I Am a Jew from Egypt: Chasing Time

Copyright © 2013 by Aslan Ben Eliahou

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-2185-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2186-1 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-2187-8 (hc)

iUniverse rev. date: 1/03/2013

Contents

Acknowledgements

What This Book Is About

The Question

In The Beginning

About King Farouk

The Moslem Brotherhood

Summer Camp In Ras-El-Bar

Lost In The Desert

Going To The Gherba And Kite Flying

The Murder

The Bar Mitzvah

The Secret

The Greatest Love Story

The Exodus

The Lydia

Les Halles

Going To America

Going To California

Coming Back

My Father’s First Job

Buying A House

Precision Cutting

Going To London

A Life Changing Decision

A Dissipated Life

Taking To The Road

The Accident

The Kindness of New Haven

My Brother and Gambling

The Last Stretch

Losing It

Taking The Easy Way Out

The Way To Recovery

Meeting Peter

The Miracle

Going To Egypt With Ben

Going Down Memory Lane

Back To Chicago

Planning To Become A Captain

Going To St. John

Leaving The Island

Saying Goodbye To My Mother

Making Amends

Buying The Class Act

The Crash of 1988

Meeting Susie

Our First Date

Yo-Yo

Skiing Red River

The Engagement

The Wedding

Getting Into The Chartering Business

Hiring A New Captain

Blondie

Mito

Selling La Mer III

Getting Sued

Adding New Services

Learning About Motocross

Sky Diving

Meeting Guy

Learning About Welding

Grand Canyon

Everest

My Father-In-Law

Walking Across The Grand Canyon

The Worst Day Of My Life!

Giving Financial Advice

Family Life Goes On

Going On Gabe’s Honeymoon

White Water Rafting

My Cousins

Skiing The Swiss Alps

Zermatt

My Real Estate Adventure

A Disturbing Situation

Disaster Strikes

An Aberration of Justice

Forgiving

The God Concept

Alaska

The Different Laws

In Conclusion

Acknowledgements

I dedicate this book to my parents, who shared with me the first part of my life and gave me the tools to meet adversity head on. My gratitude extends to the many people who crossed my path and made my life and adventures possible. My special thanks go to my daughter, Leila, and my friend Ruth, who patiently deciphered my manuscript and typed it into a legible form.

Edited by Larry Morgan, Ph.D

What This Book Is About

This is the saga of an Egyptian Jew, and the story of his life. It chronicles his escape from a dictator’s regime in Egypt, and his times in Paris, France and later in America. It describes the many adventures and situations he and his family went through adjusting to a radically different culture, and the many cultural glitches they experienced. His philosophies and beliefs are constantly challenged and put to the test. Written in a very simple and humorous style, this book will surprise you and make you think. It will captivate your imagination and make you experience the full range of emotions .It is a story of victories and defeats, redemption and forgiveness; his struggle with addiction, and the eventual surmounting of it. It will touch you to the depth of your soul and bring your mind to a different awareness.

The Question

How did we, Jews, end up back in Egypt after Moses freed us from Pharaoh three thousand years earlier? This is the story and it dates back to the Spanish Inquisition. That started around 1480 and was in full force in 1492 around the time Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Some unauthenticated historical writings contend that Columbus and his crew were Jews trying to escape the Inquisition. My ancestors lived in the south of Spain, in Seville at the time. As the Inquisition progressed, Jews were given two options: convert to Catholicism, or be executed. My ancestors took a third way out. They escaped to Greece, and more specifically, Salonika. Greece had always been a haven for Jews, even during World War II, when they escaped from Hitler’s Germany.

At any rate, they lived there for 400 years, keeping their customs and traditions, and speaking their version of the Spanish language, known as Ladino. I was told that my great-grandfather was Grand Rabbi of Salonika, so this is where my grandfather Leon, on my father’s side, was born. He grew up in Salonika, and spoke Ladino, Greek, and Turkish. Since Greece and Turkey were at war in those days, he found it wise to learn both languages, giving him an edge in case either country had the upper hand.

At an early age, he became the overseer at a huge tobacco factory. One day he was approached by several of the employees who told him that they would strike unless they got a raise. There were no unions in those days. They convinced my grandfather that they were representing the majority of the workers. My grandfather presented their request to the owner who immediately called a general meeting. With all employees present and with my grandfather at his side, the owner asked the employees who wanted to have a strike, and for them to raise their hands. None of them did. In order to make an example, he publicly called my grandfather a liar, and fired him on the spot. Shocked and disillusioned, my grandfather decided to leave the country.

