Matruh
Matruh
After our Katrin trip, we took a daylong interlude to recuperate from all the driving. And, of course, to also conquer my old nemesis, the beast of all chores – laundry. Then, all five of us plus my mom got in the car once more and embarked on another 5 ½ hour journey. This time out west to Marsa Matruh. And in Ahmed’s red Crossland, which he has very graciously been loaning us this summer.
Rawy sat in his car seat while Cole, Amina, and Sina were smooshed in whatever was left of the back seat area. My mom took the passenger seat and with her – per usual – were some four humongous handbags overstuffed with who knows what: snacks, kid toys, dried-up wipes. You name it. Since Cole’s license had expired, I was the sole driver. And as the driver, I felt very crowded by all the paraphernalia.
The first 3 hours went pretty smoothly. Mamdani had just won the New York City mayoral primary a few days ago and my podcasts were, consequently, all flooded with the news. This had the dual benefit of putting my kids to sleep while keeping me alert and entertained. The last 2 ½ hours were hairier. With lots of false-alarm bathroom stops for Rawy. As well as an unwelcome dose of Sina and Rawy peskiness.
At one point, close to sunset near the outskirts of Matruh, we were stopped by the police at a checkpoint. Regular license check. But I remembered then that I likely did not have the car license. Ahmed for some reason didn’t keep it in the car as a normal convenience-seeking citizen would do. I prayed for an easygoing cop. But no such luck. He directed me to pull up ahead while I looked for my licenses. With Rawy’s squealing symphony in the background, the cop overheard my speaker call with Ahmed as I confirmed that I did not in fact have the car license. He threatened to take my driver’s license, holding it just out of reach. Wallet in hand, my mom readied herself to bribe him if need be - a common response to deliberate cop shakedowns and we couldn’t quite tell if this is what it was. He declared that he should confiscate my license while slowly stretching his license-holding hand towards my window. Interpretation: I’ll give it back but maybe give me a lil’ sumpin’ sumpin’ in return. I snatched my license proclaiming a deflated but sincere gratitude. No sumpin’s granted. And we were off. I think Rawy’s squealing might have helped create enough nuisance/sympathy that the cop decided holding us up wasn’t worth his time.
We passed signs for Ras El Hikma and, as we rolled into town, we started seeing signs for Libyan markets and products. Marsa Matruh was the capital of Matruh governorate, located in northwestern Egypt along the Mediterranean. Drive 3 more hours west and you get to the Libyan border. And another 4-5 hours east and you’re in Alexandria. The downtown wasn’t particularly developed but was thronging with people. Many of whom – as Amina noted - walking in their conservative beach attire, kids tagging along with donut floaties around their little tummies.
No bikinis here. Unlike the coastal (sahel/ساحل) resorts that I grew up going to, where middle-to-upper class Egyptians vacationed at privately-owned chalets in private resort towns, Marsa Matruh had many public and affordable private beaches. It was as such the vacation spot for many working-class Egyptians. And it was renowned for its stunning crystal-clear water.
It was my aunt’s suggestion that we go there. Maggie, my aunt, was the youngest of my dad’s siblings and his only sister. She and her 4 kids – Farida, Angie, and the twins Omar and Ali – had visited Matruh last summer and lobbied for a bigger family trip this summer. They have been living in the UAE for over 16 years now and often visit Egypt in the summer. Our families try – and generally succeed – in coordinating our summer visits.
All 4 of my dad’s siblings made it to Matruh: Hesham, Mostafa, and - for the one day - Amr. And Maggie. And then my cousin Farah and her two little ones: Zein and Younis. Yasmine and her son Youssef also joined for one of the days. We were a decent-sized group. Our friend Mia and her daughter Lila – Amina’s friend - would’ve joined on this trip as part of their week-long Egypt visit. But they understandably decided to cancel because of all the regional uncertainty created by the Israeli and US strikes on Iran.
