Everyone smiled. "I'm trying to help," Borollosi assured Sharifa. "I know someone in city hall who I think can change the eviction order. But it might take a few months."
"I know you're doing your best," Sharifa answered. "I told everyone you've been very sympathetic."
Cairo residents check the ruins of their collapsed home. Egypt has issued 98,000 maintenance orders to shore up weakened structures.
(Hossam Hamalawy For The Washington Post)
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Borollosi turned to a reporter to explain the case. "The problem was, there was a mistake. I wasn't there myself. They should not have sealed the house if there wasn't an imminent risk. There was a risk, so Um Sharifa should get her house.
"However, what counts now is what is now on paper, and that is what I have to get changed," he said, gesturing to a pile of documents in a corner. "According to the documents, the status of the eviction is administrative. It doesn't make any difference what the actual condition of the house is. Even if it falls down."
"It is falling down," Sharifa interrupted.
In addition, she said, puddles of water made it impossible even to walk from one part of the structure to the other.
"The water is a good sign," Borollosi said. "It means that there won't be more settling. Anyway, we must be patient. Build a little bridge."
He ushered Sharifa out. The secretaries had finished stamping documents and were sipping coffee.
"I tell everyone how nice you are," Sharifa assured him.
"I appreciate that," Borollosi answered.
"I know you are trying to help," she said.
"It's in God's hands," he replied.
On the street, Sharifa wondered whether she should visit city hall downtown and go over Borollosi's head. "There's always so many people waiting there," she said, her voice faltering. "Anyway, what did he mean about the water at my house? How is that good?"