He packed light and was at the harbor early the next day. Travel was easy in those days. One did not need a passport or reservations. You boarded a vessel, paid for your fare and you were good to go. There were two ships about to leave: one was bound for Australia, and the other for Alexandria, Egypt. He chose the one with the shortest route, and ended up in Cairo a short time later. There, he opened a very small shop where he sold cigarettes, tobacco and other commodities, such as candy and trinkets. A glass counter was his store front. The sides and the back of the store had shelves stocked with merchandise he sold, and in the glass case were samples of what he had in stock. In those days, one sold cigarettes one at a time or in boxes; you had a choice. His cigarette store was located in EL MOUSKI, a very active commercial center in Cairo.

He met with a clothing manufacturer one day, and they became good friends. The man convinced him to get into the garment business since the dynamics were a lot more profitable than selling one cigarette at a time. From the start, business was good, so my grandfather convinced his younger brother Abramino to leave Salonika and join him as a partner in his new venture. The same man who helped him get in the clothing business helped him bid on the production of uniforms for the Egyptian Army. He won the bid and became the main supplier. It was ironic that a Jew became in charge of that. Word got around that he made the pants too tight in the crotch causing the Egyptian Army to lose every battle they got into with Israel. But these were just rumors.

My grandfather was standing at his store front one day, and he saw a beautiful woman walking by. He was taken aback by her beauty and followed her. He found out she was living only a few buildings from where his store was. Her name was Clara Yehiel, a transplanted Jewess. He started courting her riding a donkey, his only means of transportation in those days, and found himself standing under her balcony every evening until she noticed him. His ardor paid off. They ended up getting married.

In The Beginning

I was born May 6, 1942 in Cairo, Egypt, a Moslem Country. I was born a Jew and raised in French Catholic Schools. This is where all of the confusion started. In 1942, the world was at war and that same year, the German army which was allied with Italy, was disembarking in Alexandria. From what my father told me, German soldiers rode into Cairo on motorcycles. Since Egypt had been occupied by Britain for many years, the Egyptians were cheering for Germany and were looking upon the Germans as their liberators. Arabs were completely unaware of Hitler’s feelings for them, and did not know that he considered their status barely above that of an animal. They did not know that if Germany occupied Egypt, their fate would be far worse than under the British Occupation. At the time, some unusual events took place. Mussolini, who was Hitler’s ally and a megalomaniac, wanted to enter Cairo riding his white horse, like a Roman conqueror. The horse had to be brought in by ship. It took over three days to organize this affair. The delay caused Hitler’s army a tactical disadvantage. The German army was held back just long enough for the Brit’s and their allies to defeat Rommel in the Battle at the Bottleneck at El Alamein. The Desert Fox, as he was known, retreated. His supply line had been cut off and he could no longer get any fuel for his tanks. Rommel went back to Germany, his Panzer Division left to rust in the Western Desert. The Afrika Korps was totally defeated, never to return. This was a great day for all Jews and European subjects residing in Egypt. There was an estimated 80,000 Jews at the time. This significant event spared our lives.

First, let me start by saying that my birthday was the same as King Farouk’s Coronation Day. He became King in 1936 and his reign lasted until 1952, when he was forced to abdicate after the revolution took place with Mohammed Naguib and Gamal Abdel Nasser in command of the Egyptian army. To celebrate Coronation Day, all the major streets of Cairo were illuminated, and there were festivities and fireworks everywhere, especially at MIDAN EL TAHRIR, the major gathering center in Cairo for important events. When I was of an age to understand, my father told me that the festivities were to celebrate my birthday, and I thought it was totally befitting. I grew up with a very healthy ego, and a strong sense of self. It was not until years later that I found out the celebrations were for the King. Upon that discovery, my ego was slightly deflated.

About King Farouk

This particular monarch was Turkish, as was Fouad, his father before him. At a young age (in his teens, it is said), he lost an eye, and the stories differ as to how that happened. Some said he was caught in bed with someone’s wife and got shot. Others said he lost his eye while playing soccer. The shot in the eye was the preferred version amongst the people. Nevertheless his portrait adorned several coins, and his profile on these coins was the one with the good eye. Again, the opinions varied on which eye was shown.

He was known as The Puppet King. Since Great Britain considered Egypt one of its colonies, it had placed Farouk in power and was ruling Egypt through him. The man started out as a handsome young prince, and ended up dying of a heart attack at age 45 in a restaurant in Italy. His weight at the time of his death was over 350 pounds. After a coup d’état, perpetrated by Mohammed Naguib, and his second in command, Gamel Abdel Nasser, Farouk had been in exile since 1952.

Mohammed Naguib was the Commander in Chief of the Egyptian Army. He and Nasser, along with several other military commanders, decided to overthrow the regime of King Farouk. They surrounded the palace at EL EZBEKIEH with tanks and demanded the king abdicate in favor of his seven month old son, Fouad the Second, when he came of age. Not a drop of blood was shed. The king was allowed to leave Egypt on his 65 foot yacht, EL MAHROUSSA, taking all of his enormous wealth and his family with him. He had three daughters and his new born son, Fouad the Second, named after his father, and his wife Narriman. He left for the Italian Riviera, where he lived in absurd luxury until his death. During his reign, Farouk was surrounded by foreign ministers who kept him completely in the dark about the affairs of the country. They allowed, and practically forced upon him every possible indulgence, sexual, or otherwise. He was known to have a penis the size of a child’s and was forever trying to over-compensate by having the most sordid love affairs and sexual encounters. His attitude was that of a spoiled child: totally immature and self-centered. He was a glutton with an insatiable appetite and was petty and vindictive.

