Depending upon the building, he can be visible or invisible, homespun or cooly professional, intimidating or welcoming. He is a bowab, a doorman, and he is unique to this corner of the African continent.He is certainly unique to me. Doormen were not a part of my upbringing in rural, southern Ohio. Growing up, the only connection I made with doormen came via the television. I remember Ralph the doorman on The Jeffersons, and I can vaguely remember the disembodied voice of Carlton the Doorman on Rhoda. The bowab of my building in Ma'adi doesn't look at all like Ralph, and he does not sound at all like Carlton.
For starters, he has hardly a tooth in his head and he speaks almost no English. When I met him for the first time, I shook his hand and gesturing to myself, said "Kyle." He smiled a toothless grin, likewise gestured to himself and said something. Since that day I have replayed that "something" several hundred times in my head, and I still have no idea what the hell the man said. Every syllable he uttered sounded like soft cheese being squished, his breath a curious mixture of stale cigarettes and halitosis. There was even some spittle. Consequently, I do not know my bowab's name. Neither do any of my neighbors; and I have asked all of them. I can only assume that they too, received the same halitosis-fueled, squished cheese and spittle welcome that I received. Six months on, and I hesitate to reintroduce myself. It would be awkward, and I am not certain that I want the mental replay pinballing in my brain for the next six months.
Not all buildings in Ma'adi have bowabs, but most do. From what I gather the residents of a building can get together and decide to hire a bowab. They may do so to project a sense of status (probable in times past) or to project a veneer of security (very probable in Egypt today). When the residents decide to hire a bowab they must decide how much to pay him and then where to deploy him. The bowabs of whom I am aware all work for a few hundred Egyptian pounds per month, each resident contributing a part of the total amount (1 Egyptian pound = .15 $US at the time of writing). Many bowabs have some sort of separate security hut provided by the building residents or owner. Located just off the street in front of the building, these huts make a perfect perch in which to sit or sleep, depending upon the time of day. Our bowab likes his afternoon cat nap at around 3 p.m., for example. Some bowabs have a built in living unit just inside the building's main entrance. Usually no bigger than a closet, these units can be a bowab's home. Occasionally the units are larger - but not much - and can accommodate the bowab and his family.
Bowabs are often very handy, washing cars, repairing household appliances, making minor vehicle repairs, etc. On our morning walk to work for example, we see many bowabs out washing luxury vehicles. Unbelievably, some building residents have their vehicles washed every day. It's not the money paid that astonishes me but rather the utter waste of water resources, particularly in a country where water is acutely scarce. That's not the bowab's fault, by the way. He is only trying to make as much of a living as possible. When they wash cars or make minor home repairs, bowabs do charge for the additional work, and they usually work for a lot less than 1$ per hour.
From what I understand, bowabs have traditionally worn galabeyas (shown in photo above), sandals and some kind of headdress. On our morning walks to work, Dana and I certainly see traditional bowabs, usually elderly gentleman puttering around the front of a building, bidding us a smiling "sabaah al-khayr" ("good morning"). But this is modern Egypt, and today's bowab is more likely to be smartly dressed or perhaps even uniformed. One bowab that we see almost every morning wears designer jeans, a leather jacket and engineer boots. He greets us with a smile and a polished, "good morning sir; good morning madam." Our bowab is a little less sporty and polished; he wears a "pleather" jacket. But he does ride a well-worn, Dayun motorcycle (two bonus points for sportiness).
Our bowab does not work weekends and nights. I think he sub-lets to a night bowab and a different weekend bowab. We only pay our main bowab, so I am assuming a sub-let situation (although I sometimes worry that we should be paying our night and weekend bowabs separately and that we are seen as those "cheap bastards upstairs"). Our night bowab is named Ahmed. I know this because he speaks a little English and understood my introduction when I made it months ago. Unlike our main bowab, I understood Ahmed's response. Ahmed is young and looks like he desperately needs a sandwich. A strong gust of wind would surely knock him over, but he is extremely nice and hip. Ahmed has a phone and a very busy text correspondence that he seems to keep up throughout the night. I am uncertain as to whom Ahmed is texting at 3 a.m., but I have a mental image of hundreds of weekend bowabs texting one another throughout the night to keep each other awake.
On the whole, the bowabs that we encounter are gentle and extremely courteous. We greet them every morning and they always return the greeting. A few bowabs are obviously practicing their English, and they try to sneak in a couple of additional words each month. I smile, speaking slowly. I imagine sometimes that they must think me as the village idiot.
Just when I think I have the whole bowab thing figured out, I am forced to reconsider. In the very early hours of the morning, I am awakened by the din of raised voices from the nearby street corner. I get up out of bed, peering out of a corner window to the street below. Some ten to fifteen young men are standing in the middle of the street, facing off against one or two of the bowabs that mind the apartment building on the corner. Although I cannot understand what is being said, the voices I hear convey a sharp sense of anger and malice. Shouting turns into a shoving match, the young men closing ranks around the two bowabs. Then, from every street leading into the intersection, I hear the running footfalls and brief shouts of other men. Within a minute, the menacing young men are surrounded by twenty or more bowabs, each carrying a thick stick or staff. One particularly brawny bowab carrying something just short of a tree trunk walks calmly into the circle of young men and says a few quiet words to one of lads. He towers over the young man, hefting his club as he is speaking. The young ruffian does not look him in the eye. Without a further word, the young troublemakers slink quietly down the road. The bowabs are still chatting as I climb back into bed.
I sleep more soundly than I ever have since arriving in Egypt.
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