Guest of Cairo

What I've Learned

2008-09-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

I don't know who will even read this blog, as it has been over a month since I have updated, and three weeks since I have returned from Egypt. But this blog has seen me through so much in the past year, and I like to think that it has brought some new information to everyone interested in life in Egypt, and the greater Middle East. The reason I came to Egypt was because I was searching for knowledge, not just on women's leadership, but for better knowledge on this part of the world which is so terribly misunderstand, or simply not understood at all. There is an Arabic proverb which states,

"One should seek knowledge, not invite it."

As fantastic as it would be for some of these Egyptian men and women to come to the United States blow some minds and shatter stereotypes, that's not the way things work. We as Americans have a duty to learn about the people and the region that we feel we are entitled to guide, invade, and order around. Maybe if we knew more about them, we would realize that maybe we don't really know what we are talking about.

So I went to Egypt, and tried to listen and learn. But I don't think that my duty ends there. Because not every American has an opportunity to go to Egypt on a Fulbright, and not every American has the ability to speak Arabic. So I talk to Americans, and answer their questions as best as I can on Egypt and the issues in the Middle East. But you don't have to take my word for it, as there are a number of excellent books on the subjects. So for anyone who is interested, I have compiled a list of a few books which range from novel to textbook, all of which will give the reader a little more insight on the hottest topics that surround the Middle East. The list isn't exhaustive of course, just a few books that I have found to be helpful, and that you might as well.

On Terrorism and Jihad
"The Far Enemy: Why Jihad went Global"- Fawaz Gerges (on al-Qaeda)

"Jihad in Islamic History" -Michael Bonner (Medieval History)

"The Crusades: An Islamic Perspective" - Carole Hillenbrand

*You may think its odd, but you will be surprised how much the Crusades come up, so we can't afford to forget about that bloodthirsty part of western history.

On Israel/Palestine
"The Lemon Tree" - Sandy Tolan (novel which balances the two sides)

"History of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict" - Mark Tessler (textbook but a must)

"Peace and its Discontents" - Edward Said (the peace process is never that easy"

MUST READS

"Muhammad: A Prophet for Our Time" -Karen Armstrong (understanding Islam)

"Orientalism" -Edward Said (pretty much the bible for Near East students)

"Pity the Nation" -Robert Fisk (On Lebanese Civil war by journalist who was there)

If you have the time, see what you think. There are other authors, blogs, and journalists out there. Just remember that everyone may claim to be an expert, but the reality is, there are very few out there. Today is 9/11, and one thing we have learned from the murderous attacks and the confusion that followed is that when it comes to the Middle East and Islam, we really don't know anything. We need to read, listen and learn. Thanks for reading my blog, it has been my pleasure and honor to share what I learn with you. Remember, knowledge isn't like cake, you can share it and eat it too :)

Rest in Peace, Mahmoud Darwish

2008-08-09T17:25:00.000-07:00

The Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, was a man beloved by his people. Considered by some to be "the spirit of the Palestinian nation", many considered him to the be the conscience of the nation. As staunch of a critic as he was of the occupation, he also strongly criticized Palestinian infighting, sharply reproaching the leadership of both Hamas and Fatah for diving the Palestinian people. He loved his country, and that love was clearly returned. Not only by Palestinians, but by readers all over the world. Poet Naomi Shihab Nye describes Darwish as:

"The Essential Breath of the Palestinian people, the eloquent witness of exile and belonging, exquisitely tuned singer of images that invoke, link and shine a brilliant light into the whole world's heart. What he speaks has been embraced by readers around the world-his is an utterly necessary voice, unforgettable once discovered."

Darwish has passed from this world, but his voice will live on. For he represents not only the national, painful memory of Palestinians, but also their hope for a future state, rich with their culture. This is something that can not die, not even with a figure like Darwish. In fact, he put it best:

"We suffer from the incurable malady: hope" -Mahmoud Darwish, 1941-2008

Egyptians in Beijing

2008-08-08T15:59:00.000-07:00

Egypt has some high hopes for the Olympic games this year, and its a good thing most of those expectations rest on the shoulders of their champion Greco-Roman wrestler. Karam Gaber won gold in 2004, and the 29 year old is back to defend his big win. Fittingly, this Greco-Roman wrestler was born in Alexandria, a town which manages to maintain its Greco-Roman heritage while remaining distinctly Egyptian. But Egypt also might be able to make a name for itself in other fields. With 100 athletes competing in a number of different sports, Egyptian Olympians continue to proudly represent their country. One of the most promising athletes is Aya Medani, 19 year old modern pentathalete. As a 15 year old, she managed to compete in the 2004 games. Aya has grown stronger, and more competitive, and is likely to medal in the event. Egypt is also proud to boast Sherine El Zeiny, who is the only African gymnast to compete during the games. El-Zeiny comments on her first experience at the Olympics, "Being the only one from Africa is very exciting. It motivates me as I would like to make people from Egypt and Africa proud." Men and women, from taekwondo to synchronized swimming, these athletes remind us what the games are really about. Egypt may not win the most medals, but its athletes continue to give all Egyptians something to be proud of.

Fun in the Region

2008-08-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

After a long hike up Mt. Sinai under a star light sky, passing camels and pilgrims, we make up to the top to rest and watch an amazing sunrise.
Unbelievable.

Pauline at the glorious Petra

on my own in Sharm, I had to make up a web of lies about being married, but I was actually here with my sister, but she is sick in the hotel. But it was great traveling solo.

Crunked in Cairo

2008-08-06T16:58:00.001-07:00

I know, extremely important topic of discussion. But you would actually be surprised by the number of people who have asked me about the drinking scene in Cairo. I am by no means an alcoholic expert, but nor am I am amateur, so I will tell you what my own experience has been.

The drinking scene here can be roughly divided into three major categories: nice Restaurants/hotels, shaaby bars, and house parties. Cairo is an international city, a tourist town, and also a multi-religious scene. So despite the fact that Egypt is 90 percent Muslim, there is quite an alcohol flow. Also remember that not all those Muslims adhered to the religious ban on alcohol, just as not all Christians go to church on Sundays. This means that you can get alcohol in pretty much all the nice restaurants and hotel bars. An exception to this is the famous case of the Grand Hyatt, whose Saudi local owner recently banned alcohol, dumped an estimated 8 million dollars worth of the goods, and infuriated the international corporation. My friends and I usually treat ourselves to a few local beers whilst eating out, but it never gets too crazy, as these drinks are a bit pricey. They really hit your wallet if you head to some of the clubs inside the hotels. One club, called "Latex" (thats a whole other blog entry) charges an arm and a leg for water, let alone a martini.

The Shaaby bar is by far your best deal for beer, outside of bringing the goods straight to a house party. Sha'ab in Arabic means "People" so "shaaby" is "of the people" "local" or just "chill-no frills-kinda-place". Its no coincidence that shaaby sounds an awful lot like shabby, as these bars can be perfectly described as tattered. These bars tend to be full of seedy male Egyptians getting away from their wives and kids for a bit, and young Americans, happy to find the closest thing they can find to their local bar. Kicking back $1.50 20 ounce beers, Stellas, the night can be wasted and enjoyed in the halls of this joint. The staff knows your face, if not your name, and is quick with another beer and another dish of "timriz" which are little salty beans, the best drinking food ever. The air is full of the smoke of the patrons, and the exhaust of being located smack in the middle of downtown. As the green bottles stack up--they leave them on the table in order to keep a bill--you begin to get cravings for koshery, the Egyptian street food of choice. Luckily, right down the street is sure to be a koshery stand. What more could you need?

If you prefer the private drinking scene, Cairo is certainly full of house parties. In fact, I would say this is indeed the method of choice for Cairo's drinking expat community. I think these parties function pretty much the same way no matter where you are in the globe, the only difference is that in the middle of the night, you pinch yourself, and remind yourself. "No, you aren't at Alpha Sig, you are in Egypt." and then continue to dance. Also, instead of picking up your goods at the local corner store, you go to either Christian grocery stores, or to the notorious Egyptian chain of alcohol stores, "Drinkies". Seriously, if you already felt guilty about drinking, theres nothing like "drinkies" to make you feel like a college freshmen. If you consider house parties anywhere you can transport alcohol with your friends, you can also include the felluka rides on the Nile. Nothing beats sipping a few cold ones with your best friends in Egypt, and watching the sunset over the Nile.

Before I make Cairo sound like the next Cancun, I would like to say something about maintaining sensitivity. Despite the incredible accessibility of alcohol here, one has to remember that for most Egyptians, drinking is not acceptable. I do think that they maintain a point of view of "Each unto his own" and can tolerate non-Muslims drinking, as they understand that in our culture and religion, it is not forbidden. However, its always important for us to remember that we are guests here in their country. Even if they can tolerate our drinking habits, we shouldn't stumble in the streets and make a spectacle of ourselves and our disrespect for their culture. However, this is of course tricky when alcohol is involved, but this is where your friends come in. My motto has always been, "Friends don't let friends make drunken asses of themselves in conservative societies." Its not as catchy as the M.A.D.D. slogan, but if you ever party in Cairo, it may help to keep it in mind.

Family Affairs

2008-08-02T04:39:00.000-07:00

I really can't say when I will next see my Palestinian family. I had the honor of being there for Rowan's wedding, the youngest sibling to get married, and it meant a lot to me to be there. The festivities were endless, the food delicious, and the number of random extended relatives I met and kissed on the check was countless. They treated me like a family member, called me a daughter, and a sister. We laughed, danced, hugged and even cried together. I was gonna hold it together, in the end, its not my real sister getting married. But then, the oldest son, Hamad, who is a 31 year old, tough Palestinian man, just breaks down crying. It was when the family was taking photos together, and it just probably made it real to him that his little sister was grown up and getting married. The rest of the family was already in tears, and I eventually joined them. Just seeing how close this family is, and being a part of this important event, it made me realize how special it was that this family had included me. I know I am not really related, and I am already someone else's daughter and sister. But, I have never been more included, and felt more related to a family who in another life would have been nothing more than strangers in a foreign land. One day I hope to thank them, but for now, the best I can do is remember to call, and come by to visit when I get a chance. I don't know when that will be, but they have already made me promise that I will have at least one wedding in Palestine, even if I have another one in America. I can't wait.

I Caught a Lizard!!

2008-07-21T04:31:00.000-07:00

You won't believe it, but its true. I totally caught a lizard on Sunday.

I was about to take a shower, when I was startled to find that I was not the only one in the tub. A small iridescent little fellow, with a few green and orange spots. I keep my calm, and go and get my camera. I also call for my roommate, who is terrified of lizards, to come and help me catch him.

"No!" she yells from the living room.

"But how am I gonna get him?" I yell back.

"SPRAY HIM WITH RAID!!" She yells cruelly. Sammy wouldn't hurt a fly, but apparently she digs cruel and unusual punishment for reptiles.

Now, I can definitely not spray this poor guy in raid. I decide I must try to catch him with something, but lizards are fast, and can climb on anything, so its risky as I might end up with a lizard climbing up my arm. I settle on a the giant container of Quaker Oats that is practically empty. I dump the oats into bowl for safe keeping, and head back to the bathroom. The lizard is waiting for me, and so is my roommate who has emerged to watch the scene, but from a distance. I stand over the tub and try to get the lizard to move so I can slam the container over him. He runs, and I move,but a bit of the remaining oats slip out and the unexpected movement startles me and I shriek, which causes my lizard-hating-roommate to scream even louder and she backs out of the project.."I'm sorry, I need to leave, I can't do this..EVERYMAN FOR HIMSELF!"

Now it was just me and the lizard, and I manage to pluck up my courage. My roommate had suggested that I open the window just in case I want to throw it out (remember, she is also the one who wanted to spray him with raid). I did just that, not actually thinking I would resort to throwing it out the window. I got the lizard to move again, and slammed the Quaker Oats box over him, scooped him up, covered him half way with the lid, screaming "I CAUGHT THE LIZARD!!!" and promptly throw his ass out the window. The smiling Quaker with the lizard inside went sailing down the 5 stories and I never saw him again. But I am sure he is okay.

The Quotable Qur'an

2008-07-15T15:56:00.001-07:00

Today I spent some time memorizes a few passages from the Qur'an. I figure that it is about time that I fully commit to memory some of the passages that I spend so much time learning about. Before I can say I properly understand this complex religion, I had better try reading, understanding, and being able to accurately repeat the words. During my days with my tutor, I began to learn how to recite the holy scripture, as there is a whole art and science to it. She gave me some advice to keep in mind while learning reading/reciting the Qur'an:

1. Have Patience
2. Be Diligent
3. Listen to recordings
4. Don't be proud, you will make mistakes, and you have to accept that.
5. Have a specific goal in mind.