My father had an opportunity to play poker with King Farouk because my father had written a book on poker called "Le Manuel Du Pokeriste". The book was written in French and later translated into Arabic, and had moderate success. It was eventually abolished by the Moslem Clergy because Egypt was a Moslem country and Islam forbade gambling or the promotion of it. The book contended that poker was not a game of chance, but required consummate skill and psychology. He proved it by keeping accurate track of all the games he played. He would average nine wins out of ten games. He had a group of friends who were Lebanese, Armenians and Greeks, part of the melting pot that Egypt was, and they used to get together four or five nights a week to play high stakes poker. There came a time when most of his partners refused to play against him, so he would advance each of them large sums of money at the beginning of the game to give them an advantage, and he still ended up winning.

The principle of psychology and skill only apply in a no-limit game, which is what he played, since a limit game takes away the power of bluffing. He had also invested considerable time and money studying the tells of his partners. A tell is a gesture or a movement, a crossing of the fingers, the shuffling of the cards in your hands, the raising of an eyebrow, the licking of the lips, or anything that a player will do unconsciously when they have a good or a bad hand. When one plays consistently with the same people, it becomes imperative to study their tells and my father had, giving him an edge. This is where the psychology comes in.

The day came when my father would play King Farouk and it was a dreadful and scary experience. From the start it became very apparent that the King was not a gracious loser. Every time he lost a hand, he threw fits of temper, pounded on the table, cursed, and threw his cards on the floor. My father understood right away that you had to lose to the King or the repercussions could be serious. My father was a merchant who was counting on import permits to conduct his business, and the King had the power to deny him those permits, putting him out of business. My father made sure he lost a sizeable sum, congratulated the King on his superior skills, and never accepted another invitation again. All is well that ends well.

My father owned several men’s clothing stores, and we had a quiet life without too much excitement for a long time, but some stories my father told me were pretty surprising. In his time, as a young man in the twenties, it was pretty common for outdoor cafés to give a customer a Hookah, or water-pipe, laced with a complimentary piece of hash. Hash was pretty common in Egypt. The Brit’s made it prevalent, accessible and inexpensive. They figured a people who were stoned would never be politically involved or try to overthrow a regime they disliked. A little background on Egypt’s history might help one understand the tumultuous events that led to the revolution.

Before Farouk, there was King Fouad, Farouk’s father, who was Turkish. Since the Pharaohs, the Egyptians had not been ruled by an Egyptian until Nasser arrived. The Turk’s ruled them for 400 years and despised them. Napoleon fought the Turk’s and the Brit’s in the 1800’s, but was defeated by Nelson, the British Admiral, at Aboukir. Nelson sunk his fleet by surprise, so Napoleon did the only thing that a selfish leader could do. He and his entourage left the entire French Army in Egypt and escaped to France. There is a little village between Cairo and Alexandria called Mansourah. When our family would travel by car from Cairo to Alexandria for our summer vacation, we would stop there to stretch our legs and have a meal. Well, that village is full of blonde haired, blue-eyed adults and children, so there is little doubt as to where Napoleon’s Army settled.

At the French Lyceum, LE LYCEE FRANCAIS in Cairo where I continued some of my studies, we had a history teacher who practically worshipped Napoleon. He was a very expressive teacher who talked about history as if it were alive and reenacted every event and battle as if he were acting on stage. His passion made me develop a great love for Napoleon and I read everything I could on the man. One day I realized he was an egomaniac who ultimately ruined France with unnecessary wars and conquests to satisfy his own ego. He was finally defeated at Waterloo, in Belgium, and imprisoned on the island of Elba until the end of his days.

It was found out later that Napoleon died of arsenic poisoning. A sample of his hair was examined, and it contained 13 times the amount of arsenic allowable in the human body. His trusted wine server was suspected of the crime while he was held captive by the Brits. It is recorded in some obscure history book that the reason Napoleon lost the battle of Waterloo was because he had a terrible attack of hemorrhoids the night before and could not concentrate on the strategy of the battle. The fact that three armies converged against him probably had a lot more of an impact.

