Ramadan Kareem to all Egyptian Chronicles readers.
Tonight, as we await what King Nu’man’s twin will do after turning from being royals to Slaves, it is time for our little chitchat.
As we may have guessed, tonight we will be introduced to a character that works as a garbage collector.
Historically, the garbage collector as a profession appeared in Ancient Mesopotamia, Ancient Egypt and Ancient Persia but not as we know now.
In Ancient Mesopotamia, while there wasn't a specific job title for "Garbage Man" in 3000 BCE, texts mention "Sweepers" and "Porters."
Sweepers were typically employed by temples and palaces to keep sacred grounds clean, while Porters might be hired by wealthy families to haul heavy waste to "middens" (city-edge dumps).
In Ancient Egypt, as early as 2100 BCE in the city of Heracleopolis Magna, records suggest that elite and religious districts had designated laborers who swept the streets and collected refuse in baskets.
In Ancient Rome, street cleaners and slaves removed refuse, while the Cloaca Maxima helped carry waste away from the city.
We will stop here. We return back to the history of garbage collection professions again.
Let us see what the siblings will do in the 98th episode of One Thousand and One Nights, as broadcast on Egyptian State Radio.
Ep. 7 “The Garbage collector”
The Ninety-Eighth Night
When it was the Ninety-Eighth Night, King Shahryar once again took his seat as he had on the previous evening.
At the appointed hour Scheherazade entered the court. The king welcomed her graciously, greeted her beauty with warmth, and seated her in the place of honor. Then he listened attentively as she began to speak.
“O fortunate king, wise in judgment,” said Scheherazade,
“I have been told that Prince Daw’ Al-Makan and his sister Nuzhat Al-Zaman, after losing their way in the desert and becoming separated from their companions, wandered until exhaustion overcame them.
As fate would have it, a band of wandering Bedouins came upon them. They descended upon the two youths like a sudden calamity from the heavens.
The tribesmen soon divided into two groups, each eager to claim the prince and princess for themselves. Unable to settle the dispute, they turned to the chief of their clan, who cast lots between them.
One of the men won the wager and took possession of Nuzhat Al-Zaman and her brother Daw’ Al-Makan, intending to sell them for the highest price.
So he traveled with them to a distant city, hoping to display them in the slave market.
But fate had something else in store.
For the prince Daw’ Al-Makan soon fell gravely ill. His master grew impatient with his sickness, tired of tending to him and unwilling to spend a single coin on medicine.
And so, under the cover of night, the man carried the weakened prince through the dark streets until he reached the furnace of a public bathhouse.
Muttering a brief blessing, he cast the young man aside and threw him upon a heap of refuse near the fire pit.
Now in that same city there lived a humble garbage collector — a poor man who gathered refuse and scraps, selling them to the bathhouse stokers and the lowest workers of the town in order to feed his children.
That morning the man rose from sleep, as he did every day, and went about collecting the city’s trash.
When he reached the furnace, he noticed a body lying among the refuse — a young man motionless and pale, with no sign of life upon him.
Believing him to be a stranger who had died far from home and family, the man was filled with sorrow.
For the sight reminded him of his own son, whom he had lost long ago.
So he approached the body, weeping softly, murmuring prayers and lamenting the cruelty of fate.”
At the Bathhouse Furnace
Karkoub the Garbage Collector says
“There is no power nor strength except through God…
A dead man thrown among the trash! What has the world come to?
We belong to God and to Him we return…
You’ll spend the night here alone, poor stranger — no family, no one to stand by you.
Look at you… still young. May God bury in the dust the one who cast you aside like this.
Ah, fate… what a strange thing it is.
Some people find money in the streets — and me? I find corpses!
But burying you… that’s my duty now.
Your condition breaks my heart, my son… reminds me of my own boy…
My son… my son…”
(He sobs.)
“Let me move you from here…
In the name of God, the Most Merciful…”
(He lifts him and suddenly stops.)
“Wait… in the name of God…
He’s alive! There’s still life in him!
Who are you? What’s your name?
Have you been robbed or something?
God Almighty… you’re burning like fire!
You’re sick, poor soul — maybe hungry… maybe thirsty.
Who will show mercy to a stranger with no family, no friend?
But if I leave you here, you’ll die…
No… I’ll take you home with me.
Come on, poor fellow…
Help me, O Lord.”