I thought this was good advice for any student, of any subject. I memorized two suras, or passages, before I had to end my lessons. But on my own, I have taken to practicing some of the messages of the Qur'an that I have always learned about, but never fully discovered in its true Arabic form. Specifically, these are on Islam's essential tolerance for other religions, and its encouragement of peaceful religious diversity.I apologize for my awkward English translations, but I think you'll get the point.

"This is the truth from your Lord; then he who will, let him believe, and he who will not, let him disbelieve." - from al-Kahf

"To the unbelievers: I do not worship as you worship, nor do you worship as I worship. I do not worship those that you worship, nor do you worship Him Whom I worship; that is because you follow one faith and I follow another faith." -from al-Kafiroon

"There is no compulsion in religion." -from al-Baqarah

I write these words over and over, I listen to the recordings of the revered sheikhs recite these words, and I practice my own recitations to fully cement these sayings in my mind. I try to maintain my patience, my diligence, make sure to listen to the sounds, and I believe after four years of studying one of the hardest languages, I have almost lost all my pride. As for my goal? I keep that ahead of me always. My goal is to be prepared to speak up in a taxi cab if an ignorant driver tries to tell me that I have to convert (hasn't happened, but I'm prepared if it does.) More importantly, my goal is spread to the word to non-Muslims that this is what Islam says, this is what the religion of our brothers and sisters teaches, and I know because I have read the text. I know its complicated, and its up to interpretation. But there are only so many ways that you can interprete "Unto me, my religion, and unto you, your religion". I don't care if you catch me at a party, at the library, or at the corner Walgreens. If I hear you talking about the religious intolerance of the Islamic faith, prepare to get a earful. In Arabic. And I will be citing the Qur'an in my footnotes.

Dialogue with a Harasser

2008-07-11T01:33:00.000-07:00

Pauline: Salaam alaykum. Do you know where the Conrad Hotel is?

Taxi Driver: Conrad Hotel? Yes I know

Pauline: Great! You know you are the first taxi driver I have found who knows where it is! It must be because you are clever (always try to suck up to the driver so they will not try to rip you off)

Taxi Driver: (Beaming and checking me out in the rear-view mirror) Where are you from?

Pauline: From America, but I live here (i.e. I may be white but I'm not a tourist)

Taxi Driver: Are you married (What an original question! Its not like I get asked that by every driver)

Pauline: Yes I am.

Taxi Driver: To an American?

Pauline: No. I am married to an Egyptian. (first of many lies)

Taxi Driver: ohhhhh you are so beautiful. (i find it hilarious that he even bothered to ask me if I was married, as if that would deter any leering.

Pauline: Yes that's what my husband thinks.

Taxi Driver: Ohhhh soooo beautiful, so sweet. You should divorce your husband and marry me.

Now I ignore him for a bit, look at the window. But he continues with the harassment. Finally, when he reattempts the marriage offer, I shout at him, "Shame on you!! You know that I am married, and you know that this is inappropriate and disrespectful, shame on you!!"

Taxi Driver: Why? (AS IF!!!)

Pauline: Let me ask you, do you have sisters?

Taxi Driver: Yes.

Pauline: (now that I am riled up and have this guy in a confined space where he can't get away, I ask the question that we have always wanted to ask hooting and harassing men on the street. "How would you feel if a taxi driver was telling your married sister that she is SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL..... ohhhhhh YOU ARE SOOOOO BEAUTIFUL" and I use my best caveman voice to really convey my opinion of his type.

Pauline: "You know every day I have to deal with you men harassing me and telling me I am beautiful and I am so tired of it. I am sick of it! (It felt good to actually be able to tell one of these guys off. I think he was beginning to regret picking me up)

Taxi Driver: (seems to get my point, and avoids answering the sister question) "No but, you are beautiful, and what do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you that you are ugly? Fine, you are the ugliest girl I have ever seen. SO UGLY!!"

Pauline: (can't help but smile) "That's better. But you know, why do you have to even comment on a girl's appearance. You know men shouldn't just see woman as either beautiful or ugly. They are more than just their looks. Women have minds you know, and...

Taxi Driver: (cutting me off) "And women have spirits"

Pauline: "Very good! Yes, women have minds, spirits, and are more than just a pretty/ugly face. (cue "The More you Know" music)

We arrive to my destination, and I think we both feel better about how the ride started out. He even apologized, and said that I was very nice and had the personality of one of his sisters. Hopefully he will start to see other women as his sisters also, and remember to treat them as such. Poor guy probably wasn't prepared for the ear-full he got, but hey, he started it.

About a George who was actually a good President

2008-07-04T15:15:00.000-07:00

I like to think of Independence Day as a sort of Thanksgiving-for-the-Founding Fathers-Day. Because while I love fireworks, and making flag-cakes, what I aim to do on the fourth of July is to thank those men and women who made both the dream and the reality of the United States of America. I think that both the dream and the reality are important, because the dream was once articulated in 1776 with Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence. “ We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” This was the dream, but it took hundreds of years and plenty of bloodshed before the reality of equality and liberty were the rights of all Americans.

Despite some of the imperfections and contradictions of the government of our founding fathers (note that one such imperfection is the lack of mothers in this group), they certainly got a few things rights. I feel extremely lucky for a number of these concepts which have become pillars in our system, but there is one democratic tradition for which I am particularly grateful, especially because I live in a land desperately needing democracy. This tradition is that of a peaceful transition of power, and one whose importance can be easily demonstrated by two stories.

First, I will tell you a story as old as time itself. People are tyrannized by the cruel hand of a despot. Revolution begins to swell, eventually coming under the leadership of a charismatic hero. Revolution succeeds, and war hero becomes new leaders, promising peace, justice and an end to tyranny. Leader becomes mad with power, refuses to step down, and eventually becomes a dictator.

This vicious cycle is common world-wide, on every continent, and in every culture. I am currently living in a country which has witnessed this exact same cycle, and which is currently still waiting for another round of independence from its current round of revolutionary government-turned dictatorship.

Now, let me tell you another story. People are tyrannized by the unfair hand of a king. Revolution begins to swell, eventually coming under the leadership of a charismatic General. Revolution succeeds, and war hero, George Washington, becomes first President of a new nation. He ruled for two terms, carried the nation through its first fragile years, and then he retired to the countryside. By doing so, he effectively established the American tradition of a peaceful and predictable transition of power, and forever placed him high on my list of Americans that I thank on this day.

Poor Egypt. Poor Pakistan. Poor Zimbabwe. And pity any nation who has suffered through taxing and bloody revolutions only to realize that the new leaders are just as corrupt as the old. The United Sates is far from the shining light on the hill that our current delusional president likes to pretend, but we certainly can be a model for some democratic traditions. Thanks to the courage and selflessness of George Washington, Americans can have routine regime change without shedding blood. Thanks to our first president, I can look forward to November. There are enough examples of how easy it is for heroes to become dictators, but I am grateful that Washington took the hard road, stepped down, and made our country something I can be proud of.

Just Another Day of Research/Pilates

2008-07-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

I recently realized that I haven't really blogged about any of my specific research. I am sure many of you are wondering, "what is it exactly that you do?" Well, in my efforts to learn about women community leaders here in Cairo, I have many different strategies. But one of the strongest, is simply calling, e-mailing, and stalking the various women that I want to interview. When a new friend told me about a woman who is both a Fitness Entrepreneur and Dance Guru, I thought she would be a perfect addition to my research. What I didn't realize is what I would be signing myself up for to get the interview.

(Pauline calls the studio to try and get an appointment)

Pauline: "Hi, My name is Pauline and I am an American Writer and Fulbright Fellow, and I would like to speak with Ms. Samia" (Note, I have started to call myself a writer, because I have learned that people are skeptical of researchers. I think they think of test tubes and bibliographies and want nothing to do with that. Writers are cool and win Pulitzers and make breaking stories and make people famous. And okay, so maybe I am not quite a Writer with a capital W, maybe just one who writes)

Office Assistant: "Hi, well to be honest, Samia is extremely busy. The best way to get a hold of her is to take one of her classes. Why don't you come in tomorrow morning for the Kujo class."

Pauline: "Okay great, thank you so much. But, what is 'kujo?'

O. Assistant: "Its a high impact class. See you tomorrow!" click

High Impact? What on earth did I get myself into? I am an athletic person, but I certainly have not done any martial arts, and I don't like to make a fool of myself in front of the person I am trying to interview. Normally one tries to present oneself as a professional, cool, calm and respectable individual. Being a sweaty, stumbling, awkwardly high impact fool kinda ruins that image. But, it was my ticket to meeting her, and I was prepared to do anything.

At 9:15 on Monday Morning, I arrive at the studio. I am awkwardly dressed for an interview, because I felt I should look nice for the first impression at least. But now I just feel stupid standing in black pants and a dress shirt in the middle of a fitness center, surrounded by young and middle aged women in spandex ready for their date with high impact. I brought clothes to change into, but didn't have my shoes because I had left them at my gym. (I think I was secretly looking for a reason to sit out and maybe just chat with her afterwards) I was told I could watch the class, and then come back on Thursday for a Pilates class. But I caught my first glimpse of my target, and I was amazed.

Dressed in black and yellow, and as energetic as a bumblebee, Samia was mesmerizing. She led the class in fast past aerobics (okay, so no martial arts)and could probably dance circles around Billy Blanks. I couldn't wait to come back.

This morning, I arrived at the studio at 10:20. I give the front desk my guest pass, stroll into the locker room, and change into my own spandex and white tee-shirt. Again I am confronted with the issue of appearance for interviews. Am I going to interview her whilst doing abdominal crunches? Lunges? I pull my hair up and resign myself to doing my best to impressing her with my attempts at Pilates, and walk into the mirrored studio.

I head towards the back of the room, and pretty soon the place fills up with women. Egyptian and Foreign, these women seem to run the gambit in terms of age and possible flexibility, so my confidence grows that I won't be the only person unable to wrap my leg around my head. Samia is a vision in white, she walks to the front of the room and begins to lead us in breathing and stretching exercises. As I am sure many of you know, Pilates is much harder than it looks. In general, flexibility is much harder than it looks. Maybe thats the definition of grace, making a difficult task seem extremely easy. I was so focused on mimicking Samia's grace and movements that I didn't even realize that when she extended her leg to grab her foot near her shoulder, that I was trying to do the same, trying to stretch my hamstring in a way which I knew I couldn't do. From this method of doing something before you realized if you could succeed or fail, I discovered a few things that I could do. I can stand like a flamingo on one leg with the other pressed against my thigh, and from there I can keep my hands together in prayer on my chest and bend over to touch my remaining foot on the ground. I also learned that I cannot grab my foot and extend my leg at a 170 degree angle. Shocking.

After learning all of this, and in the meanwhile losing any degree of professionalism that I may have had, we finished the class and I changed for our meeting. Maybe it was because she had just taught me, and we had shared that educational bond which is so unique, or maybe because her grace in dance is also present in her conversation, but the interview was fantastic. She was extremely open, frank, and forthcoming with her own story. I learned that she basically introduced Aerobics to Egypt, that she is a successful entrepreneur, teacher, dancer, choreographer, life coach, and wife and mother. She has revolutionized fitness in Egypt, and she has watched the positive transformation of women in fitness from wanting to lose weight, to wanting to be healthy and fit. "Knowing that I have helped these women change their lives, that is what give me strength and energy." No wonder she has so much energy, as she has helped so many women. Maybe some day even I will get my leg up.

First Goodbye

2008-06-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

I'm slowly saying goodbye to my life in Cairo. Yesterday, my roommate and I left our apartment where we had been living for 10 months. 10 months, that’s longer than a pregnancy. And even if its 4,000 times less significant than the miracle of life, 10 months in an apartment is still a big deal, especially when its been at the center of your existence in the chaos of Cairo. The apartment wasn’t perfect, and its landlord was even less so, but still, it hurt just a bit to say goodbye.

We had a kitchen, where we boiled our water for mint tea, where we killed a few too many cockroaches, and where we experimented with Cairo soy milk.

