Tonight Muhammad the Ironing Man and I went to see Ahmad the Bawāb in Qasr al-’Aini Hospital, he’s had a bout of hemorrhoids, after seeing him there I consider myself lucky for being operated at Agouza, he was in a huge dirty ward eaten by flies, hadn’t seen the doctor since his operation three days ago, says he has pain but gets no attention, he may have been acting for my sake but he still looks bad, his false teeth missing, face sweaty, sheets dirty, we brought basbousa but he’s not allowed to eat so Muhammad and I finished it though I should have learned my lesson last time when I went out for kebab, then had sweets which gave me tremendous sulphurous belching and the runs.
-Letter Home, October 24, 1978
That compassionate visit to Ahmad put me in good stead with him for the duration of my stay in his building. In his mind, you go to the hospital only to die so maybe he thought my coming to his bedside resurrected him from the dead. He didn’t mind that Muhammad and I had all his basbousa, he wasn’t allowed to have anything by mouth anyway. Plenty more where that came from and he had the rest of his life to eat it, by the kilo.