My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  The whole thing went on now until well after midnight, till the driver insisted on continuing to drive. After a half hour journey, all were asleep and I told the driver some of the stories from my bus driving period.

  He listened with much interest. I told him about the story, when I had almost died of fear. It was in Persia. Since my bus had needed a spare part once again, I had to take a ride by a public bus, which took me from the location of the breakdown to the next place. I had been allowed to sit next to the driver and he had showed me how they drove a bus in Iran. He also had not wanted money for the trip. He had only wanted to show a Europeans what he could.

  The road was in faultless, very good condition and so he drove the bus, which was neither really a problem nor was it exciting. The road had wide expanses of passageways in the valley. Sometimes the bus was in the valley and then again on a hilltop. On the hilltop, you could see very far but white lines were drawn through in front of the hilltop. Everyone in the world knows that you are not allowed to overtake there or even drive across the lines at all.

  But my kamikaze bus driver drove from the hilltop generally over the drawn out lines on the left side.

  So you could not see if a vehicle was coming from the opposite direction on the other side. After the peak, he drove again towards the right on the right side of the road.

  In my very bad Farsi and with the help of English, so that the driver understood something, I made it clear to him that this kind of driving was shit.

  I told him it was also irresponsible with regard to the passengers.

  The guy had just laughed and told me that it was not a test of courage but that he was trying to determine if his god, Allah, still liked him.

  Quite simple: If no vehicles came from the other side, his god still liked him. However, if a vehicle came towards him, then Allah wanted it that way.

  That would then be his hour to go to heaven, he explained to me.

  I wanted to know what would happen to the passengers, and pointed backwards.

  The answer was terse: If God wanted it so, nothing would happen to them!

  Cold shivers ran down my spine because what kind of world did this crazy man live in? I had implored him to give up playing that game and prayed a wordless prayer to my God that the driver really didn't drive on the other side.

  I was surprised that none of the passengers clobbered him. But that was probably once due to the ubiquitous “Insha'allah”, translated "if God wishes" or also "with the will of God". The passengers were just as much fatalists as the driver.

  Here my story ended.

  My driver, who was listening to me attentively, almost fell out of his seat. I had to confirm this to him a few times, so that he believed in what I had said. We arrived at our starting point and at the same time the destination and the journey ended.

  We said goodbye to the others and drove once again by taxi to my mother, who was still awake and was waiting for us.

  She had been worried, since it was already so late. Mothers are so, they always worry about their children, no matter how old you are! We drove from my mother's house to Munich, to Renate’s parents’ place and spent the rest of our holiday there. However, we had to go back to Frankfurt and fly from there to Cairo.

  Our daily routine was waiting for us in Cairo. Nothing had changed. Except for my smoking, I did not have any other vices any more. Looking back, I could say that I not only had one vice (load), but that I occasionally had a whole haulage of them! Would I ever have a "normal" life style? I was convinced that this is might be possible since Renate had turned up.

  The time had come when my hotel owner wanted to know if I wanted to extend the contract. With the consent of Renate, I decided not to extend the contract.

  We agreed that we would treat ourselves to a nice holiday in the Sinai and that we could possibly make a trip on the Nile along with a temple tour and then perhaps leave beautiful Egypt forever. We would return to Germany and open a small restaurant with the money we had saved. That's how we wanted to do it!

  It was not easy to say goodbye to my friends, the hotel staff, the director as well as the owner. These three years in Cairo were a milestone, which was deeply anchored within me.

  But we just wanted to return home. A small restaurant in Munich or the surrounding area was our goal. But first of all, a proper holiday in Egypt once again! Neither Renate nor I had been to the Upper Egypt.

  We knew the Pyramids and Alexandria and whatever was in the vicinity of Cairo.

  But nobody would believe if you had lived in Egypt for ten years and had not seen the Karnak Temple or Luxor.

  I rented a car for us, but make sure that it was no Japanese scrap this time and we drove to Sharm el-Sheikh. Not only Renate and I were happy to be in Sharm, even our friends were happy about our visit. But no one liked the idea that we wanted to leave Cairo and also Egypt. But whatever was meant to happen had to happen! We stayed with our friends, the diving club owners Claude and Lisa, which was almost as if we were at home. We not only felt at home, we were at home too!

  Our hosts were in their diving base the whole day. This gave Renate the opportunity to keep the house in order. My task was that enough to make sure that there was enough to eat in the house and that the barbecue had the right heat, when the two of them came back.

  Who could afford that to have their own cook at home.

  We also did smaller desert excursions.

  In the evening, we went to the various hotel bars. Or friends from the MFO-camp were entertained. The MFO was a Multi-Force Organization. There was a peacekeeping force or military unit here in Sinai consisting of different UN members, who had to make sure that the Egyptians did not bring any military to the Sinai and that the Israelis did not launch any military attacks. Since our host himself had been a military man, he had easily made acquaintance with the flying personnel.

  This crew flew with a Hercules aircraft between El-Arish, where there was a base and Sharm, where there was the other base, back and forth. Of course the pilots brought the necessary of the required "spirits” from the camp's free warehouse. The barbecue sizzled for this and the pancake pan was never cold. So had the holiday-cook always had work to do. I would not have minded if life went on like this for some years. But Renate and I had some plans:

  Upper Egypt and then to good old Germany!