There was our living room, where we would burst in from a hot day, thankful to be home. Collapsing on the couch, we would turn on the TV and watch Arabic news, Egyptian movies, or terrible American films that somehow made it over here. On that couch I watched the McCain-Romney-Huckabee-Paul debates, remember those? On that couch I took naps, entertained guests, and took refuge from the pollution, traffic and chaos outside my door.

We had a dining room, and on the massive table we feasted on pancakes and eggs to replicate American Saturday morning breakfasts. We rang in the New Years with plenty of sisters and good wine. On that table I found out about my uncle, and on that table I drank my Nescafe.

In the bathroom there was a lot of blue: blue tiles, blue bathtub, blue sink and blue tub. In the bathroom I practiced my global trivia on the shower curtain. Uzbekistan: Tashkent. Kazakhstan: Astana. My roommate used to piffle toilet paper from our gym, so we always had a good supply of the Intercontinental's finest in that bathroom.

Then my own room of course. It was a den, and I was its bear. The window by my bed was my perch for looking down at the cow and sheep, and for eavesdropping on the gossiping neighbors. Most of the time they would scream, so I didn't really have to strain to hear. The bed was rock hard, something my back loved. I also loved it because it never failed to make me laugh to see a friend jump on the bed and then immediately grab their rear in shock more than pain. My room was where I went to recharge and to relax, to focus and to zone out, and to wake up and fall asleep in Cairo.

I am still in Cairo, but I am no longer in my apartment. I am in a new apartment, with two good friends and with all the comforts I could ask for. But, my heart is still a little sore. I had to say goodbye to my apartment, which I know is the beginning of the big goodbye to the city. But not just yet.

Obama the Patriot

2008-06-25T03:35:00.001-07:00

So I am sure that you guys have heard the ridiculous rumors about Obama, that he secretly hates America, that he didn't hold his hand over his heart during the pledge of allegiance because he is a Muslim Communist who cuts in line. So, to combat this hate mongering, and to spread the truth, slate.com has started some new, and more patriotic rumors. They are hilarious, and absolutely more accurate for Obama-my-baby....

Barack Obama says the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE every time he sees an American flag. He also ends every sentence by saying, "WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL." Click here for video of Obama quietly mouthing the PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE in his sleep.

Barack Obama is a PATRIOTIC AMERICAN. He has one HAND over his HEART at all times. He occasionally switches when one arm gets tired, which is almost never because he is STRONG.

Barack Obama has the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE tattooed on his stomach. It's upside-down, so he can read it while doing sit-ups.

There's only one artist on Barack Obama's iPod: FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Barack Obama is a DEVOUT CHRISTIAN. His favorite book is the BIBLE, which he has memorized. His name means HE WHO LOVES JESUS in the ancient language of Aramaic. He is PROUD that Jesus was an American.

Barack Obama's new airplane includes a conference room, a kitchen, and a MEGACHURCH.

Barack Obama goes to church every morning. He goes to church every afternoon. He goes to church every evening. He is IN CHURCH RIGHT NOW.

If you dont think this is funny, the terrorists win.

http://www.slate.com/id/2193798/

Back Home from Abroad

2008-06-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

In Cairo of course. I recently returned from my trip to Turkey. I participated in a conference in the Aegean coastal city Izmir, the third biggest city in the country and reputably the most Western/supportive of Turkey's staunch secularism. The conference was on Affirmative Action policies for women’s political participation and whether or not such policies are enabling or disabling. Basically, the conference looked at the question of Quotas for female political representatives, or members of parliament. We don’t have such a policy in the United States, but if we did, it would be something like “each state has to elect at least 5 female congresswomen” or something like…to ensure that women made up a certain, substantial percentage of the House of Representatives or the Senate. We don’t do this, and women only make up 13% of our Congressional Representatives. Ouch. That’s less than the global average of 15%, and way less than some of the global leaders in this area. Want to guess the country with the highest percentage of women MPs? Rwanda, coming in with around half of their MPs, shockingly close to the actual percentage of women in the population. The Scandanavian countries do damn well, and Sweeden particularly is a leader in the application of the quota system. But in general, the use of quotas to increase women’s political participation isn’t unique to any part of the world, its pretty spread out around all the continents and regions of the world. In my part of the world, that is in the Arab countries, Tunisia is far and beyond the leader in numbers. 22 percent is their proud statistic. Egypt is pathetic, at 2.4 percent. My favorite is the data for Saudi Arabia, which says 0% for women representatives, but then has an asterix to point out that men don’t have any representatives either, that’s the easy thing about straight up monarchies.

But enough of these numbers, you are probably wondering what it is that I did at this conference. Well, I am proud to say that for the first time, I presented a paper at an academic conference. I wrote my paper on the whole question of quotas in Egypt. I won’t get into all the details (that’s what the conference attendants, not my poor blog readers) but in case it comes up at your next cocktail party, Egypt in fact had a quota reserving 30 seats of the lower house of parliament for women, (that’s 10 percent, folks). But it was pretty badly put into effect, lots of people were unhappy about it, and not just chauvinists. It seemed like the women were unqualified, inexperienced, and were more appointed by Pharaoh Sadat than elected by popular vote. And as you know, Sadat was killed, and Egypt fell into a period of political instability, also not helpful for reforms which Sadat had created. Lots of other details, but in the end, quota was abolished and women now only make up 2 percent.

So what to do. Some would say, “But Pauline, Egypt has so many other problems to worry about, and women’s issues are so marginal.” Easy trap to fall into, but the answer is even easier. Women’s issues are everyone’s issues, that’s the nice thing about making up half the population. Just in the same way that men’s issues are everyone’s responsible, and if men were politically, economically, socially, and religiously marginalized throughout most of history and into current time, I would fully be supporting men’s rights. However, as it is, it is women who make up this marginalized community, but it is all of us who are responsible to correct this imbalance. The biggest problem in Egypt is currently the lack of democracy. And there can be no true democracy without the full participation and representation of women. All parties, across all political lines, should recognize the importance of their female constituency, and should work to empower the women in their own communities. A quota may not be the answer, but it is certainly a step in the right direction.

And now I am rambling, but I hope you found this slightly interesting. If so, I have a whole 20 pages and a power point that will certainly make your day.

Cairoville Photo

2008-06-07T07:47:00.000-07:00

They let me take a photo with the gang.

Cairoville

2008-06-05T12:45:00.000-07:00

So one of my Egyptian friends is a music producer/arranger, and he has been trying to get me to come check out the studio and see what sort of work he does. Last Tuesday I finally went, and I am kicking myself that I didn't go earlier. I stepped into the studio, and I felt like I was stepping into one of the many recording studios of my native Nashville. I was quickly introduced to a number of musicians, producers, managers, and technicians who came and went in and out of the sound proof room. My host sat me down, brought me some tea (10:00pm) went to the computer, and they all went to work as I sat mesmerized. A female vocalist was finishing her track, and then they four violinists came to do the strings. The lead male vocalist was practicing his English with me, while he taught me some Arabic musical terms. As always, they were very gracious with my Arabic abilities, flattering me so that I would open up, and we all got a long very well. The group's producer began to teach me some Arabic calligraphy and all the meanwhile, the strings kept taking take after take after take. I loved every minute of it. First of all, the song was incredibly catchy, so having to hear it over and over again was fantastic. Secondly, it was great to hear "Wait wait, lets do that again." and "I hear a mistake..I hear one of the violins going off"..."Take it from the arpeggio" and various other sentences in Arabic. At one point the police came to check out the studio, apparently a neighbor had called even though it was soundproof, and I joked how they were coming for the American spy. I got lots of laughs to my relief. The music was fabulous, and the musicians were even better. Sometimes I feel like I don't give young Egyptian men the credit they deserve. The cat calls and the stares in the streets has hardened my heart, and I have to remember that under that gelled hair and young face is probably a good heart and maybe even a hell of a violinist. All of these young men were extremely respectful and fun; music was their passion and it was fun to share it with them. All of them had other jobs, but they all secretly aspired to be successful musicians. For a moment, I forgot that I was half way around the world, miles away from my home. I may have been in Cairo, but it really felt like I was on music row. Now I just need to find the equivalent of the Pancake Pantry and I will be set.

Rachel Ray and Palestine

2008-06-01T02:04:00.000-07:00

This is seriously the funniest thing I have seen in a long time. So, if you haven't heard, I will give you the background. Rachel Ray recently did a commercial for Dunkin' Donuts and their iced lattes, but she and her stylists decided to wear this scarf. Recognize it? If you have ever been to Palestine, Jordan or Lebanon, or even anywhere in the region, you may recognize this black and white checked scarf as the traditional head scarf for Palestinian men. If you did that, you get ten points. But you get minus 10,000 points if you said "oh thats the symbol of Islamic jihadist terrorism, right?" So thats -10,000 points for random blogger (like me except ignorant and coincidently conservative) Michelle Malkin, when she stated in her blog that "The Keffiyeh has come to symbolize murderous Palestinian jihad." Even the man who made this scarf famous--but who did not make the scarf--Yassir Arafat, was a staunch secularists. Amazingly, the ignorant rant of this truculent blogger managed to convince Dunkin' Donuts to pull the ad. This brings me to my second point of ridiculousness, did seriously no one of the at least 50 people who viewed this ad before it aired realize that dear Rachel would come off looking like either a Palestinian sympathizer or "a murderous jihadi?" Maybe I am just trapped in my little Middle East bubble, but I find it mind-blowing that such a styling statement went unnoticed until the rants of some neo-con. Anyways, I thought I would share some hysterical comments that I found regarding this story on the BBC website...Enjoy!

"The black and white scarf is part of the traditional attire of the Palestinian, Lebanese, Jordanian Arabs. The same way the red and white scarf is for Saudi, Omani, Bahraini Arabs. This is like saying that UPS should change its brown uniform because it pleases the Hitler Youth." -Fuad Khan, Dallas USA

"Does this mean we can no longer eat falafel sandwiches & hommus?" -Mansour Ansari, USA

"Quite possibly this is the most exposure the Palestinian cause has ever received in the mainstream media in the US. Sadly, the debate has been brought forth by a fatty-food distributor and a little known conservative pundit." -Christian Di Meo, Boston, USA

"How incredibly over the top. I don't think I have ever heard something so silly. Surely the big guns they are holding in the terrorist videos are a more true representation of their intentions yet you don't see any change in gun law in the US." -Mary, Colchester

Rare Sighting

2008-05-31T14:23:00.000-07:00

This is the first and probably only time I have escalated a Minbar, the pulpit in a Mosque. We figured that because it was no longer a functioning mosque, and because I have heard urban legends of Coptic priests giving nationalists sermons from the minbars of mosques, I figured the rules might be flexible. I didn't give any speeches, didn't proclaim anything, just went up, posed, and came back down. Even though its not an active mosque, let me know if you happen to know if this flies in the face of Islamic tradition, and I will be happy to remove this post. It's a nice photo, but not that nice if it is offensive.

Hassan Mosque and Madrassa

2008-05-31T13:25:00.000-07:00

This is one of the most beautiful Mosques I have seen. Built in the mid 14th century, this Mamluk mosque is the biggest in Cairo. I took about forty photos of this amazing courtyard, in the middle is the structure for ablutions (washing before prayer) which currently housed some pigeons as the mosque is no longer used for religious purposes (hence the lack of a veil).Those arches are incredibly high, maybe fifty feet, but I am terrible at approximating. Hanging from the top of the arches were long chains which extended to about ten feet above the ground, holding small lamps.

A Letter to Dr. Rice

2008-05-30T07:05:00.001-07:00

To The Honorable Dr. Condoleezza Rice, United States Secretary of State:

I remember where I was when I got the news that I would be traveling to Egypt on a Fulbright Grant. I was coming back from a Dentist appointment when I got a phone call from my roommate, Meghan, who excitedly told me that I had a big package from the International Institute of Education. "YOU HAVE TO OPEN IT!" I shouted excitedly at her. "I DONT WANNA DO IT!" she retorted, giggling nervously at the prospect of giving me bad news, but clearly confident from the big fat envelope in her hands. I was relentless, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk crossing my fingers and holding my breath. I heard the rustling of paper, and a happy yelp followed by "YOU GOT IT!" I screamed and began to jump up and down in diag of the University of Michigan. "I'M GOING TO EGYPT ON A FULBRIGHT!!!" I had the honor to be a United States Fulbright Grantee, a culture ambassador from my country to Egypt, and an integral part of the puzzle to promoting mutual understanding and peace in our world. Four months after this news, I got to travel to Egypt, thanks to your Department of State.