Well, back to Egypt and the Turks. One of the people who governed Egypt was Mohammed Ali who ruled from 1805 until 1848. He was a ruthless Albanian who put himself in power by use of brute force. At the time, Egypt was under the rule of the Mameluks, Turkish leaders who had occupied Egypt for over 600 years. They were defeated by Napoleon when he invaded Egypt, but when he, in turn had his fleet sunk in Aboukir by British Admiral Nelson and Napoleon had to flee, the Mameluks regained their power back. Mohammed Ali put the word out that he wanted to form an alliance with them and sent out an open invitation for a lavish dinner in honor of his son Tusun. The trusting leaders gathered at what is now known as the Mohammed Ali Mosque, or fortress. It sits, with 40 foot walls, in the middle of Old Cairo, and is nowadays a much visited tourist sight. It’s a mosque and a fortress, and what that sultan did was one of the most outrageous acts of treachery ever recorded in history. When he thought everyone was there, he ordered the gates closed and had all of the leaders shot and killed by marksmen who were strategically placed around the courtyard where the dinner was supposed to take place. All died but one. Legend has it that he escaped by mounting his stallion and leaping down the 40 foot wall to freedom. However, some historical accounts say that this particular guy was late arriving, and while he was still on the road he heard shots, so he just turned around and took off in the opposite direction. Most people prefer the first version. It has more spice to it. When you visit the mosque, the guide will even point out the wall from which the horseman jumped. There is more to history than the truth.

The Author’s Parents August 10, 1941

My parents met through a matchmaker. In those days and in that part of the world, people did not date. My mother was from the Ventura family, a Jewish-Italian family. Her father Attillio Ventura had emigrated from Tuscany, Italy, in the late 1800’s. Her mother, Gracia, was born in Cairo to Italian immigrant parents. Her maiden name was Mosseri. She had been married before to an abusive man and they had a son named Aldo who early in his life, became an orchestra conductor. Gracia divorced a couple of years later from her first husband (nobody talked about him) and married Attillio in the early 1900’s. They had five children: Alberto, Guido, Lydia, Irma and my mother Ines, in that order. My mother, being the youngest was the most watched over, especially by Alberto, her oldest brother. He was extremely strict about watching over the girls of the family as was the custom for the older brother to do.

Both of my mother’s sisters died tragically. Irma and my mother contracted typhoid fever, which was incurable at the time. After some agonizing months, Irma died, and my mother was taken to Israel, where they had more competent doctors and the medicine was far more advanced. She finally recovered, but her legs were paralyzed for over a year. Even to the end of her days, she had difficulty walking. My other aunt, Lydia, married an Italian Catholic man by the name of Georgio who was known as Giggi. During the war, he was incarcerated because he was an Italian subject. Italy was allied with Germany and Japan, and Egypt was occupied by Britain which was part of the Allies fighting the Germans. What happened to the Italians in Egypt was the same thing that was happening to the Japanese in America. The Americans incarcerated Japanese for fear that their background might turn them against America. It was obviously a case of divided loyalties. So, these were not happy years. Lydia visited her husband as often as she was allowed and brought him whatever she could to make his life more comfortable.

Later on, I had a teacher by the name of Mr. Greco, who was also an Italian subject and had been incarcerated as well. He told us how horrible it was and how he finally escaped. The camp where he was imprisoned was deep in the desert, which created a natural barrier between the prisoners and freedom. Nevertheless he decided to try his luck against all odds. He traveled for several days with very little water, and said that he drank his own urine to survive. He finally made it and was hidden by relatives until the war ended. When it did, Giggi was released, and it was cause for a big celebration. The family not only rejoiced for his release but also for the fact that all Jews in Egypt were no longer threatened with harm.

Family life resumed, and I remember many great parties where my aunt and uncle came to our villa. My father had a villa built in a suburb called Dokki. The reason that he had it built was because he won a sizeable sum of money playing poker against a friend who was an architect. His friend talked him into getting paid with plans for a villa instead of money. It was like finding a button and having a suit made for it. It was during the war and building materials were very hard to come by. My father told me that the foundation was built with old railroad tracks, the only material available at the time. It was a two story structure and both floors had identical plans. Each had three bedrooms and two bathrooms and each of the master bedrooms had a balcony. The ceilings were twelve feet high and the rooms were unusually large.

When you first came in you entered a long tiled hallway at the end of which was my mother’s bedroom. To the left of it was my father’s. They slept separately as was the custom in that part of the world and when they got together it was always in my father’s room. Across from that room was the master bathroom that we all used. It too was tiled. There was the bathtub and above it was the gas hot water heater and the gas cylinder supplying it was positioned right below. That cylinder had to be refilled about once a week and our servant Ahmad was in charge of taking it to the store and exchanging it for a full one. There was a toilet, a sink and a bidet, which was a customary fixture in European owned homes. Further up the hallway was my sister’s and my bedroom which we shared with one of the maids until my brother Silvio was born. I was eight at the time and my sister was six. My brother took my sister’s place and she shared my mother’s bed. The other bathroom was used exclusively by our servants.

