God for turning away? He was raised to know better, was this the man he was, was this a test?
As he passed each face in the crowd he studied each expression, eyes squinted concave wrinkles lining each face, anger, despair, hunger, and desperation. He then turned down to the officer; beneath the obvious pain he was feeling and the shadow of paleness slowly passing over him as if death would be upon him any moment, Zaky's heart heaved in his chest, even the officer appeared hungry.
Zaky finally got to the back of the crowd and finally heard the officer saying prayers, preparing his soul for death, and even though this man was a stranger and represented every evil act of oppression shoved down upon the Egyptian people by their dictatorial government, he realized he was a man just as he. He too was hungry, and even though Zaky thought he was in the crowd that morning to quell the rioting he realized that he too was there to buy bread.
The man's weight bottomed out and Zaky saw the officer struggling for his last breath and the consequences of possibly being blamed for this man's death didn't stop him from trying to revive him. Tears began to run down his dust covered face creating lines on his cheek bones and Zaky collapsed with the man on his lap, coddling him in his arms. The man had seemed so light and now in death gained what seemed to be double his weight, Zaky even seemed heavier. The guilt of walking away would haunt him each day!
-------------------
Two years later in the same month Zaky returned home in his new white summer uniform, a graduate of the Mubarak Police Academy. His father came home to greet him, his mother had prepared a feast, and as he sat down at the table, his twin brother brought a basket and sat it in front of him filled with hot bread....August, 2010.
Published 7th Jul 2016
| Edited 12th Jan 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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8th Jul 2016 8:17am