Our first night was a bit of a snafu. There were dinner plans at a fun mandy (مندي) place in town. My gang planned on joining but last-minute meltdowns and a realization that the fun place was a half-hour car ride away quickly tipped the scale towards uh-no-thank-you. So we split. Amina and Cole headed with the rest of the family while I stayed back with Sina and Rawy. We ordered room service and cuddled in bed under clean white sheets. I read Samir Amin’s Eurocentrism while the kids watched Spacetoon. It was lame and cozy and exactly the right call given the boys and I’s energy levels in that moment.
The next morning, we were all nicely recharged. Shortly after breakfast, we were all sitting at a coffeeshop situated at the edge of the cliff overseeing one of Matruh’s most spectacular public beaches – Ageeba beach. Ageeba is a cove featuring sparkling turquoise waters. Cole kept making fun of the ooing sounds I reflexively started making once the water came within sight. After taking in the picturesque seascape, some of us made it down the curling stairs towards the bustling beach. It seemed very busy, but we were told that it wasn’t even in full swing. July was when things got real busy.
As we were basking in the water, my dad was sweetly reminiscing about the first time he ever came to Matruh with his family in 1972 in his father’s newly procured Volkswagen. He was reflecting on how underdeveloped and deserted the roads were then. I always love it when my dad talks about the olden days. I told him I hope it stays a popular haven and that the government doesn’t offer up Matruh beaches to developers as well. I was thinking of Ras El-Hikma. He agreed but then cursorily added “they probably will”.
Ras El-Hikma is a virgin coastal area near Marsa Matruh that was yet to be touched by the ever-growing tide of coastal and Cairene real estate development that has overtaken Egypt this past decade. That was until February of last year (2024) when an epic $35 billion investment deal was inked between Egypt and the UAE, promising to create a city that would become “a new massive urban, business, and tourism center in the country’s North Coast”. The deal was lauded by the government and many economists as a lifesaver rescuing Egypt from the severe currency crunch – exacerbated by Israel’s genocidal onslaught on Gaza - that was threatening to tank its economy. But it was also criticized for a range of reasons including the perception that the military was selling Egyptian land without authorization, lack of transparency, and negative impact on native Bedouins. Many feared that the deal came as a payoff for Egypt to support a foreign policy stance unfavorable to Gaza. Either way, a good chunk of the coast was already being hogged by Egypt’s more affluent classes and it seemed criminal to further extend their reach to this beautiful communal spot. I guess we’ll see what happens.
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It was a short but jolly trip at the end of which we all decided to drive back to Ballah (البلاح) - the coastal resort town where my family owned a little chalet - instead of all the way back to Cairo. Ballah is considered part of the old sahel. Also known as “the good sahel” (الساحل الطيب). Often contrasted with the more recent explosion of much fancier coastal resort towns with lavish seafront homes and flashy shops and restaurants now facetiously known as the new or “evil” sahel (الساحل الشرير). My grandfather had bought a two-bedroom chalet in Ballah back in the late 1980s and, somehow, we – my dad, his four siblings and their kids - all fit there. Growing up, this chalet was also the sahel homebase for our core group of friends, some 20-30 people strong. Miraculously, we all fit. We have wistful pictures of kids piled up in rooms with legs half stretched up a wall. Now, families have their own chalets, often in the evil sahel which is much farther away. Closer to Ras El Hikma. So, sadly, we hardly meet up in sahel anymore. Not sure that the added comfort and luxury were worth the cost of the intimate wholesome togetherness we lost. An aspect of Egypt’s development that I feel acutely resentful about.
Almost everyone left a day later, but my lot and I decided to stay for the rest of the week. It was possibly the first time that we were in Ballah without the rest of our kinsfolk. But it was still pretty nice. I loved seeing Sina’s glee as he battled them whopping waves. And Rawy caked in sand as he dug his fingers in the sand muttering to himself or some imaginary friend. Amina didn’t get as messy at the beach and could more reliably be found reading in the shade. That was exactly how my brothers and I spent our summers growing up. We were unquestionably privileged. But it was a simpler more innocent type of privilege than the one I associate with the “evil” sahel today. I was overwhelmed by a rush of gratefulness for this uncomplicated moment. And fell asleep to the sound of the waves dreaming of simpler times.
dreaming I''m on the beaches alongside all of you.
meme julee
Loved every second of reading this!!! Thank u for the shoutout 😝😁