An Arabian Night

Reading Time: 5 minutes

We sat there, Fariq and I, gazing out on the pyramids. “I don’ think an Egyptian made them.” He said. His eyes were like dark holes in the night. The Sahara wind blew across the balcony we sat on. His hands and vision had shaped this little corner of his family’s flat, twelve stories up, with little to obscure his view to the colossal monuments to immortality erected 5,000 years ago. I sipped the hazelnut coffee he had made. He and I sit Persian style. We are comfortable despite the constant minute blasting of sand particles that blend everything in Cairo to tan, including my freckles.

“I watch those specials on Discovery that try to explain how they moved the huge stones in place.” His English is near perfect. Like most Egyptian men, he is thin, with swarthy skin. He continues. “They say that they built sand ramps as they moved up the sides. Do you have any idea how long those sand ramps would have had to be to accommodate the inclines needed to reach the ever taller sides. Past where we are. Its not a good explanation.”

By now, the wedding that has been taking place below us and a few blocks over is at its peak. I can see the women dancing and talking, in their narrow alley. The men are separated, celebrating, one block over. They all sound happy. I sip my coffee. I can see the sphinx as the nightly light