Over tea Sherif got more and more anxious and energetic. After all, we were just out for an exploratory stroll, and now we were suddenly being invited to tea in a local area by an out-of-work Egyptologist. It wasn’t a scared kind of nervousness, but more of a shy nervousness. As we meandered through the smaller streets of the hood, we tried to make conversation to mask our nervousness. He led us away from the open public areas of Tahrir Squre to the back alleys of a nearby neighborhood. He offered to take us to see the institute’s storage facility, but first he insisted upon inviting us to tea. Sherif explained that the “Papyrus Institute” he headed was about to relocate to a new facility and that they were eager to downsize their collection, which could not be fully accommodated in the new facility. Where had he studied? Where had he excavated? What materials did he use for his restoration work? I distinctly remember him uttering a quick reply of “uhh, plaster” to the last question and quickly changing the subject. The two friends I was with and moved to Egypt to study Egyptology, so they were eager to pepper Sherif with questions about his profession. Even though we were living there now, we were only a week in, so for all practical purposes we were just tourists in terms of experience and gullibility. He could have said he was the heir to the Pharaonic throne and we’d probably have believed him. We were, after all, brand spanking new to Egypt and didn’t know any better. He said that after 9/11, tourism to Egypt fell off sharply and that scientists like him had taken up tours, sales, and other means of side work to support their families. Not just any Egyptologist, but the head of the “Papyrus Institute.” He explained that this research facility was involved in the study and interpretation of ancient Egyptian documents, as well as the restoration of ancient art and artifacts.
He thought we were just coming out of the museum, hence his eagerness to pounce. He seemed genuinely interested in who we were, where we were from, what the thought of Egypt so far, and what all we had seen. Sherif introduced himself and was quite a pleasant man. But he preyed on unsuspecting foreigners wandering around the streets outside of the Egyptian Museum like we were that lovely autumn day. He was skilled, crafty, and intelligent – a true genius. Sherif was a true artist, of the con variety, but an artist nonetheless. He was famous, but we didn’t know it at the time. As we strolled along the street in front of the Egyptian Museum, a man approached us.
I was walking around Tahrir Square in the center of Cairo with some friends, taking in the magical chaos of one of the largest cities in the world and getting accustomed to our new home for the next year. The very first week after I moved to Egypt I met a guy named Sherif.
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