Dead Man

After living in Cairo for a year I saw a dead man on the road. He’d been killed in some sort of car accident. At first sight I thought he’d been beheaded, then I realised that someone from the crowd had covered his head and neck with a piece of cloth the same colour of the shirt he was wearing, making it seem like he was just a torso. He was barefoot, but his soles were clean.

It was no longer a surprise to witness the death of a stranger, nor a shock to witness death. A year ago, it seems so much longer; I met death for the first time. I was twenty seven. I saw it in the form of my dead grandmother. I saw it in the form of road kill, specifically a cat with its guts brightly splattered across the tarmac. I heard it in the form of a frightened dog, also hit by a vehicle, a helpless screaming being which I could not help. I saw it in the form of a woman lying in the middle of the road. Back then I was frightened most by everyone’s indifference.