Just Another Day at the Pyramids

by Captain Midnight as told to Jerry Farlow

All day long it's the same old thing, "Hoose, hoose." Don't
these idiots know its "Hoosh, hoosh?" You'd think I was a damn
horse or something. But, regardless of their ignorance, I
diligently get down on my knees and let some overbearing (to
say the least) woman from Tulsa crawl up my back. Then, as she
cackles and yells at her husband to snap her picture, she starts
yanking at my reins and screams, "Hoot, hoot." You'd think I was
a damn owl or something. But, I know she means "Hut, hut," so I
rise suddenly on my front legs, throwing her backwards over my
hindquarters. Then, just as she's about to roll off my back end, I
lurch onto my hind legs, whip-lashing her back over my hump so
that ultimately she's slung over my neck. Then, as she curses at
me and screams for dear life, I twist my neck around and spit
right in her face. God, I love this job!

You'd think that hauling American tourists around the

Pyramids and the Great Sphinx on the Giza Plateau outside of
Cairo in 100 degree heat would be a nightmare, but it's really a
dream come true. After all, I've spent most of my life in Sudan
crisscrossing the Sahara carrying 500-pound loads of salt in 120
degree heat. Believe me, after that, overweight American
tourists feel like a feather.

I've only been in Giza for a month now. My Sudanese owner

sold me to an Egyptian camel trader who brought me to Cairo.
Well, he didn't exactly bring me. Myself, along with a hundred
other Ships of the Desert (which is the name we prefer) trekked
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across the Nubian Desert to Aswan in Upper Egypt. We walked

forty miles each night and slept during the day. For me it was
nothing but for the Sudanese herders who accompanied us, it
was murder. After reaching Aswan they then loaded us in the
backs of Japanese pickups and brought us to the giant camel
market just outside Cairo. There, every day except Sunday
camel traders sell us to Cairo meat merchants and to farmers
from the Nile delta. For the farmers we pull water wheels, but I
was never told what happened to those of us that were sold to
the meat merchants.

The camel market, known as the souk el gamaal, is

probably the oldest and largest camel market in the world and is
probably the least known of all the great attractions of Egypt.
Personally, I think it's more fascinating than the Pyramids of
Giza. And, it's free. The most interesting thing I saw at the
camel fair were the American tourists that walked around and
gawked at everything. You'd think they'd never seen a couple
thousand camels in one place before. After gawking at the
camels they'd then go to the food tent and get some lamb
kabobs, felafel balls, and something that looked like a
hamburger. I never did learn what kind of meat they used. Then
they'd sit down somewhere and watch some camel trader and
buyer haggle, shout, and arm-twist over the price of a camel. A
large beautiful male like myself will go for over a thousand
dollars! I was sold to a camel jockey from Giza, named
Mohammed, who christened me Captain Midnight, and launched
my new career as a tour guide, carting tourists around the Three
Pyramids of Giza and the Great Sphinx.
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"Hut, hut, hut," the woman from Tulsa finally says after
wiping the spit from her face. This is my cue to drop back down
on my front knees sending her reeling back over my neck. "This
*#$%#@#$$% camel," she says under her breath. I then lurch
back up on all fours and bolt off across the Giza Plateau towards
the Pyramids leaving her hanging on for dear life. God, I love
this job!

"Just relax," Mohammed screams after us. "The trick is to

relax."

The woman and her husband paid $75 apiece for an hour's
camel trek around the three Great Pyramids of Giza. I carry the
woman and her husband rides on a young she-camel named
Meena. They should have paid $10 apiece but that wasn't my
problem -- more money for the camel jockey -- more alfalfa for
me.

There are a total of ninety pyramids in Egypt, but most of

the pictures you've probably seen are those of the three Great
Pyramids of Giza, the Great Pyramid of Cheops (Chee-ops), the
Pyramid of Chephren (Khef-ren), and the Pyramid of Mycerinus
(My-ker-in-us). They are the largest of all the pyramids of Egypt,
the Great Pyramid of Cheops being the largest one in all Egypt.

"Would you look at that!" the woman gaped up at the Great

Pyramid of Cheops as we approached.

"Do you think I should give my camel an apple?" the

woman asks her husband. I turn around and bite it out of her
hand before she changes her mind.
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We make our way through the sea of souvenir peddlers and

touts that just descended like a swarm of biblical locusts on an
American tourist bus out of Cairo. "Wanna guidebook of the
Pyramids? See my shop, yes? You American, I like Americans. No
buy, just look. No buy here, come with me, my cousin Abdul – he
has papyrus factory – make papyrus just for you."