  The Pigeons House", our restaurant in Sharm el-Sheikh

  Our hostess invited us to a small typical Bedouin camp or you could also call it a cheap hotel.

  Since I was a bit hungry, I asked the waiter, a Bedouin young man, what was available to eat. He brought the menu and I began to order. But after the fifth of the ten items, that were on the menu and were not available (!!), I gave up. I told him that he should bring three dishes, which the kitchen had in stock. By chance, we sat in such a way that I could look into the kitchen. What I saw, surprised me very much.

  Although I was already used to several things from India, Nepal and Afghanistan, I had to look twice so that I could believe what I saw. There was a Bedouin with the “Galabaya”, the night shirt, which the Beduins always wore, gathered up high, trying to chop a frozen chicken - probably our food, on the kitchen floor.

  Then he disappeared from my view. He probably noticed that I could see him working. After half an hour, the appetizer arrived, which was probably a mixed salad.

  It was a tomato, naturally with pith and the stalk but sliced into quarters, a quarter of an onion and an unpeeled cucumber also cut into four pieces of course, on top of which plenty of oil had been poured. Half a lemon and a bunch of parsley were on the plate as garnish.

  We looked at one another grinning.

  I began to slice the tomatoes, the cucumbers and onion with what was probably a knife into smaller pieces and pressed the slice of lemon over it. After requesting for some salt and pepper, I sprinkled this rarity also over it.

  In the meantime, our chicken pieces, which were cooked in oil, arrived. Most likely it shoul
d have become chicken baked in fat. But since the oil was not hot enough, the chicken had had a bath in hot oil.

  The only thing that is truly delicious were the Bedouin flat bread.

  The green stuff was edible but none of us could eat the chicken bathed in oil. At the same moment, the owner of the "hotel" walked past us.

  Since he knew our hostess, he spoke to her and a few phrases were exchanged, till he asked us all if food was good.

  I know our friend Lisa for a long time and appreciated her honesty. But the fact that she told the truth about to food to the Bedouin surprised me.

  The Bedouin listened and replied that he knew that his son could not cook. He asked her if she was interested in working as cook at his hotel or if she knee anyone, who would take over the restaurant.

  Pointing to me, she said jokingly to the man that I could look into this. She said that I was a cook and that I had already been a chef at the Hilton.

  Luckily the Bedouin spoke a little English. He said that I should come to his office, to negotiate on the possibility of taking over. I was speechless and also amazed, because he did not want any money for the meal we had had.

  Renate cast her veto immediately explaining that she did not want to have anything to do with this rotten shop. She told me that I was crazy. But that was probably no news.

  We said goodbye and went back to our apartment. Until late at the night, we discussed whether this shop, which was part of a very simple hotel, offered us a chance to survive there. I had the feeling that you could convert this natural property into a small jewel. My friends were also in favor of it.

  Of course they would make publicity for me in their club and other diving centers. I should think of how many foreigners I knew, who had become residents in the meantime. All would come to me to eat, they were sure of that.

  But Renate was not yet so sure. My goblin, who had been quiet for so long, showed up and whispered to me into my ear that I should undertake the adventure. Since it was the little one on the right side and not the pig-dog on the right side, I surprised the Beduins the next day and we made a five-year contract.

  I was now the proud leaseholder of a restaurant. At that moment it was still not a restaurant as I imagined it to be. The guests were also missing.

  Apart from a few backpacker-tourists, who lived in huts made out of palm fronds, I didn't have anyone yet, for whom I could cook.

  But we had our savings and Renate and I used this to give the whole thing a new outfit and also to obtain work material. The grand opening was to be one month later.

  Next we rented an apartment, bought a used Jeep and advertised everywhere. I recruited staff recruited from the Hilton and other hotels. Since I knew, what kind of salary they had been fobbed off, I offered a little more and had good trained staff.

  The day of the opening came and it was a huge success.

  From that day onward, the “Restaurant in the Pigeons House" was a good address for good inexpensive food. I was not a novice in opening restaurants. I hoped that it would be successful this time that I would persevere with the contract till the end. "Gasthof Wilhelm" had been a complete flop, the “Crazy-Horse” went too early to the slaughterhouse. And how long now with this "Pigeons House"? I had no idea but it was an acceptable beginning. The conditions were very good. No rent; the Beduins wanted only fifteen percent of the sales turnover. I didn't have anything to do with the taxes. I had to only pay five percent of sales tax, which I charged it to the guest.

  So I was only responsible for the purchases and for the running operating costs. The restaurant became well-known quickly.

  I was most probably the perfect host because the guests felt comfortable. Among the guests, there were also chefs from the big hotels, all of whom had their own place in Sharm.

  Also my former director from Hilton came and was an avid fan of my Indian curries. The introduced themed evening, which I hosted once a week, was a success. I was also supported by all the diving centers. Renate was responsible for the cash register and she had a firm control over the waiters.

