All at once, a hundred kids all pile into the back of a pick-up truck and it crawls towards the corniche. Hairspray torches singe eyebrows, engines fail, the air is filled with dawsha, the horns are deafening, a haze of diesel fumes rises above the streets. Families of 4,5, even 6 pile onto single motorbikes. For the third time in a row Egypt has won the African Cup of Nations. It’s a record. Somehow, I see no one get hurt. The cops stand by, grinning. The horse carriages plow through the mess. And everyone goes home happy.