Next to that bathroom was the enormous kitchen which had an ice box, several pantries and three marble counters where the food was prepared. Ahmad and the maids did most of the cooking and my mother supervised most of the time. It was one of her few responsibilities. As a kid I remember going from counter to counter and watching them chopping and cooking on the Primus and it more often than not earned me several delightful morsels of food I instantly devoured. In the middle of the house was a very imposing living room with a massive wood burning fireplace that we never used for its intended purpose. We kids burned newspaper in it just for fun under the watchful eyes of the maids when our parents were not home. It never got that cold in Cairo in the winter and on those rare occasions when it did my father plugged in electric heaters in the bedrooms and it made it very comfortable. The living room was sunken and it extended all the way to a set of stairs that led to the formal dining room which was furnished with massive, intricately carved furniture that gave it a formal and regal appearance. There was a stairway leading from the kitchen to the dining room leading to a set of French doors that opened up on a balcony directly above the street where we lived. We resided on the second floor and the first floor was occupied by renters who were from Saudi Arabia. They were only there a couple of months a year but paid in advance for the whole year so they could have access whenever they wanted.

Next to the dining room was what my father called The Sunroom. He had it enclosed in glass windows with metal frames and this is where he played poker with his friends when he was not at their place. In the middle of the room was a professional poker table covered in green felt and surrounded by five very comfortable looking leather chairs. They only allowed five people to play at a time and no one else was allowed in the room while a game was in progress. They all considered it very serious business since large sums of money were being transacted. In the middle of the table was a rack holding chips of different colors and against one of the walls was a credenza with a marble top on which hors d’oeuvres and drinks were served on poker nights. Ahmad was the one to cater to the affair and attend to all of the players needs, and he received generous tips at the end of the evening. The room was mostly off limits to us kids but once in a while my sister and I would sneak in there and pretend we were playing poker just like the grownups. All the floors of the villa were made of parquet except for the kitchen, the hallway and the bathrooms, which were tiled. All the floors, including the bedrooms were covered with handmade Persian rugs, which were very common and relatively inexpensive in Cairo at the time. There was a third floor atop the villa which was the terrace. The entire floor was laid with red and white tile and adorned with an intricately engineered bright green pergola that was built all around it and gave the place a festive look. My sister and I used to roller skate up there. It was our own private roller skating rink and we spent many an afternoon skating and sucking on sugar cane with the maids. Sucking on sugar cane was a very common activity in Egypt and practiced by Arabs and Europeans alike. We purchased sugar cane stalks, a dozen or more at a time, from vendors who carried it on a hand drawn cart that went around every neighborhood announcing what they were selling at the top of their voice as was the custom. The maids cut them up for us and distributed the rungs at the bottom of the cane as equally as possible since they were the sweeter part of the stalk. They indulged in this activity as well. We usually had one or two young maids take care of us, and most of the time they were relatives of employees working at my father’s store. They were given food, shelter, a very small pay and had very little time off, but their job was not very demanding and they were treated as part of the family, and we kids got very attached to them. The maids raised us and catered to all our needs most of the day and we had minimal interaction with our parents whose primary role was to supervise and guide the activities we were to have, but not necessarily particpate in them.

On the terrace there were three rooms. One of the rooms had a shower the servants used. Another was my father’s hobby room where he spent many a day building gadgets which he invented or fixing toys we had broken. He also had the idea of making cut outs of colorful Disney characters such as Mickey Mouse and Goofy and glued them on thin plywood and cut around them with a foot operated jig saw to decorate the walls of our bedroom. It was really imaginative and the room was covered by several dozen of those characters. Guests always commented on how much they liked them so he started making more to give away as gifts. The third room was the pigeon room. We raised them for entertainment and as an additional source of food. In the Middle East grilled pigeons are considered a delicacy and Ahmad would cook them for us quite often. The way to end up with so many pigeons is buy a very special type of male pigeon. He is special by the way he looks: he is very colorful and has a crown of iridescent purple feathers around his neck that gives him a very majestic look. Once you bring the male, you lock it in the room for a few days to get him acclimated to his surroundings and then you release it. When he comes back he is always escorted by several females. The rest is easy to figure out and pretty soon you got pigeons up the kozoot!

We had family gatherings very often at our house, and they were held on the terrace since it was the largest area our house had to offer. Cousins, aunts and uncles from both sides of the family came and spent many hours eating and talking and arguing until night time. When you put together Jews and Italians, you can’t avoid the drama. Those two races survive on conflict. It’s more a way of communicating than anything else. It’s loud, boisterous and argumentative, and any subject can set off a fight: the way the dip was seasoned, the way the salad was served, the way it was eaten, or not eaten, the way the children were reprimanded, or not, and so it went. With arguments, apologies half accepted or not. With sides taken, and finally, just before leaving, everybody embraced, and called it a good day. That’s what family life was about. It’s the stuff that comedy was made of, but it was real.

