Barack Hussein Obama. What an American name, eh? Not convinced? Still a little paranoid about a candidate whose not a George? Still a little edgy about a man whose middle name, gasp, is one shared by the ruthless Saddam Hussein? Of course so, for the same reason you would never have voted for Joseph or a Joe because he shares the name of the ruthless Joseph Stalin, right? It's too bad that Hussein is nothing more than a Semitic name, just like Abraham, just like Benjamin, and just like John. Remember that the term "Semitic" while most often thought of as being used exlcusively for Jews (as in anti-semitic) is actually inclusive of all peoples who speak a Semitic language. Today the two main living languages within this language family are Arabic and Hebrew, so therefore Semitic Peoples are commonly thought of as the Jews(regardless of their nationality) and Arabs (regardless of their religion: Islam, Christianity, Judaism, etc.) So if it turns out that the election is between Obama(Semitic first and middle name) McCain(Semitic first name) and Nader(himself an actual Arab-American), turns out no one should vote, for fear they vote for someone with a dangerously foreign Semitic name, right? Hopefully you aren't feverishly nodding your head in agreement, and rather are curious about the meaning and history of both Obama's name and other presidents whose names are Semitic in origin. Check out Professor Juan Cole's blog about the history behind not only this future president's Semitic name, but also behind the names of other American presidents and national heroes. Here are a few excerpts taken from his blog www.juancole.com from February 27, 2008
"I want to say something about Barack Hussein Obama's name. It is a name to be proud of. It is an American name. It is a blessed name. It is a heroic name, as heroic and American in its own way as the name of General Omar Nelson Bradley or the name of Benjamin Franklin. And denigrating that name is a form of racial and religious bigotry of the most vile and debased sort. It is a prejudice against names deriving from Semitic languages!"
"Barack is a Semitic word meaning "to bless" as a verb or "blessing" as a noun. In its Hebrew form, barak, it is found all through the Bible. It first occurs in Genesis 1:22: "And God blessed (ḇāreḵə ) them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth."
"Now let us take the name "Hussein." It is from the Semitic word, hasan, meaning "good" or "handsome." Husayn is the diminutive, affectionate form."
"Barack Obama's middle name is in honor of his grandfather, Hussein, a secular resident of Nairobi. Americans may think of Saddam Hussein when they hear the name, but that is like thinking of Stalin when you hear the name Joseph. There have been lots of Husseins in history, from the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, a hero who touched the historian Gibbon, to King Hussein of Jordan, one of America's most steadfast allies in the 20th century. The author of the beloved American novel, The Kite Runner, is Khaled Hosseini."
"Let us take Benjamin Franklin. His first name is from the Hebrew Bin Yamin, the son of the Right (hand), or son of strength, or the son of the South (yamin or right has lots of connotations). The "Bin" means "son of," just as in modern colloquial Arabic. Bin Yamin Franklin is not a dishonorable name because of its Semitic root. By the way, there are lots of Muslims named Bin Yamin."