As we pass the Great Pyramid, the man gets out his

guidebook and starts quoting its dimensions. I've heard those
dimensions so many times in the past month I'm starting to get
homesick for Sudan. It's big! He then goes on and tells his wife
that contrary to popular belief the age of pyramids only lasted
for about 200 years from the 27th to the 25th centuries B.C. He
says that the three Pyramids are really mortuary complexes for
the Pharaohs of Cheops, Chephren, and Mycerinus. He should
have had the Lonely Planet guidebook; it would have also told
him that Cheops, Chephren and Mycerinus were in fact father,
son, and grandson.

As we make our way past the Great Pyramid I let out a

snort, trying to prod the woman into moving on to the Great
Sphinx, the next attraction on the knucklehead tour.

"Look," her husband said, "There's the Sphinx." He then

slapped Meena with his reigns and shouts, "Giddap." Meena, a
sensitive little she-camel, ignores him and just keeps rolling
along. Undaunted, the man then digs his heels into her sides
and shouts again, "you miserable bleep-of-a-bleep, GIDDAP!"
His heels had scarcely touched her flanks before the two
disappear over a hill in the direction of the Sphinx, the man
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hanging from her neck like a two-toed sloth. I never realized he

was a trick rider.

I finally catch up to Meena. By this time the man has

managed to crawl back into the saddle. He says some
uncomplimentary remarks which causes the sensitive Meena to
twist her head around and bury a row of yellow teeth into his
shoulder. "$#*&#$#@," he howls.

The first rule of camel riding is to never insult a sensitive

camel.

The man then begins to read about the Sphinx from his
guidebook. I've heard it a thousand times before so I'll
paraphrase. No one knows the mystery of the Sphinx -- the end.

The camel is the most misunderstood animal on earth.

Actually, camels are very intelligent, affectionate and love
children -- except for brats. We react to kindness -- especially
apples -- but if you get us mad, we will mope until you show us
kindness with a pat or a good word -- and more apples. Some
people say the only way to get back in the good graces of a
camel after you have treated one poorly is to take off your
clothes and let it stomp all over them. That is not totally correct
-- we'll stomp all over them, but you won't get back in our good
graces. It's true we have long memories, especially when
treated badly -- real long memories.

And as for the ugly rumor about biting and spitting, a camel
will rarely bite or spit -- unless we feel like it.
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After the man had finished reading about the Great Sphinx
from his guidebook we were at the halfway point in the tour and
Meena and I were already starting to think about some well-
earned R&R. The only things left on the tour for the man and
woman to see were the Pyramids of Chephren and Mycerinus,
which they managed to steal a glance at as Meena and I flew by
on our way back to the camel barns. We felt in the 100 degree
heat the breeze would be appreciated.

As we race past Mycerinus both Meena and myself are

bombarded by the usual grousing from the clientele. The woman
was now draped across my neck screaming at the top of her
lungs and Meena was close behind with the man, I assumed, in
his usual sloth-like position hanging from her neck.

"Help! Stop! Help!" the woman's screams could be heard all

the way to Cairo. But as soon as she cried out, the camel barn
came into view and I rear back and take off in high gear.

We literally fly over the dunes, scattering a horde of

German tourists who rudely block our path. "Halten!" one
particularly hefty housfrau stepped out from the pack and
demanded we obey the speed laws. Realizing, however, we
hadn't the slightest intention of heeding her call she turned and
took off ahead of us. Considering her size I was much impressed
with her speed and agility, but as it was we quickly passed over
her as if she were a desert sage rooted in the ground. In the
distance we can now see the camel barns and the silhouette of
Mohammed jumping up and down waving his arms.

"Just relax," we can hear him yelling, "The trick is to relax."

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Meena and I charge up to the camel barn and stop on a

dime, catapulting the woman twenty feet through the air onto
poor Mohammed. The man was less adept on dismounting, being
frozen to Meena's neck from which he had to be pried off. Both
the man and woman scream at the top of their lungs at
Mohammed, Meena and myself and demand their money back.
Mohammed turns and walks off leaving them to yell at Meena
and myself. But Meena and I are too busy chomping down
alfalfa so eventually they just turn and storm off, cursing to
themselves.

As for me it was just another day at the Pyramids. God, I

love this job!

-the end-