We had the Ventura’s, the Cohen’s, and the Ben Eliahou’s, (that’s us). The Ventura’s were on my mother’s side, the Cohen’s were on my father’s side. My father, Elie, had a sister Linda, who married Maurice, a Jewish man and they had three children: David, Marie and Claire, who are my first cousins. We were extremely close, and spent just about every weekend together. There was me, Aslan, my sister, Graziella, and my brother, Silvio. We were close in age with my cousins and had many outings together, and spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. At one point, they had moved to the first floor of our villa, but it did not work out, as my mother and Linda, (my father’s sister), had an ongoing rivalry that I never understood, so they had to leave, but our relationship continued.

The Author & His Brother & Sister

The Moslem Brotherhood

My Aunt Lydia, my mom’s sister, died in a tragic way. Egypt was occupied by the Brit’s, who created a lot of animosity among the Egyptians, who were treated, or mistreated, as second class citizens. At one point, back in the 20’s, Egyptians were not allowed to walk on the same sidewalk as a European, I was told. So, we can see how those feelings developed. There was a group of terrorists called the Moslem Brothers, (Ikhwan Al Muslimeen) a brotherhood that was supposed to have started in the 1920s, but in reality, had its roots in ancient times, since the days of the Crusades, and was bringing about acts of terrorism, in restaurants and movie houses frequented by Europeans. The Moslem Brothers made no distinction between Europeans or British Citizens or Jews. Anyone who was not purely of Egyptian origin and a Moslem was a fair target. One day, my Aunt Lydia, her husband Giggi, and their two children, Arnaldo and Fiorina went to a movie house called MIAMI. It was a pleasant family outing that ended in tragedy. A bomb blew up in the theater, and there were dozens of people killed, and hundreds injured. My Aunt Lydia was among the dead. She bled to death in the hallway of the hospital where she was taken. There were so many people injured, and so few to take care of them that when her turn came, it was too late. Her husband and children were badly injured, but survived. They were all horribly scarred by the explosion. It was a tragic day in the European community, but was openly celebrated by the Arabs.

Giggi mourned Lydia for a couple of years, and ended up marrying a friend of his daughter, Fiorina, whom everyone thought was too young for him. She turned out to be a terrible stepmother. She was constantly competing for her husband’s affections against his children. He was too weak to stand up to her, and it became a horrible family situation. Fiorina came crying to my mother, her aunt, and I remember seeing her in tears more than once. When she became of age she married an architect by the name of Yorio, who worshipped her. When the revolution came about, they left for Rome, Italy, where they still live today. Arnaldo, on the other hand, took off for San Paolo, Brazil, as soon as he could, and lives there to this day. Giggi and his wife took off for Italy, and everyone lost contact with them. The revolution really dissolved our family ties.

The events that led to the revolution started gradually. From the time Nasser took over Egypt, life became very difficult. In 1952, when I was 10 years old, I was in boarding school at the Jesuit Catholic School. My father came very late one afternoon to get me. It was very unusual, because he normally only came on weekends. What was more unusual was that he came by cab, not driving his own car. We drove through the streets of Cairo and what I saw terrified me. Cairo looked like Nero’s Rome. Buildings were on fire and crowds were roaming the streets, looking very angry, and banging on cars with sticks. When we drove by the SEMIRAMIS and SHEPHERD HOTELS, which were occupied by high ranking British Officers, I saw bodies being tossed from the second and third floor windows of the SHEPHERD HOTEL. Egyptian Revolutionaries were attacking British Officers, and killing them. I was too young to fully grasp the concept of what was going on, but I could see on my father’s face that he was extremely disturbed, and he was giving directions to the cab driver, who looked very scared himself. My father did not take his own car because it would have made him an immediate target, and he picked me up from school because he feared acts of violence would be committed against European Schools. The school I went to was a French Catholic School named COLLEGE DE LA SAINTE FAMILLE, and was run by Jesuit Priests. It was a very expensive private school, and therefore, only the well-to-do would send their children there. Those who attended were children of European and Jewish businessmen, and also the sons of the highly placed Beys and Pachas who were relatives and acquaintances of the King’s family. Beys and Pachas were Turkish titles wealthy members of the Royal Family had. They were the equivalent of Lords and Counts. They owned a lot of farmland called ezbeh, and lived in lavish homes and sent their children to expensive private schools.

The ride seemed intolerable. We made our way past MIDAN EL TAHRIR where all political gatherings took place and where the bulk of the mob was. Our villa was only a few miles from the school, but the crowds were blocking traffic, and we were advancing at a snail’s pace. We came upon the Qasr El Nile Bridge that divided the commercial district of Cairo from the suburbs. Once we crossed the bridge, there were no more mobs, and things were quiet again. We finally arrived home and my father thanked the cab driver and gave him a big tip, I am sure. The cab driver was probably the reason that we were not harmed. When we arrived at the house, my sister was also there. She was in boarding school as well and my father had picked her up earlier. Also at the house were our two maids and Ahmed, our man servant.

