A new resident out for a stroll in Cairo, Egypt will right away notice the lack of continuous sidewalks. Getting around in most neighborhoods requires learning to expect stumbling blocks at every turn. In my district everyone walks in the street hugging parked cars — the only practical choice. Directly outside your building pavement exists and you smoothly move along; however, after walking a few meters obstructions appear: an inexplicable eighteen-inch curb perhaps, or an alley, a tree, a candy and soda shack, or a vat of near-boiling vegetable oil on the surface of which bean patties are floating. Cars parked across the sidewalk will block you, or a shoeshine man, chairs, motor scooters, dangerously low-hanging signs, and not least of the list: construction crews.

Our image shows an example from the Dokki district. The men drive light trucks loaded with sand and bricks. The material goes upstairs in mesh bags one at a time; demolition debris comes down the same way on a workman’s back, then gets stacked across the sidewalk where it often remains for days, occasionally weeks.  You will notice half the men are working, half milling about with hands in pockets. The five non-laborers near the left-hand corner of the photograph — all but one wearing a robe — are doormen, called in Cairo bowaabs. The bowaab has multiple functions: porter, security guard, concierge, janitor, spy, rental agent. Concerning anything that happens on his block, he is the expert. The guys come mostly from villages in Upper Egypt, have only basic schooling, and are often treated in demeaning ways by people who consider themselves higher in social class. They sleep under stairwells or live in tiny rooms with floor space smaller than a sheet of plywood. Paradoxically they are also powerful; in the course of their duties they accumulate bonanzas of information they may use to their advantage, to some extent enriching themselves.