Book 3 U6_R-E

她熟知开罗的每一个角落——这并非一日之功。开罗迷宫般 的大街小巷、居民区、集市所构成的复杂体系，宛如古代说书人 编造的迷津。数百座清真寺——其中许多是伊斯兰建筑的精华， 紧紧挤在一起的的老街区，郊外巨大的公寓楼群，静静流淌的尼 罗河穿城而过——所有这些组成了这座过于拥挤的城市。 娜格特熟谙人情，略带幽默。她全权负责我的观光日程安排。 每天早上9点正，我都能看见她矮壮的身影准时出现在旅馆大厅外。 每当她瞥见我走下楼梯，她圆圆的脸上马上会绽放出灿烂的笑容。 几乎每天她都穿着一件土黄色的带风帽的斗蓬。她动作利索，从 不浪费任何时间。她做事果断似乎是由于经济条件所迫而养成的 习惯，不得不尽可能多做些事情。
What becomes clear to me soon as she drives me from museum
to pyramid, from one part of town to the opposite, is this: she is a true
exception here. Wherever we stop, be it for a cup of tea during a break or upon arriving at an historical site where her male colleagues gather in the parking area — everywhere, she is being noticed. Men walk up to her in the car with questioning faces. As she tells me, they all have one question first of all: “Are you a taxi driver?” She then explains in a few short sentences, and I see the men’s faces soften, smile and respectfully and kindly chat with her. This scene repeats itself over and over again. I get the sense that she invites goodwill from the people she meets.
I feel a firm hand holding my left arm. “You want taxi, follow me,” the woman says. She doesn’t ask, she simply pulls me through the crowd. I follow her willingly. There is this moment when a tourist, particularly a woman, simply has to trust someone. We stop at a worn car. It has seen a better day, there are quite a few scrapes on its body, the tires are bald and there is a crack in the windshield. But it is a car for hire, and the woman will personally drive me. I breathe a sigh of relief when she puts my bag into the trunk, locks it and gets behind the wheel. “I will drive you, don’t worry,” she says. Nagat, as she now explains to me, works as a taxi driver several days and nights a week. She has another job, working in an office, but details of it remain vague. The little old car is not hers; it belongs to a boss from whom she in turn rents it whenever she can. She has been a driver ever since her husband died some ten years earlier and left her with two teenage kids and her parents to support.
我感到一只有力的手抓住了我的左臂。“你需要出租车，跟 我来！”那个女人说。她什么都没有问，只是拉着我穿过人群。 我顺从地跟着她。一个旅游者，特别是一个妇女，有些时候就不 得不信赖某个人。我们来到一辆破旧的小车前。这辆车的风光已 过——如今车身上有不少擦伤，轮胎磨得光秃秃的，挡风玻璃上 还有一道裂缝。但它的确是一辆出租车。而且这个女人将亲自开 车送我。她把我的包搬进行李箱，上好锁，然后坐在驾驶座上。 这时我才松了一口气。“我会开车送你。别担心，”她说。 娜格特向我解释说，她每周开几个昼夜的出租车。她另有一 份工作，在办公室任职，但语焉不详。这辆破旧的小车不是她的， 而是一个老板的。只要有可能，她就向他租来开。自从十来年前 她丈夫撒手人寰，留下两个十多岁的孩子和她的双亲之后，她就 一直开出租车养家糊口。
She knows every nook and cranny in and around Cairo — no easy feat. Cairo with its complex system of streets and lanes, its quarters and markets is like a labyrinth invented by ancient storytellers. Hundreds of mosques — many of which are masterpieces of Islamic architecture, old neighborhoods with houses boxed together, huge apartment buildings on the outskirts and the Nile calmly running through it; all are part of this overcrowded city. With a mild sense of humor around a deep core of understanding of human nature, Nagat takes control of my sightseeing schedule. Every morning punctually at nine o’clock, I can depend on seeing her short, solid frame outside the hotel lobby, her round face turning into a big smile as soon as she sees me coming down the stairs. Most every day, she wears an earth tone-colored Jellaba. Her movements are energetic and she doesn’t waste any time. Her determined approach seems to have grown on a bed of economy, on the necessity to get as much done as she possibly can.
Nagat is proud and independent. One day, as I find her waiting outside a museum, she is just taking a spare tire out of the trunk of the taxi. One of the bald tires has finally gone flat, and she is going to change it herself. Several curious people gather around her and she receives offers of help — but no, she wants no part of that. In her efficient, deliberate manner, she changes the tire, and having done so, washes her hands with bottled water, gets in the taxi and asks “Where to now?” Should you find yourself at Cairo’s airport, look for Nagat outside the international arrival hall. If you are lucky, you will have a chance to see Cairo through the eyes of a woman taxi driver.
Her name is Nagat. I first saw her outside Cairo’s airport terminal. A woman taxi driver — the only woman, for that matter, among a large crowd of her male counterparts. Do you know what it is like to arrive in a strange city in the middle of the night? Nobody, not even a ray of sunshine is here to greet you. When I walk out of the terminal, I am facing the crowd of taxi drivers milling about in front of every airport the world over. Here in Cairo, it is large and noisy. “Taxi!” “You want taxi?” I hear all round me.