C'mon people. Wake up. Even if you prefer Hillary or McCain or even Huckabee, don't be a part of this ignorance. Don't give in to racial and religious prejudice, fear mongering, and pathetic attempts to stir up hatred. Obama is an American. Obama is a Christian. (not that it should matter in our supposedly secular nation of acceptance of all faiths) But most importantly, Obama is, and will be, the change that our country desperately needs.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
City of the Dead
The City of the Dead is a bit of a misnomer, given that it is reputed to house around half a million living inhabitants. Some say this number is a bit high, putting it more around 50, 000, but either way there is a lot of life in this City of the Dead. This neighborhood gets its macabre name from its location in the heart of large cemetaries which house the remains of religious and political rulers, their families, and thousands of others of deceased Cairenes. In between, on top of, and right inside these family tombs are where the living residents of the cemetary live. Like many of the low income families of Cairo, their search for cheap housing has forced them to squat in less than ideal locations. It is better to live in a slum on the outskirts of the city, where there is hope for economic and social support, than to move to other parts of Egypt that are even poorer and less developed than the grave yard. This is the fate of Cairo, and why the city has suffered so from overpopulation within the last few decades. It is hard to tell if it is fact or simply nostalgia when older Cairenes tell me about the past glory of Cairo, when there was no traffic, no pollution, no slums. They ask why has the government not done more to develop the Sinai, to develop upper Egypt (southern Egypt) encourage business growth which would in turn encourage natural migration to these areas, providing much needed relief for the bursting capital. The City of the Dead is merely one example of the slums which are springing up in and around Cairo. It is probably the most tourist-visted slum, as it is the home of a number of mosques and tombs which are worth a look. I was happy to visit the neighborhood to see these sights, to see the old tombs and the life that now surrounds them. But I was, and still am, wary of falling into "slum tourism". I don't want to be that foreigner, or even local, who boasts about visiting the rougher side of town without actually having any purpose there other than to snap a few photos and come back to a comfortable home. Its important to see how the other side lives, of course, but there are so many opportunities to do that by getting involved with development organizations who work on site and actually make a difference. Or, if you have the opportunity, make friends with Cairenes who actually live there. Speaking Arabic was helpful, and it even got us into a secret tomb and into a conversation about the American election (the man was pulling for Hillary!) but I still felt a little too voyeuristic. It's good to see if you have the chance but remember that the City of the Dead is ultimately more than a rugged destination to check off the list. It's someone's home.
Sailing my vessel down the Nile
The oarsman, who oddly enough looked a lot like President Nasser, asked me to take over steering for a bit while he minded the sail. Clearly my face of confidence lets on to my extensive experience as a sailor.
Equal Opportunity Hassler
While I don't enjoy seeing anyone hassled at the pyramids, its at least good to know that the hawkers bother locals also. "Camel Ride for Free! Only 50 pounds!" Normally they try to charge you for photos of their camels, but I snuck this one in somehow.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Identity Crisis
When one is in Cairo, one must take advantage of some of the excellent services and products which are way cheaper than you could ever get them in the States. Massages run for about 20 dollars, eyebrow waxing is less than 5 dollars, and you can get fine quality tailored suits for under 100 dollars. For all the recent college grads who have run into the issue of buying their first business suit, sometimes it can be a little nauseating to realize that a nice suit can run anywhere from $300 to $800, and those aren't even tailored to fit. So with a closet full of linen skirts and baggy sweaters and a calender full of conferences in Dubai and interviews with politicians, I thought it was high time that I treated myself to of the benefits of being Cairo.
One of my friends, Dave, had already gone through the process and had some snazzy suits to show for it. He took me and some other curious Americans to the textile district of Cairo where we tucked into his favorite cloth merchant. We helped him pick out a nice shade of grey for his new suit, chatting up the shop owner. Dave had his suits made elsewhere by an independent tailor, but he wasn't sure if his tailor did women's suits, or if it was improper for a woman to be fitted by a man. So I seized the opportunity and asked the cloth merchant if he knew of a place where women could get suits, rather, of a place with women tailors. The cloth merchant nodded immediately saying that it is best for women to go to women tailors, and men to go to men, but that I was in luck. There was a woman tailor who worked with his store. Her name was Um Ibrahim, which literally means Mother of Ibrahim. However, the cloth merchant kept insisting on using the male pronoun (hoa) when talking about Um Ibrahim. I thought maybe this was a new colloquialism that I didn't know, and I continued to use the female pronoun (hea) when talking about my future tailor. I was a little confused, but brushed it off after all the comments of "women should tailor women" and because her name was Mother of Ibrahim. (Fun Fact, this title is extremely common in the Arab world. When women become mothers or men become fathers, they will often take on the name of their first born son. So if a family's first born son is named Mahmoud, the father may take on the name Abu Mahmoud, and the mother Um Mahmoud.) Continuing with the story, the cloth merchant helped me pick out what cloth I wanted, black terry wool, and then we planned that next Friday Um Ibrahim would take my measurements.
