crops and hit quite a few cows and donkeys. The prince handed out cash to the peasants on the spot. Egyptians fell in love with the automobile. In 1905 there were 110 in Cairo and 56 in Alexandria. By 1914 Egypt had imported 218 automobiles. The ever-increasing numbers proved the need for an automobile club to deal with all related necessities, such as issuing licenses, surfacing roads, setting speed limits and creating driving instruction and vehicle maintenance manuals. After repeated efforts over the course of twenty years, the Royal Automobile Club officially opened in 1924.
The Club’s founders were all foreigners or members of the local Turkish aristocracy. The first chairman was Prince Omar Toussoun, and King Fuad consented to be the patron. Elections were held for the administrative committee, and an Englishman, James Wright, was appointed managing director. Everything was done to make it a carbon copy of the famous Carlton Club in London. The building itself was an architectural jewel of traditional elegance.
When the administrative committee sat down to draw up the Club’s rules and bylaws, two problems arose. First: Should the Club allow Egyptians to become members? This idea was rejected by a majority, led by the Englishman Mr. Wright, who declared, as he lit his pipe, “I should like to make clear that our job in this Club is to ascertain a policy for automobiles in Egypt. Egyptians in general, even if they are wealthy and educated, are not qualified to make such decisions. The automobile is a Western invention, and it is Westerners alone who should decide policy. I don’t expect Egyptians to do more than buy them and ride in them.”
After many frank expressions of opinion, an Italian member who spoke Arabic warned them that they were in danger of raising a stink in the Egyptian press, which in turn would affect automobile sales in Egypt. He said, “National sentiment in Egypt is inflamed against the British occupation. At any moment this sentiment could change into xenophobia and the declaration of a commercial boycott. We don’t want that. I think we all want to see Egyptians buying more and more automobiles.” The words reverberated in the boardroom, and other members took heed.
After a long discussion, the committee members agreed to accept Egyptians provided that they could furnish letters from two members of the administrative committee to second their applications for membership. Foreigners who provided proof of automobile ownership would receive membership automatically. Thus the committee could prevent Egyptians from becoming members, inasmuch as was possible, in a manner that would not provoke public resentment.
The other issue was that of the staff. The committee members naturally hoped to employ Europeans. When they studied the matter, however, it became clear that the cost of employing foreign staff would be astronomical. Facing this insurmountable problem, some committee members suggested staffing the club with Egyptians.
“They’re dirty. Stupid. Filthy. Liars and thieves.” These words were spoken by a French committee member, but they expressed the opinion of the majority.
The issue of staff continued to be discussed for weeks without resolution. At one of the weekly Tuesday meetings, the managing director, Mr. James Wright, arrived carrying a large manila file. He stood at the head of the board table and announced formally, “Gentleman, members of the administrative committee! I have put together a perfect plan for staffing the Club. I shall present it to you now and then take note of your reactions.”
SALEHA ABD EL-AZIZ GAAFAR
I still have my photographs from when I was a child.
When I look at them now, I find that they reflect an inner peace. How happy and content I appear. I was blessed with an undeniably happy childhood, and except for the irritations caused by my brother Said, I do not remember any childhood traumas. I was the only girl, and everyone spoiled me. I had no worries or frustrations until we left Upper Egypt for Cairo, and it seemed like we were going to live in a better place. Two incidents stand out indelibly as important markers in my life. I was taking a shower when a trickle of blood started flowing down the lower part of my body. I screamed and ran to my mother for help, but to my astonishment, she did not seem particularly bothered and just proceeded to show me how to deal with the bleeding. When I finished my shower, she embraced me and told me that this would happen every month, and it meant that God had now made me into a woman capable of having children.
The second incident happened when I was a student in the second year at the Sunniya high school. During the last lesson, as Mr. Ma’mun, our Arabic teacher, was busy explaining how to use the adverbs of time and place, the classroom door suddenly opened, and Miss Sawsan, the deputy headmistress, came in. We stood up for her, and she smiled, greeted us and gestured to us to sit down. She whispered a few words to Mr. Ma’mun and then walked to the center of the classroom and announced, “Those girls who hear their name called out are to come with me . . .”
She read out three names from a piece of paper: mine and those of Khadiga Abd el-Sattar and Awatef Kamel.
We had no idea why we had been singled out, but we all felt quite jolly when we left the classroom for the cool air outside. We walked along behind Miss Sawsan, who, as usual, was marching along in an almost military way, with ne’er a look behind her. Soon, we started skipping, and Khadiga was imitating her walk. I exchanged glances with Awatef, and we could hardly contain our laughter. It was rather strange that I got on so well with Awatef, since I usually did not like her. She was pretty but unbearably arrogant. Our classmates used to make comparisons between us— which of us was prettier? I hated those discussions, even though I was sure that I was prettier. I used to list to myself the features of my body that I was proud of: my ink-black hair, the greenish eyes I inherited from my grandmother, the prominent line of my upper chest and my slim thighs. I even loved my small feet!
We followed Miss Sawsan to the office of the headmistress. It was gloomy in there except for a patch of light from a reading lamp by which she was reading over some papers. I detected the smell of old wood and another pleasant odor, though I could not tell where it was coming from.
Just standing there in front of her was enough to fill us with dread. We were silent until she raised her head, looked at us with a smile and then, as if she had practiced them, quickly uttered the following sentences, “You are the only girls in the second year who have not yet paid the second installment of your school fees and this was due two months ago. According to school regulations, we cannot allow you to sit the final examinations until the fees have been paid. I am sorry, girls, but the regulations from the Ministry of Information have to be followed.”
She handed us unsealed envelopes containing letters addressed to our parents. Then, in a firm tone but not one without a hint of compassion, she said, “Off you go now. Good-bye. You are not to attend school until you bring your parents and the fees.”
The bell rang for the end of the school day. We had to go back to the classroom to pick up our bags before going home. I started to feel a bit odd. It felt like my body was walking along on its own, uncontrolled by my mind, as if some external power was driving me along. Some of the girls stopped us to ask why we had been called to see the headmistress. Awatef said there had been some sort of problem with our names that needed to be corrected before they could fill out the forms for the end-of-year exams. At that moment we felt a sort of solidarity, a silent collusion. We had a secret that united us. Strangely, we did not talk about what had happened. We just chitchatted about other things.
Suddenly, with no one else near, Awatef said angrily, “The school has no right to stop us taking the exam just because we haven’t paid the fees. I’m not speaking about myself. My family is quite well off, thank God. We don’t have a problem with the fees. I’ll pay the amount due tomorrow, but what if one of us was really poor or her family was having a hard time. Would she lose her whole future just over a few Egyptian pounds?”
I knew that she was lying, but I made no comment. I was still trying to take in what had happened, and
