The Cairo Codex Read Online Free PDF Page A

think.”
    “It may return to its former glory soon. It’s being renovated. But don’t be too impressed by any of the façades along this boulevard. Go a block in either direction and the city is still the same.”
    Nothing is ever quite as it seems, or as it is written, in Egypt.
“Tell me about the schools.” Justine understood Egyptian protocol: never move into business straightaway, ease into it like a warm bath.
    “We’re really pleased with the project so far! The girls are learning so fast, as though they were born ready and waiting. Well . . . I suppose they were,” Nadia said. “And you, how did you find out about us?”
    “My dad suggested I check out the State Department website and that’s when I found out about your new UNESCO project. To work with such a pioneering effort in girls’ education, and in Cairo, no less—it’s exciting to return here with my own job.”
    “Good fatherly advice.” Nadia swerved to avoid an aggressive bus. “We’re excited to get you. With your training in anthropology, interest in women’s studies, and knowledge of Arabic, you were made for the job.” Beads of perspiration glowed around Nadia’s tiny mouth. They were both reluctant to open the windows to the onslaught of exhaust and noise, so the car was a virtual oven.
    “I imagine that hiring an anthropologist for an education project isn’t the norm . . .” Justine let the words linger in the suffocating air.
    “No, it isn’t. I had to do some fast talking. Tradition can be as firmly rooted in the U.N. as it is in the countries they serve. And in this case, we have to consider both UNESCO and the Egyptian ministries. But we can talk in more detail in the morning, when you’re rested––and we’re both cooler.”
    I wonder what kind of opposition I’ll face, particularly among those who resisted hiring me?
“Fine with me. My mind and questions will be clearer after a rest.” She took a packet of Kleenex from her purse, handed one to Nadia, and pressed another to her perspiring forehead and upper lip.
What I would give for a bottle of cold water
, she thought, sipping the warm water Nadia had given her.
    As she leaned back, she noticed how little green could be seen, even surrounding the palm trees. Abandoned by the rich floodwaters of the Nile more than half a century ago, when the Aswan Dam was built, ancient fields of green had been replaced by a vast coverlet of concrete. The car descended the flyover onto Sharia Ramses and Ramses Square, and Justine quickly recognized the ornate blue and white train station, a sign that they were getting close to the center of Cairo.
    “Tahrir Square is coming up,” announced Nadia. Within moments, they approached the world-famous Egyptian Museum on their right and merged into the Square, the center of the Cairo beehive. People moved every which way, weaving in and out of traffic; horns and the ancient engines of cars bought in the ’70s and somehow kept alive buzzed nonstop.
    Fanning out to their left was the massive downtown leading to Islamic Cairo. Further ahead sat the notorious Egyptian administrative center lovingly known as the Mogamma, a citadel to brittle British bureaucracy. Veering right, they could see the Nile and Garden City just ahead. All familiar now.
    “Tahrir Square is known as the busiest intersection in the world,” said Nadia by way of warning. “In order to cross these crowded lanes, you either take your life in your own hands and move offensively, or look for a friendly traffic cop to stop the traffic.”
    “I’ve never driven here. At least not yet.”
    “Better wait a while before you try it. Watch the rhythm of the traffic and you’ll get the hang of it. Notice the women.” Justine watched as a family with three children wove like ducklings through the traffic ahead of them.
    Women everywhere were wearing the hijab, the headscarf; a few were fully covered with the niqab. “The headscarf is everywhere. I didn’t realize