Sunday, October 28, 2007

Days of our Lives

Despite popular rumors that Egyptians spend their days building pyramids and nationalizing canals, the daily life here in Cairo is pretty calm. Well, calm is probably the wrong word, but lets just say that life here is no more glamorous or terrifying than it is in the states. Except for the fact that you get to remind yourself that "YOU ARE IN EGYPT!!!!" everytime you begin to forget exactly where you are located on the globe. My point is that the Mideast is not quite as thrilling when you are actually here, and you realize that even in this region, life is still made up mostly of the day to day grind.

Today was one of those ordinary days, but it was an exceptionally good one. It was Sunday, which is the first working day in Egypt-weekends are Friday and Saturday-so I went to school in the morning. I continuously confuse myself regarding the days of the week. Today is Sunday, but because it was the first school day after the weekend, I keep thinking it is Monday. Same thing happens on Thursday, which is the last weekday before the weekend, so I always think that Thursday is Friday. And then on Saturday, which is the last day of the weekend, I think that because it is Saturday we still have Sunday off. Confused yet? As you can see, it's quite a mess.

After Literature class, I had a sandwich at the University cafeteria, and then headed off to the Fulbright office to check my mail. Luckily, I get to avoid taxis and haggling for a fair price as I can take the metro to the office in Giza. Think of Giza and Cairo analogous to St. Paul and Minneapolis, except a lot hotter and without those damn gophers. The subway here in Cairo is amazing, it really is the best thing that has happened to the city since the sphinx. You walk down the stairs and suddenly you aren't in Cairo. You are in Washington DC, Paris, New York, Mexico City, Moscow, Tokyo or any other metropolis which has realized the genius of cheap, quick public transportation. You push your way to the front of the ticket booth, ignoring the kissing noises and hissing (which in this case is actually not directed towards you, but rather at the ticket seller as a way of getting attention) achieve your yellow ticket, and head towards your line. As the train approaches, people begin to run. Now I should have mentioned, the metro is not for the faint of heart. It can be packed, getting off and on the train is often a non-voluntary act, as you can be picked up by the crowd and carried to and fro. But the Metro is one of the only places in Cairo where I have heard my male friends tell me, "you are lucky to be a girl." The reason for this is because women have the option of the "women's cars" which are located at the front of the train. While plenty of women feel comfortable riding in the co-ed cars, I personally always walk down to the women's cars, as I feel better pressing my foreign-self up against a bunch of women as opposed to those men who might welcome being smushed up next to a foreign woman. Another plus is the considerably better smell associated with the womens car, a difference that the men of Cairo may never have the privilege of noticing. Getting on and off the train you will hear a "yalah Guma'!!" which roughly translates to "lets go gang!!" as people push and shove and crowd surf on and off the cars.

Arriving at the Fulbright office, I am delighted to find that I have received two packages from friends. I sit on the nice couches and ration my precious gifts, enjoying the cool air conditioner and welcoming environment of the office. I go to the office more than many students, because the director has allowed me to play the grand piano in the reception hall. It is an oasis of sanity amidst the bedlam of the city, and I always relish my time there.

After returning to campus, I met with May, an Egyptian Masters student that I had been introduced to through a mutual friend. She studies English Literature, and while I always prefer to speak Arabic with my Egyptian friends, I honestly forget that she even speaks the language as her English is so good! This is our second meeting, but she already feels like an old friend. Originally from Alexandria, this is also her first semester in Cairo, so we exchange battle stories and laugh over our shared experiences.

I return home to catch up on studying and laundry, but as I am hanging out my underwear to dry on the line outside my window, my neighbor, Nahida, comes out into the courtyard. She calls up to me and asks me how I am doing, and this reminds me that I need to return to her the dishes in which she gave us food. I decide to also give her 4 bulbs of garlic, as she had given me some onions last time when I didn't feel like going to the store. I ring the doorbell and she greets me with a smile and a number of greetings. But then her happiness turned sour when she saw that I had brought a gift..."what's this!?!?" she demands, peering curiously at the garlic cloves. "Well I wanted to return the favor, since you gave me onions last time, I thought I would give you some garlic." Nahida immediately starts into a string of "La, la, la, la, la (no, no no no no)" and her husband chimes in, "la, la, la, la," I think that this is just the routine that we play, so I push the garlic towards her telling her "please, take it TAKE IT, PLEASE!?" But Nahida and her husband continue, telling me that they have plenty of garlic, and that I cant give them gifts because I am a part of their family. "I am like your mother, you are my child." This dialogue continues for a while, and eventually I give in, no match for the seasoned veterans of hospitality. I miraculously escaped being invited in for a snack, but promised that I would make it another time, and I headed off to the gym.