Dr. Rice, I am sure I don't need to tell you of the seven Fulbright Grantees who earned the award, but who have been deprived of their right to carry out their Fulbright grant. Just like me, these students met the rigorous academic, social and political requirements to bear the title of a Fulbright Grantee. The only difference is that these seven students are Palestinian, their home is Gaza, and their dream was to study abroad in the United States. They passed the grueling application process of the Fulbright Grant, they were honored with the title of Cultural Ambassador, and were given the responsibility of promoting understanding between the United States and Palestine. But the continued Israeli military control of Gazan borders has deprived these students of both their human right of free movement, and also their rights as US Fulbright Grantees to fulfill their dream and study abroad at an American University.

Dr. Rice, I am sure you know the story of the Fulbright Grant. Senator J. William Fulbright established the grant after the atrocities of World War Two, concluding that the human race could not afford to not live in peace, and that a World War Three would undoubtedly be the end of all mankind. Since 1946, Fulbrighters have been defeating national stereotypes, promoting mutual understanding, and attempting to defuse political tensions by operating on a person-to-person level. Dr. Rice, your State Department recognizes this program of exchange as an integral part of our foreign policy. My question, Dr Rice, is since when did the United States allow another country to arbitrarily prevent our efforts of diplomacy and foreign policy? It is true that we have historically sided with Israel, turning more than a few blind eyes to unjust policies, but we usually have done so in the spirit of "What is good for Israel is good for the United States." The United States has the muscle to change Israeli policies if we really wished to do so. But the travel prohibition for the Palestinian Fulbright Grantees questions this traditional American-Israeli relationship, or at least questions the Bush Administration's value of diplomacy. Dr. Rice, the refusal to allow these students to travel to the United States violates the American Fulbright Program, violates your sovereignty over American foreign policies, and it should not be taken lying down. This is not another example of the United States supporting Israeli policies, rather, this is unprecedented kowtowing which directly damages the United States and its foreign policy. If this administration would like to pretend that it places some value in both the Fulbright Program and in building a respectful relationship with Palestinians, I suggest that you put up a fight and stand up for what is right. Dr. Rice, as a Fulbright Grantee, I am asking you to give these Palestinians the honor which they have earned. But as an American citizen, I am begging you to do what is right for our country, and to not let the unjust actions of a foreign government derail American efforts towards peace.

My First Girlfriend

2008-05-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

I am so excited. I think I have made my first real girlfriend in Egypt. Sure, I have made lots of contacts with women for my research, and a few other fantastic women have taken me under their wings, but I think this is my first real Egyptian girl buddy. For whatever reason, it has been harder to make friends with Egyptian women, so this is has been so delightful for me. Well, maybe I am getting ahead of myself. She is actually my tutor, but yesterday we had a lovely outing and I think we may have bonded. To properly introduce her, I should also say that she is an excellent teacher. In addition to being an excellent Arabic language teacher, she has also done extensive Islamic studies (graduating from the top Islamic seminary, al-Azhar University) and has been very patient with my slow, stumbling Quranic recitations. She had asked me if I wouldn't mind going with her to an information seminar on the Fulbright grant, as she is interested in studying in the United States. I happily agreed, and we scheduled our outing for Tuesday. Then somehow it came up that she loved to crochet, and I excitedly burst out that I loved to knit, and she firmly suggests that we go together to the crafts store after our trip to Fulbright.

After checking out the Fulbright Commission, we took the metro to the neighborhood of Shubra--no relation--and we begin to stroll in the sunshine. We try to think of some good projects for her to propose for her Fulbright application, and while I was pensively listening to her thoughtful description of America as a place where all nationalities, cultures, and races mix together and how she would love to study there, I some how slipped on a bottle cap. I teeter-totter for like 3 seconds desperately grabbing on to my new friends silk dress, frantically clutching whatever I could get my hands on (turned out to be her hip) while she gasps and tries to catch me. Somehow, I regain balance and begin to gush out apologies, hoping I haven't ruined our afternoon, but she is too concerned with me to even blink. From then on, my hand was held tightly as we crossed the streets.

We went and stopped for nuts, a popular street snack here, and eventually wandered to the shop. I picked out a soft green and cream for a scarf, and picked up a set of needles. Knitting in Arabic is "Tatreko", but this sounds like a European word that somehow slipped into the lexicon. Crochet is, well, crochet. Wool is "Soof", where the term "Sufi" comes from to describe an adherent of Sufism, or Islamic Mysticism. The store owner was very curious about me, and I could hear him ask my friend where I was from, if I was Muslim, if I liked Bush etc. I jumped in, as I am used to these questions, and he loved that I called Bush a donkey (himar, standard for idiot) and used the phrase "the time has come" for Bush to leave office. I didn't think twice of this conversation as I have had in hundreds of times, but my tutor was very embarrassed and apologized. I reassured her that I really didn't mind, and then we talked about how Egyptians are pretty good at separating their opinions of a government from opinions of a people, i.e. We may not like Bush, but you Americans are a-okay. Its always funny, because even if I didn't vote for him, we still collectively elected him. Sometimes I think that Egyptians give Americans more credit than we may deserve in terms of distancing us from our politics, after all, until November, this catastrophe is apparently the will of the people.

We finished off our outing with two glasses of sugar cane juice, and it was as delicious as it sounds. I will be finished with my tutoring this upcoming week, but I hope that my new friendship will continue. We may not have slumber parties, but I hope that we will have some knitting parties. Knit, pearl, politics, and culture, I can already tell that I am learning a lot from my new friend, as long as I watch out for the bottle caps.

Random Acts of Kindness

2008-05-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

So there is this student group at Michigan whose name is something like, Students for Random Acts of Kindness." (Pause to retrieve your motion sickness bag). If you can't tell, I have two issues with this group. The first is that having an organized group for random acts of kindness doesn't make sense. "This week we are going to schedule a random act of kindness for 3:30. Be there or be a bad person". The second ridiculous thing about this group is that its kinda like the group of "students against cancer". Really? Do you need to mobilize a group in order to combat the students against random acts of kindness? Do they have debates? Anyways, the reason I bring all of this up is that I felt it due time that I record some of the true random acts of kindness I have witnessed here in Egypt, the unscheduled, unorganized kind.

Scenario One: Baby-swap on Subway. I have now seen this scenario a few times, and it never ceases to amaze me. The subway will be packed, and some poor mother or father will be holding a big bag (or a baby) and will also have a walking, yet unstable toddler by their legs. Their stop arrives, and it is clear that it is impossible to pick up the child, but it is also equally impossible for the small child to battle the oncoming traffic of entering passengers. Without anyone asking, and without the need for consent to be granted, a perfect stranger who is also getting off will pick up the child and get off the car with the toddler, handing the child back to his or her parent once they are on the platform. Seriously, can you imagine this happening in the States? Can you imagine a perfect stranger, picking up your child on the New York Subway without asking you? And can you imagine him not running off with his kidnapped prize? Can you imagine all of this going down with such a casual attitude that it is as if your brother had held the door open for you, and not that a dude you don't know had picked up your 2 year old in a very busy underground subway? I can't decide what is more impressive, the fact that these strangers casually help these struggling parents, or the fact that these parents welcome the offered help.

Scenario Two: When George and I were in Alexandria, we got a little turned around looking for the train station. As we were trying to straighten ourselves out, we found ourselves trapped in a parking lot where the cars were bumper to bumper. As we jumped over the cars as best as we could, I realized we weren't alone. Two other women, both Egyptian, were also a bit trapped. They were much older than us, and one of them was in quite the pickle. I offered her my hand to help her slide over the car, and the car began to buckle under her weight. When she made it over with my help, I said "al-hamdulillah" (thank god!) and she went nuts. She was tickled to death that I not only knew arabic, but also the favorite phrase of most Egyptians. She asked me where we were going, and I told her we were looking for the train station, and she firmly grabbed my hand and informed me that she and her friend, Fifi, would lead us there. She and Fifi were delighted to find out that George was an engineer, and forgave him for knowing limited Arabic. She didn't let go of my hand until we got to the station, and I had to convince her that from there we would be able to find our train just fine.

I have a feeling Fifi and co. don't belong to any clubs promoting Random Acts of Kindness. It just seems to come naturally. Of course not all seemingly friendly acts here are truly kind, many are attached to the hope of "baksheesh" or a tip. But most of them aren't, and woe to the foreigner who tries to tip those who are only seeking to help their fellow man. I think Fifi would have smacked me up if I had insultingly attempted to tip. Luckily for all parties involved, I recognized their help as a random act of kindness, even without their formal club membership.

Simplicity

2008-05-19T10:33:00.000-07:00

So I saw I wonderful thing today. I was walking down one of the side streets near my house, when I saw a horse cart amidst the bumper to bumper traffic. Horses and donkeys are prevalent enough here to not be that surprised to see one, but its always nice seeing a friendly face instead of a hubcap. However, this horse was quite preoccupied. Oblivious to the honking horns and the suffocating exhaust, he was happily munching on a watermelon. His owner must have left the sweet treat, cracked in half, for his beast of burden to enjoy. The horse had finished off the first half, greedily sucking at the delicious watermelon juice remaining at the bottom of the hollowed out half. Really, who doesn't love watermelon on a hot afternoon? That horse definitely made my day. If you think this entry was completely worthless, at least learn three new Arabic words. Bateekh is watermelon. Hissawn is horse, and Mabsoota is Pauline, i.e. happy.

A Lewis in Tunis

2008-05-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

At the end of April, I had the amazing opportunity to travel to Tunis for a Fulbright Regional Conference. This was my first time to Western Northern Africa, or what we call in Arabic the "Maghreb", which means the western place. Like most countries in this region, and really in the world, Tunisia has a number of competing identities as a result of being the home of various civilizations.The Phoenicians, the Romans, the Arabs, and the French all left their mark on this small but beautiful land, and these various civilizations still live amongst the Tunisians today. Ruins from the ancient empires still stand tall, and Tunis/Carthage apparently holds the most intact Roman Mosaics of any former part of the Empire. Arabic and French are both national languages, and the secular nature of this Muslim country also reveals this dual-history. Tunisians assumed that we spoke French, and when we busted out the Egyptian Arabic, it brought lots of smiles and laughs. The popularity of Egyptian cinema and music in the region allows for Egyptian Arabic to travel pretty much anywhere, so at least they could understand us. My batting average was about .500 with the Tunisian dialect, the part I couldn't understand sounding like French with an Arabic accent and proved to be ultimately unintelligible.

In addition to my excitement to be in Hannibal's hometown, I was wrapped up the beauty of the architecture and exterior design of the buildings. Clearly a long way from Cairo, most of the buildings were white with blue accents, and the intricately designed doors were amazing. These are a few of the 300 photos I took of the beautiful scenery, and I believe that the Tunisian government should pay me for all of the times I mention how lovely the country is. please see tunisiatourism.gov for more information about your next trip to Tunisia.

This was all the backdrop for the conference, where about forty Fulbright students from the region came together to present their projects and meet their peers. Coming from Egypt, Syria, Israel, the U.A.E, Kuwait, Morocco, Tunisia, and Jordan, everyone had an interesting story to tell and a lot of shared experiences from living abroad for almost a year. People seemed to get more comfortable with one another by the end of the time there, ending the early posturing and academic banter that had tainted the first part of the conference. Once we all relaxed and realized we had nothing to prove, with the help of Tunisian beer and the spicy red sauce called "hirassa" we actually were able to learn something from one another.

Overall, it was a great trip and as usual, I couldn't help but learn a few things. Number One: Tunisians are very friendly. Number Two: Their food is amazing, I think I had more tuna than I have had since third grade. Number Three: Those Romans made a damn good mosaic. Number Four: You won't ever hear Tunisians criticizing their government. This was interesting to note, coming from Egypt, where the government is tyrannical, and there is a lot of censorship, but even on pain of imprisonment, Egyptians still speak out. Despite the beautiful facade, Tunisia is definitely no democracy, and there are a lot of problems that I would have enjoyed hearing our Tunisian colleagues discuss. Maybe the next trip. Either way, the doors were beautiful, the food delicious, and I hope that this Lewis will be in Tunis another time soon.

