Cairo: "We Want To Make Peace"

Although an Israeli army is encamped only 45 miles away, Cairo seems to have been very little affected by the war. A blackout that was imposed when the fighting broke out was lifted after the ceasefire, reinstated again when rumors circulated that the war was about to resume--and partially lifted last week after Henry Kissinger's visit. It was always a peculiarly Egyptian blackout, however: the streets were in total darkness, but nearly every building above the second floor was defiantly ablaze with light. With their long gallabiyas floating in the cool evening breeze from the desert, people rushing by in the evening darkness looked like jinn, the spirits of the city that are said to outnumber its living population. Once inside their doorways, though, the blackout jinn carry on their lives exactly as they did on Oct. 5, the day before the war began.

Egypt lost an estimated 3,000 dead in the fighting, and more than double that number were wounded. Yet with a population of 36 million--more than ten times that of Israel--Egypt is better able to bear combat losses. Some industries have been deprived of skilled technicians, but mobilization has not drained the civilian economy of needed manpower. If anything, it has helped Egypt's chronic unemployment problem. One international firm has offices in both Cairo and Jerusalem, employing about 140 in each city. The war cut its Jerusalem staff down to a mere eleven; in Cairo all the workers are on the job. Even though Cairo airport was closed for 24 days, hotels report few cancellations of bookings for the lucrative winter season.

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In government-controlled shops, such staples as sugar and tea--no Cairene worker can exist without endless cups of the sweet, muddy substance each day--have not risen in price. Those who try to supplement their meager ration on the black market, however, have found that the unofficial price of sugar has jumped more than a third; the price of tea has risen by 94%. Beef and lamb are available only twice a week, even in restaurants. Yet no one suffers too much: alternatives include chicken, fish, pork, ham, sweetbreads, brains, tongue and squab. Most Cairenes tend to stay home these days anyway. Though it may not daunt Israeli pilots, the blackout, along with an 11 o'clock curfew, has put a damper on Cairo's night life.

Until the announcement of the U.S.-endorsed cease-fire plan, most people in Cairo seemed resigned to a new round of fighting, but there was no hysteria, no jingoism. Even with Americans, who are blamed for giving Israel the weapons that allowed its armies to cross the Suez Canal, Cairenes are patient and polite. "All we want is to have our own land back, and then everybody can live in peace," says one woman. "Tell the Americans that we want to make peace and finish with all this war," says the custodian of a cemetery in the Coptic quarter of old Cairo.

Gamal Abdel Nasser is still a hero in Cairo, but more and more Egyptians seem willing to admit his mistakes. They feel that their country has outgrown the fanaticism of Nasser's day, and they look to the more matter-of-fact Sadat for reasonable approaches. One sign of the new realism, they feel, is that even as U.S.-made tanks were positioned against them not far from the city's outskirts, representatives of an American firm were discussing details of a projected $345 million pipeline from the Gulf of Suez to the Mediterranean. Cairenes appear to be more puzzled than angry at American support of their enemy, and they were simply perplexed by last week's cease-fire agreement. "I thought we were not going to make any concessions to Israel until we had the meat in our hands," complained one woman. "Now where is the meat?"

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