Come Friday, I return to the shop and the cloth merchant greets me and asks me to wait 10 minutes for Um Ibrahim to come. I sit, going through my calendar, waiting for my matriarch to arrive and take my measurements. I wonder what she will be like? Will she be old or young? Will she be covered or uncovered? Will she be overly friendly or cold? Lost in my thoughts, I hear the cloth merchant say "Um Ibrahim has arrived!" and I look up, and she is definitely a dude. Of all the questions I had pondered over, "will she be a he" was not one of them. For a split second, I thought about saying something. Not so much that I personally minded being measured by a man, but more so worried about what implications it might hold if somehow I was breaking a taboo that Egyptian women never broke. But I looked at Um Ibrahim. He was definitely a man, but he was an old man, grey, withered and most importantly, professional. I smiled, stood up, and went to the corner with him. He was very quick, and extremely polite and cautious not to touch me more than he had to. His hands were fast yet precise, and he didn't seem to think that this was out of the ordinary or that I was any more exciting than a plastic mannequin. He showed me some models of women's suits, and I picked out the one that I wanted. He smiled and said it would be ready in a week. I left the store excited for my new suit, but nonetheless slightly puzzled by the whole experience. Language barriers never cease to keep things interesting. I'm not sure if I will ever know what happened, but I do know this. If I ever have to make a trip to the gynecologist while I am here, you can be sure that I will require 3 forms of photo id to make sure that my doctor is in fact a woman.
One of my friends, Dave, had already gone through the process and had some snazzy suits to show for it. He took me and some other curious Americans to the textile district of Cairo where we tucked into his favorite cloth merchant. We helped him pick out a nice shade of grey for his new suit, chatting up the shop owner. Dave had his suits made elsewhere by an independent tailor, but he wasn't sure if his tailor did women's suits, or if it was improper for a woman to be fitted by a man. So I seized the opportunity and asked the cloth merchant if he knew of a place where women could get suits, rather, of a place with women tailors. The cloth merchant nodded immediately saying that it is best for women to go to women tailors, and men to go to men, but that I was in luck. There was a woman tailor who worked with his store. Her name was Um Ibrahim, which literally means Mother of Ibrahim. However, the cloth merchant kept insisting on using the male pronoun (hoa) when talking about Um Ibrahim. I thought maybe this was a new colloquialism that I didn't know, and I continued to use the female pronoun (hea) when talking about my future tailor. I was a little confused, but brushed it off after all the comments of "women should tailor women" and because her name was Mother of Ibrahim. (Fun Fact, this title is extremely common in the Arab world. When women become mothers or men become fathers, they will often take on the name of their first born son. So if a family's first born son is named Mahmoud, the father may take on the name Abu Mahmoud, and the mother Um Mahmoud.) Continuing with the story, the cloth merchant helped me pick out what cloth I wanted, black terry wool, and then we planned that next Friday Um Ibrahim would take my measurements.
Come Friday, I return to the shop and the cloth merchant greets me and asks me to wait 10 minutes for Um Ibrahim to come. I sit, going through my calendar, waiting for my matriarch to arrive and take my measurements. I wonder what she will be like? Will she be old or young? Will she be covered or uncovered? Will she be overly friendly or cold? Lost in my thoughts, I hear the cloth merchant say "Um Ibrahim has arrived!" and I look up, and she is definitely a dude. Of all the questions I had pondered over, "will she be a he" was not one of them. For a split second, I thought about saying something. Not so much that I personally minded being measured by a man, but more so worried about what implications it might hold if somehow I was breaking a taboo that Egyptian women never broke. But I looked at Um Ibrahim. He was definitely a man, but he was an old man, grey, withered and most importantly, professional. I smiled, stood up, and went to the corner with him. He was very quick, and extremely polite and cautious not to touch me more than he had to. His hands were fast yet precise, and he didn't seem to think that this was out of the ordinary or that I was any more exciting than a plastic mannequin. He showed me some models of women's suits, and I picked out the one that I wanted. He smiled and said it would be ready in a week. I left the store excited for my new suit, but nonetheless slightly puzzled by the whole experience. Language barriers never cease to keep things interesting. I'm not sure if I will ever know what happened, but I do know this. If I ever have to make a trip to the gynecologist while I am here, you can be sure that I will require 3 forms of photo id to make sure that my doctor is in fact a woman.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Who needs a road side bomb?
