Downtown Cairo is preternaturally quiet on Fridays, at least until the imams rev up for their earsplitting weekly sermons. I was out walking when confronted with a fairly typical scenario: police rounding up an unlicensed sidewalk vendor, a scrawny kid of around 15, piling him and his goods (some cheap Chinese scarves) into the paddy wagon. They must have a quota to maintain by municipal order, as if ridding the shambolic streets of these vendors would improve their function or appearance. The absurdity of depriving otherwise jobless people of an honest living is enhanced by frequent headlines decrying high-level corruption and entrepreneurs who abscond with bank loans to the tune of millions of pounds. The afflicted street vendors can only wonder if they shouldn't start stealing themselves.
This boy was howling, begging for mercy, throwing his arms and legs in every direction to escape the police grasp, while an officer seated inside the truck looked on. It was too much, and as the only witness on the nearly deserted street, I intervened.
