It is dusk, the sun is slowly hiding behind the waves of the Nile, and it is so quiet that the fainting noise of the street can be heard from afar. With a broad smile on her face, she stepped onto the old wooden deck of her houseboat, she always felt lucky to have this place as her home. The rhythmic rocking of the waves reminded her of carefree summer evenings when she and her late husband would sit outside and enjoy the sunset with a nice cup of peppermint tea. As the sun set and coloured the sky in shades of orange and purple, she felt a deep sense of gratitude for the memories that had been etched into the walls of the houseboat. Sitting there, she thought about all the stories surrounding this unique habitat. One of the most remarkable is the rumor that it was a safe house for German spies during the so-called Operation Condor during the cold war. It was a story that had always fascinated her, adding a touch of mystery and adventure to the already rich tapestry of stories associated with this unique piece of floating architecture. She had even heard of brave people who risked their lives to gather secrets hidden within these walls. She let her gaze wander between the neighbouring houseboats and marveled at their collective resilience. Each one had stood the test of time, each a piece of history that fired her imagination and gave her a deeper understanding of her home's past. They were more than just houses; they were living testaments to the enduring spirit of the many generations that had inherited them and dared to call them home, and each of them fostered their own stories. It was here that she had given birth to her firstborn, and it is also the sanctuary for her three furry companions, adopted since her soulmate left her alone in this life. It was starting to get chilly, so she went inside and put on her favorite Django Reinhardt music, something she and her husband always liked to play in the background while they sat on their cozy terrace feeling the rocky waves of the river. As she stood by the window, lost in her memories, the ringing of the phone pierced the air and startled her. She picked up and listened on the other end of the line. Suddenly she felt her heart slip as the words echoed in her ears - evacuation, demolition, and time to go. It was a call from one of her neighbours informing her that their beautiful houseboats along the Nile, including her cherished home, were deemed to be demolished. She was overwhelmed by a wave of disbelief and a surge of anger that tightened her chest, but most of all there was this deep sense of loss: "Where shall I go?" she murmured. Her mind raced, desperately searching for a solution, a way to preserve the history and beauty that dwelt within those wooden walls. She had heard about it before but always thought it was just rumours. There was no way they would erase a piece of Cairo's history just like that. She went back outside and looked at the row of houseboats to her left and right as if they were dancing softly as they hugged the waves of the Nile. Each one held stories, dreams, and legacies, how could they be destroyed? The thought of demolishing them felt like a betrayal to her and many others. They need to clear up the shores of the Nile, they claimed!

She stood there three months later and watched the bulldozers eating up the last remnants of her home. It was gone, forever.