Ahmed was a black man from Sudan, and he had been with us for many years. He was the cook, the gardener, and performed many tasks maintaining our household. He had three scars on the side of his left temple that would identify which tribe from the Sudan he came from. He had a bed in our garage which was situated directly beneath the villa; we never parked the car there, so he had the whole place to himself. Ahmed practically raised me, and I loved him very much. I spent most of my time at home following him around when he did his chores, and he taught me my first lesson in respecting life. I had a slingshot in those days, and I shot and killed a bird with it. Ahmed went and got it, and at dinner time, he cooked it and brought it to me and said, If you kill something, you have to make use of it otherwise, it is a waste. I ate the bird, and learned a lesson.

I found out that the revolt was going to cost a lot of Europeans their businesses. They had been burned by the insurgents. They tried to burn my father’s clothing store, but fortunately, the fire extinguished itself. There was minor damage and he could still operate as usual. My father however, did not go to work for a long time. He had a good man who took care of the store whose name was Saad. He was a Copt, which is the oldest form of Christianity dating back to the time when the Disciples of Christ were spreading his gospel over 2000 years ago. Saad used to work for my father’s father when he was still alive and owned a store in the same neighborhood. My father trusted him completely.

I stayed home for a while, following Ahmed around. He told me the most fantastic stories about his little village and the kind of life he had as a child, growing up. He told me about a magical tree that grew in the forest around where he lived and if you had a piece of its branches, and inserted it under the skin on your shoulder, you would suddenly acquire magical powers. He claimed he personally knew a man in his village that had done it. There were many other stories, which I don’t remember, but Ahmed and I spent many hours together, and he never talked to me like one would talk to a child. He always talked to me as if I was an adult and we had this bond and love for one another.

The situation was very restless in Cairo, and there was a lot of commotion in the streets. The political climate had changed dramatically since the revolution. The Arabs were more outspoken and aggressive than ever, and all Europeans felt threatened and were on their guard at all times. My father made a decision: we would go to Spain and stay with Andres. Who was Andres? Many years before, when my father was in his twenties, he used to work for his father, who also owned clothing stores. One day, they had a fight and my father decided to take off for Paris, France, and seek adventure. He spent a year there, and decided to become a fortune teller because he had the gift of gab. He was handsome and charming and attracted the French women, whose fortunes he read, and payment was not always made in currency, from my understanding. He was in heaven and embraced the adventure. One day, while he was having lunch in a restaurant, he heard a young man trying to speak French to a waiter, and recognized a Spanish accent. He went to help, and introduced himself.

The man’s name was Andres Del Castillo, a businessman from Spain, visiting Paris on business and pleasure. Apparently, Andres owned forests in Morocco, and was in the lumber business and was extremely rich. Since my father spoke both Spanish and French, Andres asked him if he could be hired as his translator during his stay. My father was broke, and quickly accepted. Andres was only a few years older than my father, and the two of them struck a friendship that lasted all of their lives. Since money was no object for Andres, they had a fabulous time in Paris, indulging in every pleasure that great city had to offer, and when it came time for Andres to leave, they agreed to keep in touch. My father returned to Cairo after having spent a year in Paris and with his father’s help, he opened a clothing store across the street from his father. At first he started by selling used clothing. He would buy it by weight and then launder and press it himself and then display it. The years went by and he prospered. I remember as a child, that Andres came to visit us with his wife Teresita. I still have pictures of them by the pyramids. They spent a couple of weeks with us, and they did everything that was worth doing in Cairo. My parents took them to the pyramids where they rode camels and horses and then to THE MENNA HOUSE, a very exclusive restaurant and hotel where they enjoyed all the Middle Eastern delicacies served in a very plush environment. The servers were mostly from The Sudan and were dressed in long white djellabas with a wide red sash and a red turban wrapped around their head, giving the place a Thousand And One Nights atmosphere.

Andres had heard of the situation in Cairo and was worried about my father and his family, and extended us an invitation to come to Spain. Aware of the danger we were in, my father accepted and we departed at once. We traveled between Valencia and Barcelona, where Andres had a villa surrounded by an orange orchard where he put us up. He told my father that he was politically connected and could take steps to make us all residents. He made my father an incredible offer. He told him that he would duplicate, monetarily, whatever he had in Egypt, if he would accept to continue living in Spain. He worried that the political situation would only get worse, and that our lives would be endangered. Andres had power and money, and could make that happen. My father was a proud man, and he refused. He said he would stay until the situation stabilized, but eventually, he would return to Cairo, where the rest of his family was, and where he had formed many strong friendships over the years.

