"We're coming from work, we're tired, we're stressed," said Nady, 27, an accountant.
He paused and waited for the trucks to pass. He seemed not to see the eight lanes of traffic in front of him, each car, truck or minivan fighting its way across
Al Moneeb Bridge, horns honking, tyres screeching, engines rumbling. This is the largest bridge across the Nile. It is loud, and it bounces under the weight of so many vehicles. But at night its pavements become festive. Families pull out plastic lawn chairs, sit along the guard-rail and kick back. Vendors sell tea and corn on the cob, and some sell balloons.
Cairo is a city with a lot of people, a lot of tightly packed houses and buildings, a lot of traffic – and very little open space. There are some parks, but they tend to be fenced off and charge admission. So Egyptians grab what public space there is and make it their own. Bridges are a favourite, but nearly any open space will do. Even a patch of grass in the middle of a traffic circle.
"It's a whole way of life," Nady said, nearly shouting over the din of traffic. "People create space for themselves. Maybe someone else might find it tight, but they find happiness in it."
For many years, given the severity and multitude of Egypt's problems, its entrenched poverty, corruption and political stagnation, many Western diplomats have asked: Is Egypt stable? Will there be a coup, or riots?
One American diplomat said he concluded that the country was "terminally stable" One way to look at that is that the people are lethargic and defeated. But there is another potential interpretation: in a difficult environment, Egyptians know how to make do.
They know how to ignore what they cannot change and improvise where they can. They drive the wrong way down one-way streets, are blind to traffic lights, never voluntarily wait in line and regularly circumvent a government bureaucracy that is less than user friendly. They are not trying to be rude; they are just fighting to get by.
Technically, setting up on a bridge is illegal. But this is Egypt. Who cares about technicalities?
"People everywhere, even in the Gulf, follow rules," said Abdel Rahman el-Abnoudy, an Egyptian poet. "Here, if people became disciplined, they would die." At night the Nile goes black, the murky waters providing the only chance for residents of this crowded city to stare into wide open space, offering a spiritual tonic for those whose lives are defined by the harsh borders, small apartments, low pay and little opportunity.
"I feel suffocated, of course," said Nourelhoda Mohammed, 18, as she described her life in Waraq, a poor, crowded neighbourhood. She has graduated from high school but has no job and is hoping to marry. She passes the time on the Rhode al-Farag Bridge, an imposing span of concrete, traffic and picnickers on the northern end of the city.
"This is a place where there are not a lot of people and you can breathe," she said.
The Nile is a major draw, but not the only one. Further south, Mohammed Ezzeldin unfolded a small canvas stool and leaned back against a palm tree. He was resting in the middle of a roundabout at a busy intersection. Children ran after a large yellow ball.
Ezzeldin held a prayer book in one hand and prayer beads in another. He seemed puzzled why anyone could not see that this roundabout, with its bit of grass, was a sanctuary. "I like the people," Ezzeldin said as he leaned back against the tree and flicked his prayer beads. "I find it amazing they are able to be satisfied with their life as it is, and to have joy."