I return from the gym and begin to cook my dinner. My roommate, Sammy, and I are discussing the day's events, and in the middle of eating my omelette, we hear the doorbell ring. It is the upstairs neighbor who has come to bring Sammy a sock which fell off the laundry line into the courtyard. She had washed it, and Sammy was very grateful for the sock which she had assumed was a goner. But our neighbor was not there only to return the sock, she also had to retrieve some fallen laundry of her own. We go outside to the balcony, and after a fruitless search, she spots the fallen item on a ledge which is impossible for us to reach. She suggested a broom, but I was afraid that such a plan would only end up with the laundry on the street and an angry neighbor in our apartment (although I would be armed with a broom if it became necessary). I asked Sammy to spot me, and crawled up on the ledge and reached down and grabbed the illusive clothing. Our neighbor was thrilled to have back her laundry, I was happy to have played superwoman, and Sammy was thankful to not have to write a regretful letter to my mother about how I fell off the roof trying to save some a baby's bib. Just another day in Cairo.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Teacher?

Despite my own misgivings about my ability to speak English, I have become a teacher in an ESL program for Adult Refugees at St. Andrew's Church. Cairo is the new home for thousands of refugees, largely from the Sudan, but also from Iraq, Somalia, Ethiopia, and other neighboring countries. My class is almost all Sudanese, with about 25 men and 5 women. Yes I know, 30 students. You may ask yourself, who placed the linguistic fate of 30 souls into the hands of an unexperienced and unqualified Pauline who this very day couldn't think of the word "motivation" -true story. I originally came to St. Andrew's to volunteer as a tutor for the Adult Education Program, where the only responsibility I would have would be sitting in a library, looking friendly, and waiting for an eager student who might have a question or two. As fate would have it, the teacher of Elementary III was leaving after Ramadan, and so the program director asked if anyone would be interested in teaching his class for the remainder of the semester. When it was clear that there was either no one qualified or no one interested (or both) I raised my hand, confessed my complete lack of experience, but stressed my committment and dedication, and nailed the job. It was decided that I would sit in on the class, learning from my predecessor, and becoming familiar with the various strategies of ESL so that the students wouldn't completely revolt and turn me in for a refund when I took over. It is a good thing that I eventually took over the class, because my presence proved quite a distraction to the lesson. I think I inspired a mix of curiosity, pity, and I like to think respect-although this false hope on my part is probably what inspired the pity. My predecessor, Pasquale, soon weened me off my position as observer, to assistant, and finally to teacher in less than a week. This Tuesday will be my third week teaching Elementary III, and I must say that each day, each minute, is still as thrilling as the first. I still can't get over the fact that when I walk into the room, there is a bit of a hush of chatter. When I smile and say "Hello Everyone" I receive 20 hellos. When I say "A-salaam alaykum" (peace be on you), I receive 30 "wa-alaykum a-salaam." I take my time erasing the board, enjoying the fact that for once during the hour and half, I am controlling the silence, and I am not afraid of it. Aside from those 10 seconds of wiping the board clean, silence is the only thing that scares me in that classroom. You should see the look of gratitude I give the students who answer my questions, ask me queries about vocab, and volunteer to do the readings. We discuss the meanings of "recognize" "professional" and learn that "Engineer" has a soft g and "pretty" becomes "prettier". I love the moments of shared humor, like the time that I asked the class what the word "tourist" meant, and one of the students pointed at me. The students beam when I resort to using Arabic in order to explain confusing vocab, and they have been very, very forgiving when it comes to roll call. I am thankful for every Muhammad, Ahmed, or Mariam I can get, and no matter how I try, I make an fool of myself when it comes to pronouncing the unfamiliar names. I am officially that teacher who simply can't prounce a grouping a syllables, and I must say that my students are much more forgiving than most people in my college classes. I am thankful for our text book, as without it I would have no idea how to teach anythng other then the english language should not be taught by a babbling tourist. However, the text is far from perfect. I am sure it would be great for teaching English in 1983 to upper middle class Americans with a penchant for PC subject matter that is still completely unapplicable to the lives of those who need to learn the damn language to begin with! These Sudanese refugees are reading passages entitled, "Which way do you prefer to shop?" which discusses the pros and cons of shopping through A. Phone in Catalogs B. TV Infomercials or C. Computer Shopping-The way of the future? In what way exactly will the phrases "Computer Shopping" or "Home Shopping Network" be useful to my students who would prefer to learn English to further their livlihoods than to discuss the consumer culture of America in the 1980's. But aside from these frustrations with the material, the class is the highlight of my week, and will certainly be one of the best things I do here in Cairo. I wanted to get involved with the program so that I could contribute something to the community, more so than just buying bottles of water one after the other. And when I enter the gates of St. Andrews, I immediately feel like I belong. Its not that I have particularly felt like a leper here in Cairo, but the streets are definitely not my home. And when I enter the gate, you just know that you there because you are needed. I enter the teachers lounge and greet my fellow teachers who are nothing but smiles, jokes and compliments, and I feel like I like I am among old friends. And when I guide my students to the correct answers, and can't keep up with their over enthused participation, I feel like I am actually making a difference.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Africa