Who needs a road side bomb when you can buy a hand gun? Who needs a hand grenade when you can just use your 2nd amendment-cited-God-endorsed-right to own an object whose sole purpose is to take a human life? Don't worry about your right to not die in a bloody shoot out in a lecture hall, we must provide our other citizens with the right to buy a hand gun from their local store. If not, they might turn to buying their weapons on the black market, and then it would be unregulated, and suddenly you might have all sorts of maniacs buying guns and using them to open fire on university campuses and city halls, and you couldn't even imagine what sort of inhumanity that would be! But thank goodness this isn't the case, the massacre at Virginia Tech didn't happen, the murders at NIU didn't actually occur, and classes went as normal at Louisiana Technical College.
Supposedly, I am the one surrounded by violence in the Middle East. Supposedly, I should be the one scared to walk outside my front door for fear of a war breaking out or out of panic that a revolutionary guard might kidnap me and videotape me in tears. Supposedly, I should be the one in danger of losing my life to senseless violence, not American students on a University campus. It should be me, not the slain students of Virginia Tech. It should be me, not those recently murdered at Northern Illinois University. Instead, I find the news from American news splattered with stories that make me frightened to return home. Here's a head line for you, "AMERICAN GIRL AFRAID TO RETURN HOME FOR FEAR OF LIFE". I don't even want to compare the murder rates of Cairo and DC, that actually might seal the deal for me and make me cancel my plane ticket.
Gun violence by people with no criminal record, no history of erratic behavior, no reason to be turned down by the current gun laws is becoming an epidemic. How many more people need to lose their lives in a "safe" place before we do something about it? How many people must be sacrificed for the nonsensical logic of legally buying guns to protect yourself from other citizens who have legally bought guns? America is supposedly fighting a war against terror, but from over here, it looks like the terrorist are not only winning, but we are happily and legally supplying them with their weapons of choice.
Supposedly, I am the one surrounded by violence in the Middle East. Supposedly, I should be the one scared to walk outside my front door for fear of a war breaking out or out of panic that a revolutionary guard might kidnap me and videotape me in tears. Supposedly, I should be the one in danger of losing my life to senseless violence, not American students on a University campus. It should be me, not the slain students of Virginia Tech. It should be me, not those recently murdered at Northern Illinois University. Instead, I find the news from American news splattered with stories that make me frightened to return home. Here's a head line for you, "AMERICAN GIRL AFRAID TO RETURN HOME FOR FEAR OF LIFE". I don't even want to compare the murder rates of Cairo and DC, that actually might seal the deal for me and make me cancel my plane ticket.
Gun violence by people with no criminal record, no history of erratic behavior, no reason to be turned down by the current gun laws is becoming an epidemic. How many more people need to lose their lives in a "safe" place before we do something about it? How many people must be sacrificed for the nonsensical logic of legally buying guns to protect yourself from other citizens who have legally bought guns? America is supposedly fighting a war against terror, but from over here, it looks like the terrorist are not only winning, but we are happily and legally supplying them with their weapons of choice.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Oh Happy Day!
"Mabrook! Alf Mabrook!" Tonight I broke my rule of smiling and talking to strange men. I couldn't help it, tonight they deserved it. Egypt just won the African Cup of Nations, and I haven't seen so many smiles since freshman year when we beat Ohio State in the big house. The streets were packed, swarming with happy Egyptians, proud of their country, proud of the team, and I hope, proud of themselves too. With faces painted, banners waving, firecrackers were set, drums were pounded, and there was a palpable sense of unity out there in the streets. It felt like Germany had just surrendered, and I was expecting a sailor to dip me and steal a kiss. Luckily, no such thing happened, but it felt like a war had been won, and we were on the winning side. So I happily smiled, and passed out my "congratulations, a thousand congratulations!" to my hosts. Egyptians often feel the weight of the world in their daily life; unemployment, censorship, corruption, pollution and repression can take their toll. So it was nice to see, for one night, thousands of Egyptians in a euphoria. It may only last one night, or a week, but at least we can be sure that for now, Egypt is having one hell of a time.
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