Finding Faith

2008-05-14T15:53:00.000-07:00

There are many things similar about the American South and Cairo, Egypt. Many of both populations are religious, family orientated, and generally conservative about maintaining time honored traditions and ways of life. As a Unitarian, I often felt out of place growing up in Nashville, where not believing in Christ as my savior was often puzzling and tantamount to having a third arm. I even found myself repulsed by the concept of organized religion, as I felt it proved to be more exclusive and aggressive than inclusive and understanding. But life in Egypt has changed me. You can't escape religion here. It is not reserved in a special box of secularism to only be opened with caution. The call to prayer has become a sound of comfort, signaling the passing of the day and marking a time for reflection. Stores closing briefly to allow the owner to pray has become common place, and becoming comfortable with people praying in front of you has been a long struggle that I am just now winning. Partaking in the breaking of fasts, being invited (and declining) to witness the slaughtering of a sacrificial sheep, and striving to understand and learn about the religion of 1.2 billion Muslims, I have found myself engulfed in religion. In this environment of faith, I have absolutely become more spiritual. I believe it is inevitable in this country, and not because Muslims are forcing their religion upon me. Quite the contrary, the clear line that they draw between what is their religion, and what is mine, has made me more inclined to understand their faith. I never felt that respected by Christian evangelicals I encountered in America. Religion here is a common topic of conversation, a daily habit, but not something that is forced. Of course, every religion has its crazies. I am sure that at some point I might encounter the extreme Muslim who will not respect that line, but I think it says a lot that so far I have not. Religion may be a public matter, but its a personal decision. I feel that finally, in the middle of this Muslim land, I have truly found my own Unitarian faith. Not only do I find that I understand my own religion better, and that of my current neighbors, but I feel like I have finally gained an insight on religious America. After all, religion is religion, and faith is faith. I can't help but laugh that it took the Muslims to teach a Unitarian about the Christians and that it might take the Unitarians to unite the Christians and Muslims. Just trying to make Ralph Waldo and Adlai proud.

The Art of Catching Lizards

2008-05-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

Is there an art to catching lizards? Probably, but I certainly am not blessed with it. I am currently lying in bed, staring at the ceilings, waiting for the pink little lizard that I saw dart across my wall 20 minutes ago. I didn't scream, even though my heart leaped out my chest, and I calmly called for my roommate to come and help me catch a lizard. "A WHAT?!" she exclaims? I ask her to get a pot, but then we realize that a lizard might be slightly harder to catch than your garden variety pest, and so we arm ourselves with towels (as if that makes sense). I put on some winter gloves, as we couldn't find our rubber ones, and begin to shake my backpack that I believe it is hiding under. My roommate stands on the bed, waving my red towel like a matador, but she is self-admittedly less excited for the moment of truth. I said I think the lizard might be in the bag, and we prepare ourself for screams. I shake the bag, and sure enough, the lizard jumps out and on cue, we scream. High pitched girly screams that don't match either of our characters, we scream and leap almost as high as the poor lizard. He retreats under the bed, which much to our chagrin, is complicated by a big purple mattress. We convinced ourselves that a little lizard was nothing to fear, after all, had we been out on the pavement of Florida it would have been nothing to scream at. Had the lizard gotten out of its cage in 6th grade biology, and we had had to catch it and return it to its proper habitat, there wouldn't have been that shrill pitch. But we weren't in Florida, nor in 6th grade life sciences. We were in Cairo, in my bedroom, and we wanted to sleep. So after a fruitless search, rummaging through the various items on my floor, and after scouring the ceiling, walls, and corners of my room, I decided to go to bed. After all, its only a lizard. In fact I am encouraged that he has disappeared for good as I am now combating a house fly, and something tells me my ex-roommate wouldn't let that stand on his watch.

"If it looks like Apartheid..."

2008-04-25T03:24:00.000-07:00

Check out this brilliant article by Yossi Sarid, printed in the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz.

Responding to the shocked and defiant reactions of most Israelis when accused of running an Apartheid state--with regards to the military occupation of the West Bank and to the blockade of Gaza--Yossi argues that Israelis shouldn't be disgusted by a word, they should be disgusted by the reality.

"What do we have to do with apartheid? Does a separation fence constitute separation? Do separate roads for Jewish settlers and Palestinians really separate? Are Palestinian enclaves between Jewish settlements Bantustans?"

"The white Afrikaners, too, had reasons for their segregation policy; they, too, felt threatened - a great evil was at their door, and they were frightened, out to defend themselves. Unfortunately, however, all good reasons for apartheid are bad reasons; apartheid always has a reason, and it never has a justification. And what acts like apartheid, is run like apartheid and harasses like apartheid, is not a duck - it is apartheid. Nor does it even solve the problem of fear: Today, everyone knows that all apartheid will inevitably reach its sorry end."

Check it out for the full article: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/977947.html

On Becoming a Cairene

2008-04-23T05:46:00.000-07:00

It's happening, slowly but surely. I may never become an Egyptian, but I am definitely becoming a Cairene. And yes, that is what a person living in Cairo is called, at least its better than a Cairite. Anyways, I had the big epiphany the other day on the Metro. In the Cairo subway, you have to hold onto the ticket you buy because you will need it to exit the metro at the end, or at least thats the formal rule. In general, the Cairo metro can be pretty lax in terms of enforcing ticket rules. You see people jumping over the turnstiles about as frequently as the trains run, and no one seems to care. The other strategy is to trail someone who does have a ticket, walking closely and sneaking into their rotation of the turnstile, with or without their permission. I have had people try to do this to me, and its an up close and personal experience that I never thought I would initiate. Until last Monday.

On the long train back from the Population Council where I intern, I realized that I had lost my ticket stub. I never lose my ticket stub. I desperately searched my bag, pockets, hair, grasping for the little yellow ticket that I am always so careful to protect. After the fifth unsuccessful dig into my pocket, I accept the fact its gone for good. We reach the Sadat station, I disembark, and begin to roll over my options. I could jump, but that makes a scene. Once in a while you will see officers yelling at jumpers, threatening to pay a ridiculous fine for something that everyone does. I think about trying to go under, but with the afternoon rush I could get trampled. This leaves me the one option that I never thought I would dare to do. I select an unsuspecting younger woman and get behind her as she is about to insert her ticket into the turnstile. I sneak up real close and slide in, grabbing the bar to make sure I make it. Sliding my left hip and then my right into the space, I succeed with relative ease. My spirits sour until my unwilling cohort looks behind her and gives me the dirtiest look I have ever received. I give her a sheepish smile and then hung my head in shame. But my self-loathing was limited, as I quickly reminded myself that my criticizing hero had probably committed the same trick before. I didn't cheat the system as I had paid for my ride. I was just listening to that old proverb..When Cairo, do as the Cairenes do.

Here are some other entertaining examples of how you know you have been in Cairo too long:

1. When I was in Berlin, I found myself in a very small bathroom of a fancy cafe. There was only one sink, and some German woman was busy washing her hands. Not even thinking twice, I barged in and began to share the single stream with her. Needless to say, I quickly remembered that the Germans have a different definition of personal space than Cairenes do.

2. In Barcelona, I repeatedly said "ah ah ah" in a low tone to indicate "yes". This is how Egyptians say "yeh, yeh" or "uh huh..uh uh" to confirm. But in Spain it just sounds like you are imitating a gorilla.

3. I don't question the need to offer my taxi driver some of the peanuts that I am munching on. And he doesn't find it strange to accept my offer. Food is just tastier when you eat it together.

4. I find myself staring slackjawed at the clueless tourist wearing hot pants and halter tops in the middle of downtown Cairo. I have yet to give them a catcall or two, but after my fall from grace in the Metro, you never know what I am capable of.

5. In Cairo, you get someone's attention by hissing or making kissy noises. Seriously. Even old women do it. I can't wait to fly back to the states and start making kissing noises at the flight attendants to ask if I can have some more water.

Available Tools of an Unavailable Democracy

2008-04-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

So a few days have passed since the strikes on Sunday, but the dust has yet to settle. Some are calling it the beginning of massive civil disobedience here in Egypt. Others saw it as a pathetic joke. Some saw it as a complete success. "In your country"-they tell me-"where there is freedom of speech and democracy, this wouldn't have been a big deal. But for us in Egypt, we have to take little steps, and so this was a big statement here." But according to others, the only thing Sunday demonstrated was the strength of the State and the weakness of the People. While the situation in Mahalla was heated--massive protests following the security's interruption of the strike--the deaths, injuries, and arrests were largely limited to this city in the Delta. There were plenty of riot police in Cairo, just not so many riots. Maybe it was because there was a poorly timed sand storm that day, but the streets really didn't seem that different from any other day. The only visible sign of civil unrest was the fact that on every street corner stood 30 police in riot gear.

My friends and I went downtown to see if there was anything going on, and while paused to make a phone call, a plain-clothed policeman came up to ask us to keep moving. I asked why, and they gestured to their uniform garbed counterparts and said it was "forbidden" to stand. We moved to a different part of the plaza, and stopped again to discuss our plan of action. Within heartbeats, another plain-clothed officer approached us and asked us to keep moving. I smileed and jokingly ask "is this okay?" and proceed to march in a circle around and around, "I'm moving, right?!" He smiles and repeated the command and I didn't push my luck. I certainly didn't care to end up in the back of the large empty police trucks that-with the lack of peacefully protesting civilians--now had plenty of room for cheeky foreigners.

There will be another strike on May 4, Mubarak's 80th birthday. It's just frustrating to witness a people attempting to use democratic tools to voice their frustrations: strikes, protests, voting (hm thats a concept), sit-ins, and other peaceful means of demanding their rights. But this government insists on crushing these tools and pulling the rug out from under the people. How long does Mubarak, and Bush for that matter, expect the Egyptian people to get no where with these peaceful tools of democracy (which are probably only effective in a democracy) before some resort to violence? I've always denounced the use of violence to achieve ones goals. But along with my denunciation, I have recognized the importance of providing people with peaceful forms of expression, or at least, allowing them to use those tools of expression which a democracy gives its citizens. Egypt is not a democracy, and therefore I know I shouldn't expect it to give its people the benefits that come with the system. But despite this, I do tip my hat to the Egyptians who are trying, no matter what the consequences, to use the tools of a democracy which doesn't even exist for them.

"Women Hold Up Half the Sky"

2008-04-05T06:34:00.000-07:00

You can say a lot of things about communists, socialists, Bolsheviks, and Maoists, but these movements do generally get one thing right: valuing women's social and economic input. In the words of Mao Tse-Tung, "women hold up half the sky". I don't make a habit of quoting the man who left a trail of blood in the Cultural Revolution and who left millions dead in the misguided agricultural polices of the Great Leap Forward. However, I will grant that he got one thing right with this quote. Women do hold up half the sky as they make up half of the population, and society as a whole should recognize this fact.

Tomorrow, April 6, there will be massive strikes in Egypt, protesting the current economic crisis that prevents the average Egyptian from making ends meet. Originally planned by the textile mill 'Ghazl al-Mahalla, thousands of other workers have pledged to also strike in solidarity with al-Mahalla, which also happens to be the largest textile mill in the Middle East. Since the summer of 2007, the workers of al-Mahalla have been locked in a battle for their rights with the Labor Ministr. Coming at a time of increasing political instability and economic crisis, many Egyptians see their fate, and the fate of their totalitarian government, resting on the shoulders of these average workers. And here is the catch: many of these workers are women.

These female workers are not the stereotype (Western or Egyptian) of the Arab woman. They are strong, standing shoulder to shoulder with the male counterparts, demanding their rights. This overheard quote has been surfacing around Egyptian blogs, proudly displaying women's outspoken participation with the workers movement:

A Mahallah male activist describing the role of the women in the past strikes and the upcoming 6 April strike: … so these ladies…
A Mahallah female activist interrupting: Don’t call us ladies! we are workers and we are proud of it. we work in the factory, we work at home and we work in the farm, we are workers!

Women in Egypt are raising their voices, not necessarily in the specific tones of feminism, but in the united tones workers rights, for men and women. I once heard Haifa al-Kaylani, Chairman of the Arab International Women's Forum, mention "I'm not a feminist, I'm an economist." Women are half of the potential work force, half of the economic energy of a country, and currently an enormous resource which Egypt has yet to fully tap. This isn't about exploiting that resource, its about appreciating its power. The women of Mahalla, along with their brothers, can no longer be ignored. Tomorrow Egypt will see hear the voices of its workers, and will see the strength of those who hold up half the sky.

For more information see: www.arabist.net
www.arabist.net/arabawy
http://arabist.net/hatshepsut

Published!

