“Clang, clang, clang went the hammer…”
It seems, and do keep in mind that I live in a relatively well established residential neighborhood in the middle of the city, that there is continuous construction around me. I can look out my window and see no less than nine new apartment blocks being constructed. More to the point, moments ago, I awoke—again—to the sound of a hammer pounding on something in the alley. This means that someone is getting a new railing on their balakon or closing it off altogether to extend the space in a particular room. What amazes me though is that it seems to be happening all the time. Except in the early morning hours, which is, thankfully, when I sleep.
Continuous construction is a major theme in this country though. I remember a a few years ago when I came to Cairo for the first time. There was the city, there was the Ring Road, and there was the desert. Now it is very different. Past what used to be the edge of Giza—which used to be mostly sand and hills, there is a sea of red-brick as far as the eye can see. This only subsides when you continue further out toward the desert highway and you can see the Pyramids to the south. Here now, instead of sand, is even more development. This used to only be home to a gigantic swath of palms. Thankfully, the continuous construction hasn’t damaged or encroached upon the palms, but they are very cozy neighbors.
It is like this in every direction as well. The city keeps expanding in this way. There are little suburbs that are set up—like 6th of October City to the north-west of Giza—and then blammo, before you know it the space between what used to be the city and what used to be a suburb is eaten up by new construction.
Back to downtown, buildings are getting taller. I live in a relatively short apartment block. It has only six floors. Those around us, though, average about eleven to twenty. This is one of the shorter parts of the city. Not for long though. Shorter buildings are always being torn down to make way for taller. On a street adjacent to mine, I noted over the course of several days a lovely two story villa being torn down and the lot upon which it had stood being cleared out. It stands empty now, but diggers and cement trucks are soon to follow and likely a 15 story apartment block will be erected in its place.
To further demonstrate a point that I made earlier, note that I just referred to my district as “downtown.” Mohandessin and Doqqi used to be considered suburbs of Giza. Now the whole thing is referred to commonly as Cairo, which doesn’t really help anyone know where they are.
The one major saving grace of the city is that there is a great deal of green-space within the city itself. The medians of many of the streets are planted with trees and low palms. There are huge parks and clubs dotted throughout the city. I live next to the Shooting Club, which is situated next to the Ministry of Agriculture facility. Both take up several city blocks each and are filled with trees and other plants. The net result for me is that my apartment overlooks a giant green-space which stretches almost all the way to the river.
Now, this is not to say that most of these spaces are publicly accessible. No, no. Many of them are private clubs—like the Shooting Club— and almost all of the “public” parks have an entry fee, which varies depending on where you are from, of course. Even so, it is still reassuring that there is greenery at all here. In the States in many places, we have been forced to retrofit greenery instead of building around it—or, gasp, incorporating it—in the first place. That is not very sustainable, now, is it? I am by no means indicating that the situation here is sustainable, but at least I never feel as though I am really in the concrete jungle, since there is often real jungle just a stone’s throw away.
2007–2010 John D. Martin III
