EAST AND WEST
Egypt is surely one of the most cosmopolitan countries in this old planet. It is also one of the most interesting. You will find all the breeds you want in or about Cairo, Alexandria, and Port Said—and some you don't. Quite a variety of languages, too, although English, French, and Arabic are most in favour.
The natives stick to Arabic, but many of them have a smattering of French and English of a sort. They are all there at picking up a new language, especially if there is money back of it. They will do anything for the dollars. They may have had souls once; but now—— They have sold them long ago.
The newspaper sellers were real dabs at learning English. They used to visit our camps daily (like the "orangemen"), calling out the most striking items contained in their wares. Everything out of the common was to them "very goot news"—although we mightn't think so. Thus one morning you might hear: "Very goot news; Engelsch 'vancin'"; while the same evening the beggars were announcing: "Very goot news: strike in Glasgow." We got to take this kind of thing as a matter of course, but it was a bit tough to hear: "Very goot news: Lord Roberts dead." However, as time went on their knowledge of English increased at a rapid rate. But it was camp English—Australasian at that—and when they took to airing it in the streets of Cairo things happened. They were especially disrespectful to the Kaiser, inventing fancy diseases for him every day, and prefacing each item with the usual: "Very goot news——"
One of the institutions of Egypt is the Bootblack Brigade. We struck it in full force at Cairo. No sooner did you step out of the train there than your ears were assailed by a shrill chorus of, "Mister, clean 'im boots." There was only one thing to do—let them clean them. It was no good trying to dodge those boys; they were out to black your boots, and they meant to black them or perish in the attempt. You gained nothing by bolting into a pub or restaurant; no sooner were you seated comfortably than they had you bailed up by the leg and their brushes going at forty horse-power. Even boarding an electric car didn't fill the bill; they just chased the car till it pulled up, hopped on board, and got to work. Swearing had no effect; calling their parents names had less—they were used to it. Let them earn the usual half-piastre and you could call them and their forefathers all the names in the Bible. You found yourself entirely in their hands; go where you would those Cairo bootblacks ran you down.
It is a gay old city, is Cairo. It is the home of Eastern curios, priceless fabrics, beautiful pottery, good coffee, bad liquor, donkeys, dirt, vermin, ear-splitting noises, and rampant vice. You can get as much of each of these goods as you like. East and West certainly do meet in Cairo. But they don't mix—for obvious reasons.
The Egyptian of the better class struck me as rather a fine fellow in a way. He was certainly intelligent, handsome as men go, and clean-run enough while on the right side of thirty. After that age, however, he was prone to pile on flesh and drop his chest lower down. His chief amusements seemed to be eating, drinking iced lemonade and sherbet, riding in big, costly motors, listening to the band, and admiring the Western ladies. In dress he was an out-and-out howling swell—a flash of the flashiest. On the whole I should say he liked and respected the Britisher in a lazy, good-tempered way; was a law-abiding citizen, but would never find the sand to stand up to the Westerner in a mix-up for the showboss's job.
The lower-class natives were just a cut above the poor devils of donkeys they exercised their cruelties on. They would sell their own daughters to the highest bidder—and throw in a wife as backsheesh. They were nearly all "crooks," and cheated you right and left if you allowed them. It was only a new chum who gave them anything like the price they asked for their goods. They hated you like poison when you drove a fair bargain and despised you for a tenderfoot if you didn't. They were as saving as a Cousin Jack, investing their earnings in donkeys and wives. I once asked a chap with a face like a Murchison black-fellow, which fetched the higher price: he side-tracked, but admitted that while it was always easy enough to pick up a passable wife, good donkeys were anything but common. Taking them bye and large, the lower-class natives, as we found them, were twisters, crooks, and liars; they were (like most Eastern breeds) cruel devils with animals, loading their wretched donkeys and ponies down till they could hardly move, and then cutting them up with heavy sticks and whips till a fellow felt like putting the swine to sleep. I fancy they treated their camels rather better; camels are costly animals, and I have heard it stated that if ill-treated they have a habit of eating their masters. This I cannot vouch for, by the way. I once nearly put my great toe out in an argument with one of the brutes (a native, not a camel), over a poor little donkey. I had only light canvas shoes on at the time, instead of the military hob-nailed boot. I never made a similar mistake again. However, I had the satisfaction of knowing that the unfortunate animal would be spared his weight for a day or two. In dismissing the low-down Gippy for the time, I have only to add that he is as husky as they make them, intensely religious, and works his wives and daughters much the same as the other animals he possesses. He is also a deal dirtier, and his washerwoman must have a lively job.
Before visiting Egypt I had the usual Western ideas regarding harem life. I soon changed that. I'd lay an even bet that the women of the East are, on the whole, quite satisfied with their lot. True, they have no choice in the matter, and have never run across anything better. Anyway they just take things as they find them, and seem quite content to graft away like billy-oh, while their owners lie in the shade and smoke. They are really only big children, these women, with undeveloped brains. The men have the education, seem to hold the bank, while the women are treated by them sometimes as toys to play with, and sometimes as wilful kids that have got to be either humoured or punished. I must say I never ran across a brighter or more cheery lot than those so-called down-trodden females. We used to meet them everywhere, for they knock around quite openly, at times with their husbands, and again in charge of an elderly lady or two, of a rather more severe cast of countenance. They wore veils that hid their faces from the eyes down, and from what we did see of them were not on the whole bad-looking. They were rather fine about the eyes, and they made full use of those organs, even in the company of the "old man," who didn't seem to be overjoyed when he caught them giving the glad eye to a mob of khaki-clad Christians. We were warned not to return same, no matter what the provocation, lest we should offend native feelings—an order which, of course, we obeyed!
The Turkish ladies were as flash as they make them, dressed in what struck us as the latest from Paris. They used to knock round Cairo in big Rolls-Royce cars, and seemed to have no end of a jolly fine time. They, at least, certainly didn't appear down-trodden. I don't remember seeing an ugly one; they were as pretty a crowd as you could wish to bump into, and as lively as a basketful of jack rabbits. The way they used to smile and roll those dark eyes of theirs! It made a chap feel like owning a harem and turning Mohammedan right away. They were out-and-out flirts, and their veils helped them, being made of stuff like white muslin that you could see through. To our surprise their complexions were of the pink and white brand. They went in for plumpness a bit, wore high heels, hobble skirts, and ran to fineness about the waist. Their weak point lay in their action; they didn't walk too well (tight shoes, I reckon). But, on the whole, they were jolly fetching—and knew it. We were specially warned against those Turkish ladies. Poor girls! And they were so keen on learning English, too.