2008-04-04T08:06:00.000-07:00

I figure since I am not established enough in life to be used to these sorts of things, its still okay for me to get really excited and tell everyone when I get published. Especially when its in a cool news forum like the Common Ground News Service, which strives to publish pieces that will unite rather than divide, and will help build inter-cultural understanding and inter-faith cooperation. SO! Here it is:

http://www.commongroundnews.org

My piece is entitled "In their shoes," and for some of my more loyal followers/blood relatives who have to keep up with my previous blogs, you might recognize this story from my old blog during my summer in the West Bank.

Happy Reading and I promise if I have the good fortune of one day being an established professional, I won't continue to brag about various publications. But seeing as that day is a long ways off, for now just be patient as the pathetic, non-accomplished 23 year old blabbers on about these somewhat exciting things in her life. Just smack me around a bit whenever you decide my bragging rights have expired.

Sandstorm!

2008-04-01T15:55:00.000-07:00

It was not a military operation nor is at a popular techno song, but what we we witnessed last Friday was a straight up, not kidding you, Sandstorm. We had heard they would be coming, but no one could prepare us for that day. I was going to meet a friend for a birthday party at the Hard Rock Cafe (I know, not very culturally adventurous, but they had an all you can eat beer and wings so I couldn't really blame him for his choice) and right as I stepped out the door, I knew something was in the air. That something was lots of sand. Gusts of wind were shooting the small particles everywhere, and so I put on my sunglasses even though it was dusk. Visibility was at an all time low as I headed towards the Nile, and not just because I was wearing sunglasses at 6:30 pm. The usual landmarks of hotels dotting the river were almost invisible in the yellow haze, and I had to keep my mouth shut tight lest I should get a mouthful of sandy delight. I found my way into the restaurant and congratulated myself for surviving my first, but probably not my last Sandstorm.

April is notorious for the sandstorm season, what the Egyptians call the "khamseen". This is not very comforting if you know Arabic and realize that "khamseen" means 50, as in the sandstorm season can last for FIFTY DAYS!! Here is a photo that I took of the storm approaching the outskirts of Cairo

April Fools! Thats not Cairo, thats somewhere in Sudan, and I couldn't be happier about it. But it is much more dramatic than a photo of me at the Hard Rock Cafe with dust on my sunglasses. But who knows, that could be what hits Cairo in a few days. Its starting to make a little more sense why these Arabs have a thing for scarves, isn't it funny how it all comes back to regional weather patterns? Anyways, as of yet, the sandstorm season has been pretty tame. I haven't yet woken up to my windows blown open and my bed covered in sand (heard that from a friend) nor have I had to seek refuge in Auntie Em's cellar.

To keep you entertained as Pauline gets dusty, here are some fun facts about the khamseen:
1. The sandstorms blow in from the south to the northwest, in opposition to the prevailing winds.
2. About 40 million tons of dust are transported annually from the Sahara (thats my hood) to the Amazon basin (very very far away from my hood)
3. Pauline was going to make another trip out to the desert, but is currently rethinking that decision. "If sandstorms are bad in the city, lets go to where there is MORE sand to stir up...."

So.....Anyone coming to visit me this month?

see http://www.egyptsearch.com/forums/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=2;t=016087 to see where I got my fun facts and ridiculous photo.

Confused?

2008-03-31T16:36:00.001-07:00

Confused about some of the different Shiite sects in Iraq? Basra? Whats going on? This article is a a little old, but it does a pretty good job explaining just what is going on. It just still blows my mind that the US is somehow proud of putting into power a government whose largest block is the "Supreme Islamic Council for Iraq", a party with an Islamist platform, duh. (By the way, if it weren't obvious enough from the new name, a few years ago there was no excuse. The original name was the Supreme Council for ISLAMIC REVOULTION IN IRAQ. Wish I could have been there as Bush contemplated such thoughts..hmmm, Islamic Revolution, that worked well in Iran in 1979, so lets place our bets with them in Baghdad!) We put them into power. And yet we are scared of Iran? My head hurts rolling these thoughts around. But if you have been hurting from trying to keep the Mahdi Army straight from the Badr Corps, they are both Shia so that doesn't help, give this article a chance. Afterwards you will still have to puzzle over the US invasion which put Islamists in power, but you will at least have a few things straight.

http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/front/la-fg-shiites30mar30,1,1596179.story

For more updates, keep checking out Prof. Juan Cole's blog, juancole.com

"Let Them Eat Cake"

2008-03-29T16:49:00.000-07:00

There is currently a bread crisis in Egypt. Bread here is subsidized, but as corruption eats away the system from the top down (there's Reagan economics for you) at the end of the line and at the end of the day, there is often not enough bread to go around. Adding to the tinder box of missing bread are the increasing food prices. Protests and demonstrations are crowding the streets and newspapers, as Egyptians are not able to match these increasing prices with their ever dismal wages.

Even doctors are taking to the streets, striking for one hour each day to protest their sobering salaries. Hamdy al-Sayyed states that"the average salary for a graduating doctor now is LE 220 ($40) per month, which doesn't buy much."

I don't even want to tell you how much Fulbright is paying me, its sickening in comparison to what these men and women with medical degrees are making. They save lives, and they barely have enough to get by. And remember, this is the profession that Egyptians look to as the key out of poverty. Doctors and Engineers, doctors and engineers, this is the mantra that is repeated over and over. Egyptian parents want their children to take on these two traditionally prestigious professions that will supposedly bring them a better life. But for now they are working on just getting enough bread.

Patience grows thin as the bread lines grow long. The corruption that the state uses to stay in power is now its greatest threat, as it eats away at the scaffolding of this teetering structure. I realize I am watching this from the sidelines, that I am not really affected by the frustration and the crisis that is building. I am no Egyptian, and I am no economist. But I still can't help but wonder, is Mr. Mubarak really not that familiar with the story of Marie Antoinette?

See http://www.dailystaregypt.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=12562

My Brother's Keeper

2008-03-19T04:47:00.001-07:00

In a world where we are often divided by religion, it is nice to see that some still refuse to play that polarizing game. I don't know if this news is hitting the US, but currently in the Netherlands, a racist right wing politician, Geert Wilders, is making a movie based on the fantastic claim that the Quran is a fascist book. This is, of course, the post productive path one can do in exercising their freedom of speech right? Oh I know, I will insult an already marginalized religious group in Europe. While I'm at it, I will go ahead and scream fire in a movie theatre, because thats freedom of speech also, right? Instead of looking the other way, a number of Jewish groups in the Netherlands have condemned Wilder's dangerous hate mongering. Harry de Winter, the Jewish community leader pointed out the double standard of his country, by asserting that Muslims have become the victims of prejudice that would never be tolerated (today) if it targeted Jews.

"It's incomprehensible that Mr Wilders keeps on coming out with such rubbish. If you read the Old Testament [the Jewish Torah] then you also find texts about hatred of homosexuals, hatred of women and the murdering of non-Jewish preachers."

De Winter points to the obvious fact that Jews have been the subject of even worse prejudice and racism, and therefore they should be the most defensive of their Muslim brothers currently targeted.

'As he says in de Volkskrant: "We Jews know like no others what this sort of discrimination can lead to."'

'In an interview with the paper, De Winter says that Wilders’ approach to Islam is like the build-up of anti-Jewish sentiment before World War II. ‘I see no difference between a skull-cap (worn by Jewish men) and a headscarf,’ De Winter said. ‘I hope we get support from across the Jewish community because they should recognize this like no-one else.’

For me, this was a heartwarming piece of news. It is already a rare find to discover a Dutchman who is willing to defend his Muslim brothers. But the fact that he is also a Jew is what really moves me. De Winter does not pay attention to the violent rhetoric of those ignorant Islamic radicals who disobey the Quranic command of tolerating and protecting the Jewish people. De Winter does not listen to those on both sides who argue for a clash of civilizations between the black and white battle of the Muslims/haters of freedom vs. those of Judeo-Christian/Zionist-Crusader heritage. Instead, De Winter steps up to the plate. As a Dutchman, and as a Jew, he demands the ending of this ridiculous onslaught of hate. No matter who is targeted.

For reference see http://www.islamtoday.net/english/showme2.cfm?cat_id=38&sub_cat_id=1823

Dazzled in Dubai

2008-03-15T09:46:00.000-07:00

In Cairo, there is a lot of talk about Dubai. Cairo used to be the headquarters of the Arab world; essentially the center of political, cultural, economic happenings in this part of the world. Cairo was the place to be. But that era is over, as Cairo has largely been replaced by a rising star in the region: Dubai. But the talk of the town isn't restricted to this part of the world, Dubai is the talk of the world. Skyscrapers rising from the desert, man-made islands in the shape of palm trees, 7 star hotels, and a mix of cultures and peoples that make Fulbrighters drool. It is said that 80 percent of the population of Dubai is international, largely from South and South East Asia. Coming from India, Pakistan, Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia and dozens of other countries, workers travel to this booming city to get a piece of the pie. Workers rights and labor laws are much needed in this city of dreams, as exploitation and abuses of workers rights are more of a problem than the city would like to admit. However, the mix of cultures and religions in this city of wonders is something that the Emir, Mohammed bin Rashid Al-Maktoum, can be proud of.

I came to Dubai for a conference on Women's Global Leadership, held by Zayed University. A three day event brought together about 1200 students and professionals all committed to encouraging women's leadership in all sectors of society in all parts of the world. What we all discovered, was that we were not alone in our desires to see women take on more positions of power in communities which desperately need female leadership. Amongst the headline speakers were Jane Fonda-Actress and Activist, Reem Al-Hashimy-U.A.E Minister of State, Helen Thomas-Journalist and author, Carol Bellamy- Former Head of UNICEF and CEO of World Learning, Salma Hareb, CEO Jebel Ali Free Zone (U.A.E), Najla Mohammed Al-Awar-Secretary General for the U.A.E Cabinet, and of course, Dr. Mary Sue Coleman, University President of my alma mater, The University of Michigan. There were other speakers, all impressive women leaders, and all committed to seeing more of their sisters in other positions of leadership. In additions to speeches and panel discussions, the conference also presented dozens of workshops which we were able to attend. Covering all sectors of society and all presented by women of all walks of life, I often found myself torn between which sessions to attend. With students and professionals coming from all sorts of backgrounds, these panels made for some great discussions and helped me see this topic in new ways. What sort of perspective does an American-living in Egypt hold? Perhaps as unique as an Indonesian-studying in Singapore, as was the case with my roommate and new friend, Sisca.

Here are just a few of the fascinating presentations that I attended:

"Leaders Waging Peace? Gender and Children in Conflict Context."
One of the presenters on this panel was Dr. Pablo Abitbol, whose presentation on women's peace initiatives in Colombia was extremely demonstrative of how women, who are often take the brunt of men's wars, are perhaps the most effective leaders for ending conflict and establishing peace.

"Learning Leadership through Mentorship: Opportunities for Women within the Academy"
Dr. Mabel Evwierhoma, from the University of Abuja in Nigeria, lectured on the importance of female mentorship, as it is important for the current female leaders to encourage the next generation of women to have the courage to enter the field. Mentors tend to find mentees who are similar to themselves, and as many women often encounter, one of the hardest aspects of entering a male dominated field is the exclusivity of the "men's club". If male leaders continue to encourage young men to fill their shoes, the cycle of gender unbalanced leadership will continue. Therefore, it is of upmost importance that current female leaders ask themselves, "Who do I want to fill my shoes? Who do I want to inspire to lead?"

"Leadership at the Grassroots: Born Poor, Becoming Leadership: The Case of Female Leaders in Upper Egypt" In this presentation, Solava Ibrahim, Ph.D Candidate at Cambridge University, presented her research on women's initiatives to end female circumcision (female genital mutilation) in their villages.

"Voices of U.A.E Women Business Leaders" Emrati business founder and owner, Farida Kamber, told her story of how she established one of the most successful interior design firms in the United Arab Emirates, disproving local doubts about her ability to enter that male-dominated market, and deflating western stereotypes of Arab-Muslim women as domestic servants.

Overall, the conference was a huge success. I could write dozens of blogs on the inspiring people I met, controversial topics covered, and innovative ideas shared. I will not make you all suffer through these, but don't be surprised if I start a lot of my sentences with.."well when I was in Dubai". This conference encouraged me that I am not alone in my hopes to see more women leaders, and that I am not the only one who believes that all societies and countries would benefit from female leadership. Whether they are prime ministers, doctors, CEOs, university presidents, activists, mothers, religious leaders, or all of the above, women should own their leadership potential. Their communities need them, and the world needs them even more.