I am in Africa. Egypt is an African country located geographically in the north-eastern corner of the African continent, and I am located in the African city of Cairo. Does this sentence sound strange to anyone else but me? The truth is, we don't associate Egypt with Africa. When we think of the ancient pharaohs and Egyptian civilization, we don't think of Africa. When we think of the current Arab Republic of Egypt, whose citizens speak Arabic and practice Islam or Coptic Christianity, and whose government plays a crucial role in peace or war in the Middle East, we don't think of Africa. When you think of Egypt, whether or not you think of Cleopatra or the Suez Canal Crisis, chances are, you aren't singing Toto's Africa. Without thought to the political or historical significance, the average American has separated Northern Africa from sub-saharan Africa. Maybe its because their image of an Egyptian isn't the "Black African" that they associate with Africa, or maybe because they assume that the "dark continent" could not have contained the superiority and sophistication which was the ancient Egyptian civilization. Part of me hates this chasm between the idea of "Africa" and the continent itself. Why shouldn't the diversity and various cultures of Northern Africa, including Egypt, be a part of our general image of Africa? In the US, if used without context, the word Africa conjures up three primary images: poverty, starvation and the "Black African". This distinct idea of Africa is reflected by the use of hugely ambitious sentences, such as "Raising money for children in Africa." "Oh she is studying in some country in Africa." or "Well what do you expect, it is Africa." Such ridiculous generalizations make you think that this "Africa" is an exclusive club, and that no matter how general your sentence is about this "club", it will some how apply to every African country. In fact, the only moments that I hear Americans refer to Egypt as a part of Africa is when remarking on the poverty of the country..."You know when I see the poverty here I remember that we are in Africa." This is the mindset of "Egypt is poor because it is African and Egypt is African because it is poor". When I hear such comments it is all I can do to ask the commentator if the extreme poverty they saw in Honduras was also because Honduras is located in Africa? Why is it that Africa is given the blame for Egypt's poverty but is refused any credit for her pharaonic glory? Personally, I don't think it makes much sense to force countries to obtain lifelong memberships with geographical continents, which make such odd pairings as Tunisia and Zimbabwe. Personally, I think it makes a lot more sense to ditch the idea that plate tectonics dictate social or economic boundaries, and rather use historical civilizations and movements to see how certain peoples are related to one another. With this method we can say that yes, Egypt is African. But it is also Mediterranean, and Arab, and Greek, and Roman, and Ottoman, etc. Egypt deserves to be more than simply another African country, and Africa deserves to claim Egypt as her own.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Ding Dong

As I lie in bed, reading my favorite David Sedaris story, I hear the shriek of our doorbell. It was around a quarter to 11:00pm, but its Ramadan, and its Egypt, so I really shouldn't have been surprised if our landlord who was supposed to come at 6:00pm to fix the air conditioner was finally showing up. I was in my pajamas, but unlike the average Egyptian, I don't like to answer the door in only boxers and a tee-shirt. For as conservative as the average Egyptian is on the street, what they wear in the house when they open the door is entirely different. I wait for the ding donging to cease, recalling that Christmas when Markell and I cowered in silence, giggling in our cowardice, but nonetheless hoping that the persistent carolers would just leave us in peace. "Ding-Dong" "Ding-Dong" "ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong" I must say I admired this unknown caller's persistence. I threw on a skirt and a jacket, and checked the peephole, and smiled. I opened the door to find our downstairs neighbor, Um Muhammad, who is about 4'11, and all smiles. "Were you sleeping?" She asks brightly, and then gestures that I follow her downstairs. After noticing my hesitation, she explains that she has some food for us, bringing her hand to her mouth and rubbing her belly, demonstrating her previous career as a mime. I figure out that she is going to be giving me my favorite Egyptian dish, "Mulakhia" which is a delicious green soup whose content I still really haven't figured out. I follow her downstairs and she brings me into her apartment, and gives me some stuffed peppers "Mahshi" and my desired "Mulakhia". She put the food in "to go" bowls and waved me on my merry way back to my apartment. As I put the food in the fridge, I thought about the courtship of Egyptian neighbors. Two days ago she gave us a Hibuscus drink and a Date cocktail, then we progressed to food, and now I can only assume that soon our relationship will progress to a four hour dinner which will perhaps seal the deal.