CHAPTER 8 — BOOK II
Ramadan on the Nile
(Egypt, Winter 2001)
Cairo — Horns, Lanterns, and Heat That Wasn’t Heat
Winter in Cairo was mild, but the city felt compressed.
Traffic layered into itself. Horns overlapped constantly — not in anger, just in existence. Dust hovered in the air like an extra climate.
The taxi hadn’t moved in twelve minutes.
Awan checked his watch.
“This is not efficient.”
The driver turned cheerfully.
“Ma teʿallaʔsh ya basha, el-dunya keda!”
(Don’t stress, boss — the world is like this!)
Awan blinked.
“Efficient? Da enta fi Masr!”
(Efficient? You are in Egypt!)
Embong stared out the window to hide his smile.
Geoffrey leaned back and whispered, “I like him.”
Ramadan lanterns glowed between concrete balconies. Families walked toward iftar.
Cairo did not apologise for itself.
The Guide
They met the Cairo guide in the hotel lobby the next morning.
“Good morning,” he said smoothly. “Karim El-Masry. I will be showing you my city.”
Late forties.
Perhaps early fifties.
Salt at his temples. Wedding ring. The kind of man who had perfected this tone
over decades.
Polished. Fluent. Confident.
He spoke about Fatimid walls and Ottoman domes as they drove past the Saladin Citadel of Cairo.
His commentary was competent.
Until it wasn’t.
Midway through an explanation about marriage customs, he turned — not to the group, but to Hijau.
His eyes did not leave her face.
“In Egypt,” he said lightly, smiling as if indulging himself, “when a man sees something beautiful… he thinks about camels.”
He held up three fingers.
“Three camels. Maybe four. Good dowry.”
The age difference made it worse.
He was
old enough to advise her father.
Old enough to have a daughter her age.
Hijau did not respond.
Not
flattered.
Not amused.
Not interested.
She simply looked back at him.
Karim chuckled.
“Only joking.”
Geoffrey’s
posture shifted.
Embong’s jaw tightened.
Lachlan moved half a step closer without meaning to.
Hijau answered evenly:
“If you measure value in livestock, you’re underpricing.”
Delima said nothing.
But the look she gave Karim El-Masry ended the moment.
Awan’s voice cooled.
“Continue.”
And he did.
But the rhythm of the day had changed.
The Nile — Formation
That evening, the river felt softer than the city.
Music drifted across the deck. Lights trembled on black water.
Hijau stood by the railing in a summer dress — composed, self-possessed.
A different man hovered.
Not the guide.
Just proximity seeking proximity.
Embong noticed first.
Geoffrey followed his gaze.
When the man leaned closer than necessary, Hijau angled away and muttered:
“Hish… lelaki tu tak reti jaga jarak.”
Not theatrical.
Just tired.
They adjusted without speaking.
Lachlan to her left.
Geoffrey to her right.
Embong slightly behind.
When the hovering resumed, Delima stepped forward.
She did not speak.
She simply looked.
Measured.
Absolute.
The man retreated.
Later, Geoffrey murmured, half-curious:
“I thought Ramadan chained the demons.”
Embong answered calmly.
“It reduces influence. It doesn’t remove ego.”
Delima added:
“Ramadan exposes character. It does not manufacture it.”
The conversation ended there.
That Night — Decision
Back at the hotel, Hijau removed her earrings first.
Then her bracelet.
Then she sat down.
“Hish… guide tu melampau.”
Embong leaned against the desk.
“Too much?”
“You saw his eyes.”
Lachlan’s voice was steady.
“We can change guides.”
“I don’t need you to fight him,” she replied.
“I know.”
A pause.
“But I don’t need to tolerate it either.”
From the adjoining room, Delima spoke:
“Then we won’t.”
Awan closed his guidebook.
“We change.”
No debate.
The Shawl
The next evening, Hijau picked up a light shawl.
She draped it loosely.
Not tight.
Not pinned.
Just enough.
Lachlan watched her carefully.
“You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to.”
His voice was steady. Not possessive. Not commanding.
Hijau met his eyes.
“I know.”
She adjusted it once.
“It’s easier.”
Delima appeared beside her, already covered.
“Context,” she said simply.
The hovering decreased.
Not erased.
Reduced.