Pauline would like renounce any implications this blog has on her choice of presidential candidate. Gobama Go!

More Funerals for More Civilians

2008-03-07T16:19:00.000-08:00

8 innocent civilians were murdered yesterday in an school in Jerusalem. The victims were Israeli, and their murderer was Palestinian. This act of senseless violence has been condemned by most world leaders, including Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas, but I am disappointed by the reluctance of Hamas to voice its own condemnation of the murders. They seemed too busy talking about the deaths of Palestinian civilians to give a damn about the murders of more civilians, who happen to be Israeli.

"This is a normal response to all the Israel occupation, commission and aggression, and they [have] committed massacres inside the Gaza and West Bank - about 128 [people were] killed, 30 of them children and infants, people and elderly and [women]. So I find this is a normal response to all Israel's occupational crimes, and waging a war against the Palestinians." -Hamas Spokesman, Fawzi Barhoum

How much would it have pained Hamas to simply condemn violence against civilians, whether they be Israeli or Palestinian? My question for Hamas is this: If you can not condemn civilian deaths of your enemy, how do you expect your enemy to condemn the deaths of your own civilians?" If Hamas wants the world to care about the deaths of civilians in Gaza and the West Bank, they should practice what they preach and condemn the murders of Israeli civilians. A civilian is a civilian, no matter what side of the wall they stand.

See http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7282567.stm

Holocaust is a Strong Word.

2008-03-04T02:16:00.000-08:00

The office of Israeli Deputy Defense Minister can't take any calls, they are busy doing damage control. When referring to fixing the problem in Gaza and possibly toppling the Hamas government, Deputy Defense Minister Matan Vilnai threatened the Palestinians with bringing a Holocaust upon them. "Shoah" in Hebrew, is usually reserved for referring to the Nazi Holocaust which murdered over 6 million Jews and which aimed to entirely exterminate the Jewish people. You would think the subject of mass genocide would not be taken lightly by the Israeli government officials, who represent and lead a state largely created as a refuge for Jews fleeing European genocide. A spokesman for Vilnai assured the stunned public (domestic and international) that the minister used the term in the sense of "disaster," saying "he did not mean to make any allusion to the genocide." But for a state which has already been accused of being racist and brutal towards the Palestinians living under the military occupation, Israel can not afford to make a slip like this. Already Arabist and Islamist blogs have taken this statement as Israel saying what it has always meant. They are seeing this as a confession, not as a slip of the tongue. I have a bad feeling that unless Olmert personally apologizes for this mistake or fires Vilnai, this statement for many will come to represent how Israel views the future of Palestinians. After all, even though the Iranian government later blamed a mistake in translation, all that the world remembers is Ahmadinejad's statement of "wiping Israel off the map".

"Nobody can remove a country from the map. This is a misunderstanding in Europe of what our president mentioned...How is it possible to remove a country from the map? He is talking about the regime. We do not legally recognize this regime"-Iranian Foreign Minister, Manouchehr Mottaki addressing the uproar following Ahmadinjad's statement.

But ask anyone, and they won't know the follow up statement. No discussion about the intricacies of language, the fact that there is no such idiom in Persian, or that Ahmadinejad meant ending the regime, not ending Israel as a state. No one talks about that, they only remember the words they read in translation. I fear that similarly, no one will talk about the nuances of the Hebrew language and that "holocaust" or "shoah" can refer to disaster and not explicitly genocide. Those who wish to will understand what they read, what they were hoping to hear, a genocidal confession, which will only be an excuse for continued fear, hatred, and a abysmal absence of hope for peace in the conflict.

For Further Reference:
http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/959532.html
http://commentisfree.guardian.co.uk/jonathan_steele/2006/06/post_155.html
http://www.irandefence.net/archive/index.php/t-1492.html

Nope. No Suffering Here

2008-03-03T01:16:00.000-08:00

Barack Obama has recently been taking some heat for comments stated earlier in his campaign. "Nobody is suffering more than the Palestinians." This statement has largely been the basis for accusations that Obama is "anti-Israel" or even "anti-semitic" and my question is, how? Aside from whatever political orientation everyone has on this conflict, is it really possible to watch the news--if its being covered at all--about the recent strikes on Gaza and refute this statement? With over 100 Palestinians killed in 3 days, one third of whom were women and children (according to the International Red Cross) is it really possible to say that "No, Palestinians are not suffering. And in fact, anyone who claims that they are must hate Israel." How does this perverse logic rule over our understanding of the conflict?

I am confident that most Israelis would at least recognize that there are many Palestinians suffering from the conflict, even if they support the most recent IDF attacks. On the front page of Haaretz.com (one of Israel's most popular newspapers) the front page articles all focused on the attacks, and while stating Israel's need to defend herself was the focus of some, others chose to focus on the resulting deaths of civilians and destruction of their homes. One such article focused on the death of two sisters, Samah and Salwah, who were killed when their house was bombed. "We thought you wanted peace" their father wept. Haaretz also published a statement by Diab, a former volunteer with Magen David Adom in Ashkelon, laments the attacks "There are no gunmen here. We wouldn't let them near. There are more than 20 children here. We don't want trouble and don't like it, but why did they shoot at us? What did we do to deserve this?" Also on the front page is a photo of Palestinians carrying a 21 month old baby girl who was killed in the attacks. www.haaretz.com

Of course not all Israelis appreciate this attention devoted to the civilian dead. In fact, there are vast discrepancies between the reports of those Palestinians killed. According to the IDF, of the 100 Palestinians killed, 90 of them were militants. So we have the two sisters, the baby girl, and I guess only 7 more then?

Aside from the slightly confused leadership of the IDF, I think that it is safe to assume that even Israelis would admit to the suffering of the Palestinians. But I guess that would make these Israelis somehow anti-Israeli, so we are back at square one. Isn't perverse logic fun?

Also see:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/mar/03/israelandthepalestinians.usa

Barack Obama and Benjamin Franklin: What's in a Semitic Name?

2008-02-29T15:40:00.000-08:00

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.

City of the Dead

2008-02-27T03:11:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-27T02:53:00.000-08:00

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

2008-02-27T02:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Never Gets Old

2008-02-27T01:27:00.000-08:00

This is the view from my balcony.

Identity Crisis

2008-02-23T08:25:00.000-08:00

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.

Who needs a road side bomb?

2008-02-16T14:50:00.000-08:00

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.

Oh Happy Day!

2008-02-10T14:58:00.000-08:00

"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.

Comprehending the Veil

2008-01-28T08:34:00.000-08:00

“So…what’s up with that veil thing?”

This question comes up a lot for me, and I don’t even wear a veil. I can’t even imagine how often it must come up for Muslim women who wear one when they are talking with non-Muslims who are befuddled by the piece of cloth. In general, the Islamic veil is known by a simple and encompassing term: hijab. Hijab comes from the Arabic word meaning to cover, screen, or shelter. The word for eyebrow, hawajib, even comes from the same root as they serve to shelter the eye. Forms of Hijab come in very different shapes and sizes, colors and fashions and vary between countries, classes, age groups, and personal preference. As a tip for anyone who is ever unsure of what to call the Islamic headscarf, hijab is generally the go-to-word. Anything more specific leaves room for mistakes, as sometimes it is hard to keep a niqab from a burqah from a chic veil. If you are curious, the niqab is when a woman’s face is covered except for her eyes (often a detachable square piece of cloth over the nose which is secured on the veil around the face) And, most importantly, a burqah is NOT any old veil. Burqahs are the fully covering head piece which were made famous by Afghani women (largely not by their choice) in which their eyes and face are covered by a mesh-like fabric. Again, if you are already feeling a bit shaky about the terms, remember that you can’t go wrong with using "veil" or “hijab”.
So why the hijab?

An easy answer that many Muslims might give is that they believe that God commanded women to cover all but their face and hands. But this begs the question, why? And of course those Muslims have also asked this question, and while there are different interpretations, a common one seems to be that the hijab promotes respect between men and women. This is because within Islamic tradition, hijab is not just the veil or whatever head covering a woman wears. It also encompasses the idea of modesty, of respect; the idea that a woman should be treated as a person, and not as a sex object. Men of society should interact with women as peers, intellectual equals, and not be distracted by immodest, inappropriate attire. As interpreted by many Muslims, God in his ultimate wisdom, has commanded women to take it upon themselves to prevent such a scenario, and cover themselves. But men aren’t off the hook, as it has also been commanded that they avert their eyes and treat women with the respect that they deserve. Before you get thrown, remember that many different cultures and religions have different definitions of what is appropriate and what is not. In parts of the world, there is nothing wrong with a woman bearing her breasts. In Kansas, there is certainly something inappropriate about it. And likewise, in Islam, many have interpreted hair to be inappropriate for public. If you find yourself unable to make this leap of logic, just remember how puzzled a Polynesian might be at the seemingly oppressive bra and shirt that American women wear, gasp, and by choice!

Now, even understanding the different standards of modesty,you still might ask, doesn’t this somehow put the burden on women? Sure, God commanded men to also avert their eyes, but if God also commands women to cover themselves, doesn’t that some how imply that ultimately men can’t help themselves? Why is it that women should have to take the extra step to cover themselves just because guys can’t somehow control their sexual urges? It’s not my fault my boss is a caveman and can’t take me seriously, I shouldn’t have to compensate for his weakness!

I used to feel this way. I was able to understand the reasoning behind the hijab (I think every girl can when she walks down the street and is made to feel degraded and humiliated by the cat-calls of a disrespectful man) but I still felt frustrated that the onus of the responsibility seemed to fall on the woman. But then I remembered that this is not only true of Islamic tradition, but of American society as well. One such example, a classic, which shows the unequal expectations for controlling sex drives takes place at a college frat party. No girl, in her right mind, would ever let her drunken girlfriend be alone in a room full of drunk frat guys for the night. Reverse the roles, and see how comfortable a guy would feel in a room of girls. Of course its not fair, but its not about fairness. It’s about being smart. Girls have these rules about watching out for each other, and for themselves, because no matter how you would hope guys to act in a perfect world, you don’t risk rape or sexual assault for the quixotic dream of gender equality.

So even in America, where we like to claim gender equality, you can find examples of girls taking on extra responsibilities to preempt ugly scenarios. Its not that you are some how condoning the weakness of guys; by avoiding the roomful of 30 drunken frat boys you aren’t somehow saying that sexual assault is okay. You are just taken a precaution in the same way that when a Muslim woman dons a hijab to avoid being treated like a piece of meat by her boss she isn’t excusing that disrespectful behavior.

Is this the only reason that women wear the hijab?

Of course not. There are thousands of reasons and explanations that women (and social scientists) give for the veil.* For some they are simply trying to be good Muslims in their daily life, for others they might see it as a political symbol of resistance or affiliation with Islamic reform movements who oppose the corruption and dictatorship of various secular regimes. Some might also see the veil as a rejection of Western imperialism, of American hegemony and globalization which has stripped them of their own culture. This is summed up in a quote by Adil Hussein, a late leader of the Egyptian Labor Party.

"Why can't we not only have a dress that is modest, but also have one which we have created in the region, like the Indian sari? Why can't we have our own dress which expresses decency, a requirement of Islam, as well as the special beauty that would be a mark of our society which has excelled in the arts and civilization?"

Of course there are still other explanations that believe that the use of the veil has a functional explanation such as lowering cost of attire (and hair salons) or shortens the time and energy a woman uses to beautify herself. And finally, never underestimate the power of social pressure, family pressure, and good ol peer pressure in determining what women wear. Once enough of your Muslim peers begin to don the veil, you might feel like you stick out a bit if you don't. Or maybe you've heard that the young men are only interested in marrying a veiled woman. But, I think it is important to remember, that Muslim women tend to be vehemently proud of the fact that it was a personal choice to wear the veil. Often they find it frustrating that women in the West have the freedom to wear skimpy clothes, but judge other women for wearing more.

Most veiled women just wish that Westerners would just hurry up and get over the whole veil thing. Read up on it, learn about it, and then see past it. Lets leave it up to 4th graders to judge people for what they wear or don't wear.

*Inspiration for this passage came from Saba Mahmood's article "Feminist Theory, Embodiment and the Docile Agent: Some Relections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival."2001. Cultural Anthropology, 6(2):202-236.

Your friendly neighborhood Camel Mart?

