Bikya! Bikya!

Many a Saturday morning Seth and I have rolled away from the light of our bedroom window in an attempt to capture a few more minutes of sleep only to be nudged back to consciousness by the Bikya man.

Bikya men, or junk-collectors, ride around the streets of Cairo on donkey or bicycle carts calling out, “bikya, bikya!” – an Arabic transliteration of vecchia, which is Italian for “old”. This started at a time when Cairo was more cosmopolitan and people could afford to throw away things that seemed past the point of being worth trying to fix. These days the bikya men are everywhere, but they’re lucky if they can find an old fridge or television set to sell for scrap.

The call of the Bikya man is grating. It can be heard from blocks away, and is repeated in a relentless pattern as he winds his way toward you. "Bikya, bikya!" perfectly disrupts a quiet moment reading on the balcony or a late morning snooze in much the same way a small yapper type dog or screaming child would. The call of the Bikya man has become a cause of snickering laughter in our house, as it often comes at just the wrong moment. Leaning in for a romantic kiss, in the middle of a heated conversation, or after one of us has just commented on what a beautiful and peaceful morning it is, "Bikya! Bikya!" is Egypt's homegrown comic relief.