Shelf Life: Chronicles of a Cairo Bookseller

Those of us who write love letters know that their aims are impossible. We try, and fail, to make the ethereal material. We strive against the inevitable ending, knowing that everything is transient. We choose to be grateful for the time, however brief it may be.

Eigenlijk doet lezen in veel opzichten aan reizen denken. We gaan naar een ver land om te ontdekken in hoeverre het daar anders is, en zo leren we onszelf beter kennen, krijgen we inzicht in ons persoonlijke filter, de lens waardoor we de wereld ervaren.

Bookstores are both private and public spaces, in which we escape the world and also participate in it more fully. Our café in particular held these contradictions: a place where friends gathered, where people lingered for hours (despite the chairs), where I often brought my daughters on the weekends. A place that resembled a home but that wasn’t a home.

Men are defined by what they do, and women, by their intimate relationships.

Third places are locations for community building, which, by his definition, include cafés, like ours. In Egypt, men had their mosques, barbershops, and the ahwa—coffee shops where they smoked sheesha, played backgammon and dominoes, listened to the radio, and watched the television and the world go by. Young men had their sports clubs.

Never make a decision based on fear or guilt or guided by what you think is easier. Choose what rings true to you.