In the Garbage Collector’s House
Karkoub (calling at the door):
“Karkouba! Karkouba! Open the door!”
Karkouba:
“God Almighty! What brought you back this early, Karkoub?”
Karkoub:
“Are you going to interrogate me from behind the door? Open first!”
(She opens the door.)
Karkouba:
“Come in, come in… O master of garbage collectors.
But what is that you’re carrying?”
Karkoub:
“This… this young fellow is worn out. He’s terribly sick.
Help me hold him — gently now.”
Karkouba:
“And why did you bring him here?”
Karkoub:
“Can’t you see the state he’s in?”
Karkouba:
“And since when did you become a doctor?”
Karkoub:
“He’s alone… a stranger.”
Karkouba:
“And how do you know that?”
Karkoub:
“I found him lying in the middle of the garbage heap.”
Karkouba:
“What? In the garbage?
If he had family here, they would never have left him like that.
And look at you — barely able to carry the burden in your own belly, and now you bring me another burden on top of it!”
Karkoub:
“Am I the one who provides his livelihood, woman?
God divided his share of bread, and God will send it to him.”
Karkouba:
“And can he survive a life like ours?”
Karkoub:
“What’s wrong with our life?
A garbage collector like me is worth a whole world!
Running after you day and night — and still you’re not satisfied?”
Karkouba (half teasing):
“Why do you throw words at me like stones?
Am I some spoiled lady, Karkoub?”
Karkoub:
“And why mock me, Karkouba?
Do we lack anything?”
Karkouba:
“Praise be to God… as long as you’re alive, my lord of garbage collectors.”
Karkoub (softly, looking at the young man):
“Poor fellow… see what’s wrong with him, Karkouba.
Pass me the water jug.”
Karkouba (examining the prince):
“This is strange… who are you?
A prince… or a slave?
Here’s the water, Karkoub… the water.”
Karkoub:
“Look at him carefully, Karkouba… he seems like someone of value.”
Karkouba:
“Doesn’t he resemble the late one, Karkoub?”
Karkoub:
“The eyes… the forehead… the cheeks…”
Karkouba:
“If our boy had lived… wouldn’t he be about his age now?”
Karkoub (his voice trembling):
“It almost feels like it’s him…
My son… my dear boy…”
Karkouba:
“God’s protection around you!
Hand me that pillow, Karkoub, so I can place it behind him.”
Karkoub:
“In God’s name… in God’s name…
Here, take the pillow.”
(They carefully lay the young man down.)
Karkoub:
“Listen, Karkouba… can you go to the herbalist and ask him for a remedy?
Something we can give him to drink?”
Karkouba:
“I was already thinking of going.”
Karkoub:
“Then go ahead — but don’t be long.”
Karkouba:
“I just want to make sure he’s stable before I leave.”
Karkoub:
“May God let us see him recover.
Take good care of him… treat him as if he were our own son — as if God has returned him to us.”
(He moves toward the door.)
“Come now… close the door behind me.”
After Some Time, When Daw’ Al-Makan Recovers
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“My health has improved now… I can walk again, uncle.”
Karkouba:
“Walk? How can that be, my son?
Have you grown tired of us already?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“May God reward you for your kindness.
You both did everything you could for me.”
Karkouba:
“So you have grown tired of our life.”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“On the contrary, aunt… you misunderstand me.”
Karkoub:
“You’ve been with us for two months now,
yet you still refuse to tell us who you are,
who your family is, or what land you come from.”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“Later… later.”
Karkoub:
“Well then, as you wish.
But don’t leave us.”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“I cannot stay.”
Karkoub:
“Why not?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“I am searching for a bird that has flown from me.”
Karkoub (puzzled):
“A bird?
Are you in love, Daw’ Al-Makan?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“Yes, uncle… I am.”
Karkoub:
“And who is she, my son?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“My sister… Nozhet Al-Zaman.”
Karkoub:
“What happened to her?”
Daw’ Al-Makan (painfully):
“She was taken… abducted.”
Karkoub (shocked):
“Abducted?
By whom?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“If only I knew.”
Karkoub:
“Then where will you search for her?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“He who asks for directions never loses his way, uncle.
Let me go… I must.
I will never forget your kindness, nor the good you have done for me.
But I am wounded, uncle…
My heart aches…
My sister… my sister…”
Karkouba:
“Then tell me — where do you plan to search for her?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“I do not know, aunt.”
Karkouba:
“And where will you go?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“I do not know that either.”