  It did not take long and my presence in the kitchen was not absolutely necessary; the boys knew what was to be done. I got the idea of expanding and so I rented a suitable locality in Dahab and opened a second restaurant, the "Crazy House".

  It was yet to be seen if the "Crazy House" would operate better than the "Crazy Horse" in Aqaba.

  I sent my best waiters and also the chef from the Pigeons House to Dahab. However, the initial phase was very difficult and so I didn’t have any other option than to be there personally to see how things were going. Now, I had twenty-hour days. From morning to afternoon in Sharm, then until after midnight in Dahab. I was dog tired, sometimes I had also been drinking a little too much with the guests and was driving ninety kilometers through the desert once again back to Sharm.

  In the meantime I had to also drive to Cairo to personally do the shopping locally.

  I discovered a source in the Grand Bazaar, where meat was available. There was meat from EU animals. The finest fillet of beef at a price that had it been Germany, only filets would have been eaten. I found out that it was meat at prices subsidized by the State and the EU.

  Normally the butchers were not supposed to sell to hotels or to resellers but only to Egyptian families. But it didn't matter to the importers at all.

  If such customers such as I bought not only in kilos, but up to ten cartons at a time, that was only convenient for them. Which one of us from the wholesale buyers would betray and tell where the meat came from? As long as I did not have to pay even nine Deutsch-Mark in converted currency for one kilo of fillet, I could sell the fillet steak with side dishes for twelve Deutsch-Mark though my steaks did not weigh less than two hundred and fifty grams.

  All were satisfied. I was driving between Sharm and Dahab too much and so I promoted Ahmed, the waiter to the manager of the Dahab Restaurant.

  So I was able to concentrate on the Pigeons House Restaurant. One day, a Bedouin came to me and wanted me to pay for two goats. Allegedly one of my cooks had killed two of his goats. He actually had two dead goats on his pick-up and he threw them at my feet. Of course I had to pay him his demand of one hundred and fifty pounds. He was visibly annoyed.

  The goats had not been poisoned but had been cut at the neck, as per the Islamic slaughter method. The goats had therefore been killed quite normally.

  But why?

  Who had killed these animals and why?

  My staff got enough meat from me, they did not have to kill goats belonging to a Bedouin. The man of course took advantage of the opportunity and demanded for twice the amount of what he would have otherwise gotten.

  I did not get any information from my staff, who all lived together in a rented house belonging to another Bedouin, as to who could have possibly be the one and why he would have killed the goats.

  I promised, or much rather, I threatened that if something like that happened again, I would deduct the compensation for damages from all of them uniformly from their salaries. But the Bedouin came back again at the end of the month. This time he came with a sheep from his flock, which had its throat cut through.

  This time I made an awful lot of noise and paid the Bedouin the money, which was intended for the salaries. I also permitted the Bedouin to keep the sheep. I made it clear to my cooks that they had paid for the sheep this time. I told them that I would perhaps give back the money if they told me what was going on.

  And so I learned that I had a cook, who was moonstruck and was walking around during full moon and had killed sheep or goats with a knife.

  I wanted to know from my staff whether they were not scared that he could catch one of them. But they reassured me. They said that there was no such risk since they stayed awake during full moon and had watched the chef, while he slaughtered.

  I was flabbergasted. I could calm down only very slowly.

  Why had they not told me, when they all knew about it? The reply was that I had no
t had asked before.

  But I had, I had wanted to know of course exactly what was going on.

  But since I had paid the Bedouin for the two goats so quickly and without discussion, they had thought that I wanted to have the meat and thus they had remained silent.

  I drove with the bloodthirsty chef to the newly constructed hospital, which is the style of a pyramid and asked my guest and friend, Dr. Adel, what I could do. He recommended to me to pay him, give him the papers and send him to Cairo. The risk that he could attack a human being in his sleep-wakefulness condition was very large. I had to avoid this risk. He would take care of this case and would ensure that this chef got the right therapy. I was relieved that we had identified the problem and I made it clear to my staff that they had to inform me if there were any unusual occurrences. There would not be a betrayal but stupidity to be silent. Sometimes, I had the impression that these young men had the knowledge of a six-year-old European boy.

  One day, I saw how one of my new stewards, who were the kitchen cleaners, had placed the electric meat mincer in the sink filled with water, to clean it.

  He had understood that it was his task to clean the machine just like the pots and such things. Since he had never seen such a machine, he did not know how to clean it.

  Also my Teflon-coated pans were all spotlessly clean one day and the white aluminum shone!

  The boy wanted to play it safe and do me a great favor. The black pans were to become sparkling white, which he succeeded in doing!

  But he became very upset that I had criticized his work severely and that I had discarded the pans, into which he had put so much work.

  There were many such smaller interludes, about which you couldn't get angry but just only be surprised or about which you at least wanted to smile. All in all, I had a good relationship with my staff; they too liked me. When I was in Cairo, I got an invitation more often from one of the chefs and waiters. Through that, I got an insight about under what conditions they lived there, in the case of some families. I t was not pleasant for me because I did not want to see the poverty, in which they had to live. But they did not arrange such an invitation, to ask for more money later. They were just proud to be able to entertain their boss at home.