Volume 49, Number 10 · June 13, 2002
Lost in Cairo
By Caroline Moorehead
In the winter, the early mornings in Cairo are almost cool. The pollution, which normally hangs over the streets like a heavy yellow blanket, is light and at this hour the city is still and quiet. Long before it is properly day, the asylum seekers gather at the gates of the offices of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. There are the Dinkas of Sudan with their very long legs, and the elegant high-cheek-boned Somalis; some of the Sierra Leoneans have no arms or hands, the rebels there having decided that mutilating civilians is an effective way of terrorizing those who might be tempted to support the government.
Feature, 4482 words
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