Giza Pyramid Complex
The next morning at the Giza
Pyramid Complex, they met Dr. Salma.
An Egyptologist.
Measured. Direct. Professional.
She spoke about limestone casing stones, labour systems, celestial alignment.
When a camel handler approached with theatrical enthusiasm—
“Very romantic! Camel for the princess!”
Dr. Salma intervened lightly.
“If you would like a ride, we can arrange it properly. Otherwise, we continue.”
No lingering eyes.
No metaphors.
Hijau’s breathing shifted — subtly freer.
Geoffrey noticed.
Embong did too.
Later, Geoffrey said quietly,
“Interesting how tone changes when authority shifts.”
Embong replied,
“Respect isn’t cultural. It’s individual.”
Awan overheard.
“Competence,” he said, “is also authority.”
Khan el-Khalili — Commerce
The first jewellery store ended abruptly.
The manager raised his voice over pricing.
Awan stood.
“I do not reward disrespect.”
They left.
The second shop was warmer.
The young salesman was handsome, confident.
“Enti min fein?”
(Where are you from?)
“Malaysia.”
He placed a hand over his heart.
“Ahlan wa sahlan! Malaysia gamila zayyek!”
(Malaysia is beautiful — like you!)
Geoffrey nearly laughed.
Lachlan did not.
When the salesman asked for her email “for business,” Hijau gave it calmly.
In the taxi:
“That was fake,” Embong said.
“Obviously.”
“What was it?”
“hijau.global.investments@consultmail.”
Lachlan stared.
“You prepared for this?”
“I travel.”
Delima smiled faintly.
“Preparation is power.”
Giza — Bakshish
The Giza Pyramid Complex.
The pyramids rose without apology.
Stone against sky.
A camel handler approached Lachlan enthusiastically.
“Ya basha! Camel! Very romantic! For the princess!”
Hijau did not look amused.
“I am not riding a camel.”
He pivoted instantly.
“Soura
free! Free picture!”
Then softer:
“Bas bakshish shwayya.”
(“Just a small tip.”)
Embong leaned toward Geoffrey.
“That is not free.”
Geoffrey whispered:
“Is it ever free?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Not here.”
Awan, overhearing:
“Nothing in business is free.”
Hijau added dryly:
“Except unsolicited attention.”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened.
Geoffrey cleared his throat.
“Right. Not joking about that.”
They walked on.
The Museum — Painted Immortality
The sarcophagus was astonishing.
Painted face serene.
Almond eyes outlined in black.
Hair rendered symmetrically.
Arms crossed over chest.
Gold and blue details still vivid.
Hijau stepped closer.
“They chose how to be remembered.”
Behind glass nearby lay the mummy.
Wrapped.
Reduced.
Preserved.
Geoffrey stared longer than comfortable.
They saw:
A folding chair.
Elegant engineering.
Cosmetic jars.
Early bathing implements.
A curved throwing stick.
“That looks like a boomerang.”
“Throwing stick,” Embong corrected. “Parallel invention.”
Delima said quietly:
“Civilisations do not need to meet to be intelligent.”
Awan checked his watch.
“Ten minutes.”
Museums were not his domain.
He preferred facades and sky.
Luxor — Stone and Ego
Luxor felt older than argument.
Columns rose like forests.
Hieroglyphs carved deep into stone walls had survived millennia.
The male guide was knowledgeable.
And arrogant.
Dismissive.
Condensed.
Impatient with questions.
Awan shortened the tour.
“We will explore.”
At night, the temple glowed under theatrical lighting.
Even Awan stood still for a moment.
Eid Morning — Belonging
They attended Eid prayers at a Malaysian hall in Cairo.
Rows filled with Malaysians and Indonesians.
An Egyptian passerby smiled at Embong.
“Enta Malayzi?”
He nodded.
“Ahhh! Mahathir!”
Laughter rippled.
Malay, Indonesian, Arabic blended easily.
Hijau stood beside Delima, shawl loosely draped.
No hovering.
No bargaining.
Just community.
Geoffrey watched carefully.
Belonging travelled.
It did not dissolve.
Closing
As they prepared to leave for Greece, Cairo remained what it was:
Overcrowded.
Ancient.
Imperfect.
Alive.
Geoffrey did not yet know how much he would remember.
But he would.
Not as contradiction.
As complexity.
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