“El Tawheed Wel Nour is where you will accidentally stumble upon the largest number of neon lamps in Egypt.” I threw these words in Trotsky’s face while sharing a light lunch with him at the Star Restaurant in Midan Lebnan. Trotsky swallowed a french fry and shook his head in his usual irritating manner. So I went on:
“El Tawheed Wel Nour is the largest and most widespread low-end retail chain-store in Egypt. Regardless of the social class of the area or district you’re in you will always find a branch: in Zamalek there is El Tawheed wel Nour, in Midan El Giza El Tawheed wel Nour, Alexandria El Tawheed Wel Nour El Minya El Tawheed wel Nour, Qena another one and so on and so forth. I find that our dear cherished republic has become highly luminescent, beaming out the unity of god from all of its sides. Anyway in all these branches the workers insist on putting the largest amount of neon lamps in the display windows they possibly can.”
I hold my shisha pipe in my hand and proceed to suck in the smoke, before blowing a large cloud in Trotsky’s face and going on: “The problem is that the goods sold in the El Tawheed Wel Nour are always low quality, whether they’re clothes, shoes or domestic appliances – these products always lack in innovation and beauty. In most branches the employees do not care about cleaning the display specimens, so dust continues to accumulate. Under the harsh glare of these neon lights, with the dust piling up on these shoddy products- we have an orgy of ugliness.”
On the table next to us three veiled girls are sitting, they break out in laughter every now and then. They are immersed in a sweet scented cloud of apple flavored shisha smoke.
“For example have you noticed how the children El Tawheed Wel Nour are always either crying or depressed? That’s because they are unsatisfied with the clothes their parents had just bought them, but what could their poor parents do? They are definitely unable to buy them anything from anywhere else, and in the end it’s just a little suit for the boy to spend the feast in and then to use for the rest of the year.”
Trotsky lifts his finger in my face acting as if he had just discovered a dangerous secret and says: “Poverty..”
“Yes. Poverty.”
“Poverty sure is ugly.”
One of the girls stands up and positions herself behind the chairs of her two friends. While another girl holds up her cell-phone to show them what must have been a picture or a clip.
“Do you know, Trotsky, that neon lamps suck the energy out of people, they make you lethargic; that’s why they use them in hospitals to calm patients down and in burucreatic institutions to keep functionaries under control. In El Tawheed wel Nour most of the employees begin their jobs as clean-shaven young university graduates, but sure enough after spending time working under these neon lamps, they begin growing their beards and acquiring small potbellies that expand as they move up the career ladder to become an important cashier or to take charge of the business suits’ section. It is as if the beard is an essential condition of moving up in the world of El Tawheed Wel Nour.”
Trotsky held the ketchup bottle in his hand and poured some of the viscous sticky red paste into the corner of his plate, before picking a frie, dipping it in the ketchup and plucking it into his mouth, while saying:
“Capitalism always tries to produce its own
consumerist types, those that exert their utmost effort at spreading its
capitalist culture and ensuring its dominance.” I interrupted, while watching
him pour more ketchup on his plate: “true enough, but Trotsky please don’t use
too much ketchup- you’ll spoil your diet”. He looked at me annoyed, and
returned the bottle to its place when suddenly a short scream from the
neighboring table interrupted our silence. One of the girls had jumped up from
her chair as a bottle of water fell on her white cotton pants. As she walks
away to the bathroom, I could not help but notice under the wet white cloth
sticking to her thighs, a thin red line staining the front of her pants.
translated to English by: Hassan Khan