Karkoub:
“Is there no sign? No clue at all?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“The chief of the tribe who took her is called Fahd.”
Karkoub:
“Fahd? Hmm…
Is there any other sign?”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“I wish there were, uncle.”
Karkoub (after a moment of thought):
“My son, I have a request.
Stay with us for one more week.”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“A week?
You have already been patient with me… be patient a little longer.”
Karkouba:
“Patience is a beautiful virtue.”
Karkoub:
“It is only seven days.”
Daw’ Al-Makan:
“And after the seven days?”
Karkoub:
“Then the One who never sleeps nor forgets
will set things right.”
After Some Time Had Passed
Time passed, and when Daw’ Al-Makan had finally regained his strength, he said to the old couple who had sheltered him:
“I am much better now. I think I can walk again, uncle.”
“Walk?” the old man replied with surprise. “Why would you leave us, my son? Have you grown tired of living among us?”
“Never,” said Daw’ Al-Makan gently. “You have done more for me than anyone could have asked. May God reward you for your kindness. But you do not understand—there is something I must do.”
The old man sighed.
“You have been with us for two months now, yet you still refuse to tell us who you are, where you come from, or who your family might be.”
“Later… another time,” the young man murmured.
“Very well,” the old man said. “But do not leave us so soon.”
“I have no choice,” replied Daw’ Al-Makan.
“Why?”
“Because there is a bird I must search for.”
“A bird?” the old man laughed softly. “So you are in love, my boy?”
“Yes,” said Daw’ Al-Makan quietly.
“And who is she?”
“My sister,” he said. “Nozhet Al-Zaman.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was taken… kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? By whom?”
“If only I knew,” he answered bitterly.
“Then how will you ever find her?”
“The one who asks does not lose his way,” Daw’ Al-Makan replied. “Forgive me, uncle. I cannot forget your kindness, but I am wounded in my heart. My sister… my sister…”
The old woman looked at him with pity.
“Tell me, my son,” she asked softly. “Where will you search for her?”
“I do not know.”
“And where will you go?”
“I do not know that either.”
“Is there no sign? No clue at all?” the old man asked.
“The tribal chief who took her is called Fahd.”
“Fahd?” the old man repeated thoughtfully. “Is there nothing else?”
“I wish there were.”
The old man nodded slowly.
“Then I ask only one thing of you,” he said. “Stay with us for one more week.”
“A week?” Daw’ Al-Makan asked.
“You have waited this long,” the old woman said gently. “Be patient a little longer.”
“Seven days,” the old man added.
“And after those seven days?” asked Daw’ Al-Makan.
The old man smiled faintly.
“Then the One who never sleeps nor forgets will set matters right.”
After the Week Had Passed
A week later the old man came rushing in, calling loudly:
“Daw’ Al-Makan! Daw’ Al-Makan!”
“Uncle!” the young man replied.
“Come here, my son—I bring good news!”
“What news?”
“News that will gladden your heart, God willing.”
“You found them?” Daw’ Al-Makan exclaimed. “You found the Bedouins who took my sister?”
“Did I not ask you to give me a week?” the old man replied. “I have learned where they are.”
“You know where they are? Tell me, uncle—where?”
“It is a journey of two months from here.”
“Just tell me the place!”
“I cannot tell you,” said the old man calmly. “But I can guide you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will not reach them without us,” he said with a sly smile. “And we cannot bear to part from you. I kept the place secret in my heart so that you would need me—and take me along.”
At that moment the old woman entered.
“I heard what you were saying,” she said. “And I am going with you.”
“Leave you behind, Karakouba?” the old man laughed. “Never.”
“But uncle,” Daw’ Al-Makan protested, “you would leave your home for my sake?”
“What home do we have?” the old man replied. “We have neither wealth nor children. Come now! May God reunite you with your sister and return you safely to your family.”
Then the three of them prepared for the road. The old man had already arranged for a mount, and together they set out upon their long journey.
And so the three set out together: the prince, the old woman Karakouba, and her husband the humble scavenger. They rode across the desert upon their mount, speaking to one another as they journeyed.
Two months passed, and Daw’ Al-Makan grew restless.
Suddenly Karakouba cried out.
“Look!”
In the distance stood a cluster of tents upon the desert sands.
The three hurried toward them—and just as they drew near…
…the rooster crowed.
And before the tale was complete, the dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent until another night.
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