Tom in Egypt // توم في مصر

One benefit of all this sitting and waiting for people to respond to emails or to call back is that I have a lot of time to read, write and wander the streets.

Sat out on the balcony, I try to make sense of the complex process of buying and selling government subsidised bread that is taking place outside the wooden shack on the street below. It's relatively quiet right now, with only 15 or so men, women and children huddled patiently around the shack. They, like me are waiting. Every so often there is a hushed excitement as the thick armed baker brings the bread from the out-of-sight oven to his wooden salesfloor.

The hundred or more coarse, dry flat breads disappear into customers arms in a flash, each person seemingly wanting twenty, thirty, forty loaves.

The waiting, however, is not over. Taking the just bought, fresh bread, customers drift over to two nearby cars and dispearse the bread on every inch of the roof, bonnet and boot. A dusty old lada lies permanently in the street dedicated to this unexpected role. Turned occasionally the bread is left (to cool?) for five minutes before being dusted off and shoved hurriedly, protectively, into a carrier bag, the customer leaving with a "salam" and the process beginning again with the next in line.

The sociable serenity of the scene is barely recognisable as the frenzied chaos that was widely reported in the international press just over a year ago. It is, though, hard to exaggerate the importance of this bread here. At 5 piastres (£0.005, $0.01) a piece it is a vitally affordable staple food it's easy to see why trouble breaks out when supply can't meet demand. Thankfully, business here is booming. Long may it continue.