While in Spain, we had a fabulous time. I was only 10, but some memories are solidly embedded. We spent many days at the beach in Valencia, and there was a restaurant by the name of CASA DOMINGO, where we had lunch. I was introduced to paella, which is a typical Spanish dish: a mixture of chicken, sausage, green peas, rice, and all kinds of fish, shrimp, and clams. I had that every time I could, and to this day, it is one of my favorite dishes. Paella has many variations, depending on the part of the world where it is served and the type of seafood available.

All things must come to an end and my father got news that the unrest in Egypt was now controlled, and all things were back to normal again, and all was good. He announced to Andres that we were going back to Cairo, to his great disappointment. Andres and Teresita were childless, and my brother Silvio was two years old at the time, and they had both developed a deep affection for him. Andres made an incredibly bold proposition to my father: he asked him to leave Silvio with them, and if things worked out, they would eventually want to adopt him, and would leave him their vast fortune as inheritance, since they had no heirs. My father, of course, refused, and they parted friends. Andres died a few years later. He had been a sickly man for a long time, but tried to hide it. We received a letter from Teresita giving us the bad news. She continued to correspond with us, but the letters got fewer and farther between, and eventually all contacts faded.

Life in Egypt continued as usual. My father gambled nearly every night and my sister and I went back to boarding school. We looked forward to weekends and summers. On weekends we were brought home to enjoy family life. I got to see Ahmed and follow him around and listen to his fantastic stories about The Sudan. They were full of magical beings and wonderful adventures that fired my imagination. Summers were delightful. Cairo was incredibly hot in the summertime, so my family spent June, July, and August in Alexandria by the Mediterranean. The climate was fabulous there and we spent many happy hours by the seashore.

Soon after we returned from Spain, England, France and Israel formed an alliance and decided to overtake the Suez Canal Zone. One night, my father had decided to take me to the movies. It was a Plein Air Theatre, similar to drive-ins, but with seats instead of cars. Those theatres were pretty common in Cairo, and the starry sky added to the pleasure of a good movie. During the movie vendors sold what looked like huge soft pretzels called semeet, covered with sesame seeds, boiled eggs and cheeses, a common treat in which I always indulged. I loved spending time with my father and it was not very often that he and I went to the movies by ourselves.

Halfway through the movie, we heard blaring sirens fill the night air. It was an air raid. And just then, there was the guttural sound of bombs exploding in the distance. Everybody started running up the stairs leading to the exit. Panic was complete and as the movie continued to play on the huge screen, I could see people fleeing everywhere, their silhouette against the huge screen with the movie still playing in the background looked like a scene from a horrid nightmare. We got up and followed them. There was no way we could not. We were practically carried by the wave of people. I fell as we were going up the stairs, and my father threw himself on top of me to protect me from being trampled on. He kept repeating in my ear in French: ‘tout va bien,ne bouge pas,reste comme tu es’, It’s all right, don’t move just stay as you are. I could feel the weight of people stepping on top of him, but he firmly remained in place, his hands in front of him on the floor, supporting the weight of his body on top of mine. This went on for what seemed an eternity. He didn’t get up until the last person had left. We were alone in the theater when he got up, with the movie still playing in the background, and the eerie sound of exploding bombs in the distance. He picked me up and hugged me and broke down crying. I was too shocked to react to anything but I knew he had saved my life. He suffered many cuts, bruises and contusions, but he held firm, never flinching, completely distancing himself from pain.

Soon the air raid stopped and we went home. The year was 1956 and that was when England, France, and Israel attacked The Suez Canal Zone and overtook it in a matter of hours. Nasser had blockaded The Suez Canal by sinking ships into it, making it impossible to go through, cutting off the world from a very necessary passageway. The situation was unacceptable on many levels, and had to be remedied. All diplomatic resources had been exhausted and only brute force could prevail. The air raid we had experienced was perpetrated by British airplanes trying to destroy an Egyptian military installation in Cairo, but the brunt of the battle was taking place in Suez, a couple of hundred miles away. Dwight D. Eisenhower was the president of the United States at the time and to preserve peace in the Middle East, he pressured the tri-powers to retreat from the Canal Zone. When they did, the Egyptian newspapers and radio declared it a victory for the Egyptian Army, and it was openly celebrated throughout Egypt. We received our news from Radio Free Europe, so we knew what had happened, but never dared talk about it. Such are the workings of a dictatorial regime. It constantly manipulated the news to their advantage as it could only survive and get stronger on false and made up propaganda.

Summer Camp In Ras-El-Bar

The Boys At Summer Camp

At Ras-El-Bar

Peré Tombé

When I reached the age of 12 or 13, I went to summer camp in a town called Ras-El-Bar, which was at the northern tip of the Mediterranean, about 250 miles from Cairo where Napoleon had built forts five kilometers apart as lookout points all along the seashore when he occupied Egypt. There was a priest by the name of Pere Tombé who organized it. He was not a Jesuit Priest, but had affiliations with the Jesuits. His brother was Monsieur