2008-01-25T13:12:00.000-08:00

My trip to the camel market had been quite overdue. Fresh out of sugar, salt, and camel, I had to head down to the local store. Hopefully you don't actually think that I make a habit of munching on camel, but the concept is actually not as far fetched as you might think. Camels are largely sold here in Egypt not to be beast of burden as much as to be ingredients in stew, but don't tell these guys to my left. They were two of hundreds of camels being displayed, bought and sold at the Cairo Camel Market. Located quite a bit out of the city and accessible through a series of mini buses, the market is a tourist destination only for the strong willed and definitely not PETA members. As much as the camels look like they are enjoying themselves with their constant smiles (except when they are snarling and reproducing alien noises which sound like a mix between a roar and a burp)they are certainly not pets, and so aren't exactly cuddled. One leg is tied up in order to keep their movement a bit limited, and they are often beaten strongly with a large wooden cane by the various camel vendors. While I couldn't help but wince at the seemingly harsh whacks, I definitely appreciated the limited movement of our one humped friends. Camels are huge. Can't emphasize it enough. With the average height of their head at about 7.5 feet and weighing about 600 pounds, these babies aren't the daintiest of mother natures children. As much as it pained me to see them uncomfortable hobbling around on three legs, when one got loose and was running around the lot I couldn't help but be thankful that there weren't 600 loose and using us as foot stools.

While there were a few moments of panic upon being stuck between two burping and disgruntled dromedaries, overall, I was charmed by everyone of them. What can I say, I am a sucker for the even-toed ungulates with their thick eyelashes and small hairy ears. I even like their ridiculously cantankerous vocals. But most of all, I love their smiles. There is a saying in the region that the camel is smiling because he knows the 100th name for God. In Islamic tradition, there are 99 known names for God, so of course if you know that desired 100th, you'd probably be smiling too.

It's always a little strange being a tourist at a place where people are just doing their job, you don't want to be that person who treats someone's livelihood like a game. But I think that the buyers and sellers got a kick out of the fact that we tourists were enjoying ourselves so far away from the pyramids, and marveling at the beasts which despite being undoubtedly mundane for them, hopefully still retain some charm for the seasoned salesmen.

Lewis of Arabia-Part II

2008-01-11T07:45:00.000-08:00

It was pitch black outside when we pitched our tent. And by we, I mean Ali and Karem. And by tent, I mean a two sided roofless structure, whose “walls” are supported by the two trucks. Our two Bedouin professionals had set all this up in less than 15 minutes, so that by the time we were finished gazing flabbergasted at the star-filled sky, we had a place to sit around the crackling fire. With the sun set and our car troubles behind us, we had a magical evening. Without the lights of a city in sight, the stars took centerstage and lit up the surreal desert scenery. The White Desert is famous for its moon-like surface, giant chalk structures, each a unique shape, tower of the landscape. Like children staring at clouds, we took to giving names to these sand-eroded beasts. “Oh! That one looks like Lenin with an elf cap!” Frances chimed, while Markell contemplated the ice cream sundae, obviously topped with two cherries.

As our tour guides began to prepare dinner, us clueless tourists took to getting to know each other. The German couple remained largely quiet, more into each other than into the burgeoning discussion on culture shock. Jennifer, of Stewart and Jennifer the Canadian couple, was extremely curious about Islam and Egypt, and seeing as I spoke Arabic and had been living in the country for a while, I seemed to be an oasis of answers. I admired her curiosity and her respect for cultural differences, but I couldn’t help but be slightly put off by her racism. Its not what you think, she wasn’t racist towards Egyptians or even Muslims, but Americans. After we had been talking for a while, and it was clear that my sisters and I were open minded, accepting, educated, and overall good Americans, Jennifer excitedly told us, “Wow! This is so great to meet you guys! I gotta say that before this trip, we thought that all Americans were ignorant bigots, but you guys aren’t like that at all!” thanks? While I appreciated that we had changed her stereotypes, isn’t that a bit like a bigoted white American telling an African American, “wow! Before I met you I thought all you guys were idiots!” or maybe like Huckabee telling a Mexican American “wow! Before I met you I thought all you guys were lazy illegal immigrants! And how did you get over my fence?”

Despite these thoughts, I strove to be a good Fulbright cultural ambassador-even to Canadians-so I smiled, and said that we were glad to have been proof of the inaccuracies of stereotypes. Another highlight of our enlightening conversation was when Jennifer asked me about all the lingerie stores she had seen in Cairo. “But how can these veiled women ever where that skimpy outfit! Are they walking around with nothing underneath but that!?!?!?” I calmly explained to the amazed Canadian, that while Muslim women may choose to be modest in the street, or even choose to be fully covered, when she is with her husband, no holds bar. I believe this concept may have blown her mind, as perhaps before she thought that a veiled woman was veiled even with her husband in the bedroom? This conversation then moved somehow to pornography, where I explained that of course there is pornography in the region, maybe no one talks about it but there is absolutely Arab pornography production. Afterall, where this a demand there will be a supply. “OH MY GOD!” more mind blowing “It’s a part of the culture here!?!??!” what, sex? Actually, contrary to popular belief, they do have sex in the Muslim Arab world. Even more shocking is that teenage boys here actually have, gasp, the same hormones as Christian Americans! Of course pornography is frowned upon and its not as publicly accepted as in Canada and the US, but its still here. It always cracks me up what encourages cultural understanding.

By the time we had covered American hillbillies, Egyptian negligee and the Lebanese porn industry, dinner was ready. Fire cooked chicken, hearty potatoes in a tomato-onion sauce, and delicious rice. With plenty of food for seconds, we ate happily until our bellies were full and our calorie intake sufficient to last the cold night. If foreigners are surprised by Egyptian lingerie, they seem to be even more surprised by the fact that desert equals freezing at night. The same sand which was too hot to touch during the day becomes equally unwelcoming to a barefoot at night, unless you like stepping on ice. We layered on our clothes, wrapped ourselves in scarves, and huddled around the fire. I chatted with Ali and Karem about the Bedouin dialect of Arabic while we all sipped delicious mint tea. After the third round of tea, with the moon still not risen, we turned in for bed. My sisters and I claimed three mattresses, and constructed a giant bed for us out of the ample sleeping bags and blankets supplied by our guides. Markell suggested that we spread out all the sleeping bags on top of us, but Frances and I thought it would be better for us each to have a bag and then just put the 3 giant blankets over us. While we lay in bed, staring at the stars, I was even a bit hot underneath the 4 layers. I snuggled up next to my sisters, and fell asleep underneath more stars than I knew existed.

I woke up shivering with my foot in my mouth. Markell had been right, never underestimate the power of body heat and the wisdom of big sisters. I tossed around a bit, looking for my pillow which never existed, and quickly drifted off to sleep. I woke up numerous times that night, opening my eyes to a gorgeous moon which lit up the night, although it couldn’t help me find that pillow. I mistakenly grabbed the lump which was near my head, only to realize that it was the Afrikaner’s feet wrapped in a sleepingbag. Each time I woke, I shivered, marveled at the moon, searched for a pillow, and then fell back asleep. It wasn’t the best sleep I have ever gotten, but certainly tops the list for location. The last time I woke up, it was from Markell’s persistent “time to get up Paulina, gotta watch the sunrise” I groggily opened my eyes and huddled closer to Markell. Frances was off taking photos, luckily for her, she doesn’t have as many sexy morning shots as me and Markell. In our frigid state, we encouraged the sun to rise and warm us. “Yallah yallah ya shems!) (go go oh sun!) Markell produced a packet of raisins which I had dissed earlier “I never really enjoy raisins.” The cold helped me change my opinion, and we feasted on the calories of dried grapes. The sun rose, and Frances returned, turning her camera on us. We look like refugee tourists, featured in a back issue of National Georgraphic.

Camp was slowly stirring, and as we ventured off to our own personal toilets behind the chalk structures, Ali and Karem began to set up breakfast. Jennifer, our Canadian friend, was loudly explaining to everyone how freezing last night was and how horrible her sleeping experience had been. Amazingly, it was even colder than camping in Canada pause, in the summer. We smiled and reminded her that it was December, but the point may have been lost.

We feasted on coffee or tea, bread, jam, halwa (sweet sesamee spread) and cheese. Markell and Frances got into a conversation with the Afrikaner couple, regarding race relations and education in South Africa and California. Similar issues, different standpoints. Norman, a self-admitted conservative, also admitted to being grateful for America’s military prowess in the world, explaining that it keeps “them” from power. As much as I wanted to push and ask who is this “them” that we speak of, I kept the conversation light and ended the conversation by saying that as much as I can appreciate the need for a strong military, I think that we need to rethink the strategies and policies which use or abuse that military power. Proving the importance of keeping things friendly, Nelson later approached me and praised our attitude as being “socially aware” and recognized that his perspective on the world was largely due to being a bit long in the tooth. I accepted the olive branch and agreed that both perspectives are important, and need each other to achieve a healthy equilibrium. But seriously, will somebody please tell me who this “them” is? Maybe Guliani knows…

After brushing our teeth and packing up, we explored around camp while we waited for our car to start. The old drill, push, dig, and pull, and eventually the ol jeep started up. We piled in, counting heads to make sure no one was left behind (yikes) and head back towards base. We stop along the way to get out and play, handstands and cartwheels and flying leaps were, of course, in order. On our second stop, we are told to hunt for desert roses. Huh? Looking for any sign of flora we all silently sing along to Sting and remain puzzled until our guides show us a desert rose in his palm. They are small black rocks, resembling the everlasting gobstopper (think Willy Wonka here) We immediately scattered, stooped on our knees, and searched for these beautiful creations. I didn’t do so well, but luckily Karem generously gave me one of his treasures, as I am sure that the thrill of the search has decreased slightly for him. We take our booty back to the jeep, pile in, and head back to camp.

It had been quite the 24 hours and my sisters and I were so pleased with the camping experience, we didn’t think we wanted to taint it by staying another night in the less than merry hostel. We had heard from Stuart and Jennifer that the camping part was definitely the best, so we decided to leave on a high and head back to Cairo a night early. When we arrived back at the hostel, I spoke with each member of our camping party about giving a tip to our fantastic guides.

This was expected, and most everyone in our party was completely aware and willing to give a modest 20 Egyptian pounds per head, which is about 4 US dollars. But when I went looking for Stuart and Jennifer, they were no where to be found. I had been worried that our Canadian couple might be troublesome when it came to the tip. They weren’t happy with the travel company who had arranged their package, but I assumed that they would reasonable not take their discontent out on our excellent guides. If the food is bad, you don’t blame the waiter. I found Stuart who told me to go and find the sugarmama, but when I went to Jennifer, she passed me off to Stuart. Eventually, Stuart sheepishly approached me and told me that they were very frustrated with everything, that they had to run to catch the bus back to Cairo, and that while they knew it wasn’t our guides' fault, they weren’t going to tip. (I’m sorry, you lost me there between the fact that you know its not their fault, but that you still aren’t going to tip them….) I pooled the money we had and talked privately to Karem about how we wished we could have given more, but thank you so much. He was incredibly gracious, making me even angrier that he didn’t the money he should have. You don’t go out to dinner if you don’t have the cash to tip, you don’t travel the world if you are going to rip off those who help you survive in the middle of the desert. Just another universal rule.

Since the bus from Bahriyya had already left, we were sent back to Cairo in a giant taxi/soccer-mom station wagon. In the front were the driver (a big guy) his friend (another big guy) and Tom, our sweet little Minnesota boy. In the middle were the Lewis girls, and in the back were our favorites, Stuart and Jennifer. The 5 hour trip was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that we never really breathed easily as our driver preferred to drive on the wrong side of the road and at night seemed to think that lights were optional. The driver tried his best to get some money out of us, even though we had paid in advance, and in addition to fending off these attempts from the front of the car, I was getting other requests from the back of the car. “Could you ask him to turn down the music?” “Could you have him pull over for a bathroom break?” “Could you ask him where he is dropping us off?” “Could you ask him if he could talk to the travel company.” Could you….” Being able to speak Arabic was becoming less and less attractive as the car ride continued. Cairo didn’t come soon enough, we said our goodbyes, and walked home. After washing the sand off, sharing a few beers and laughs over our adventure, my sisters and I went to bed. But before I went to sleep, I said a prayer. A prayer for the past year, for the new year, for the desert and for Egypt, for my sisters and for my mother, and even a little prayer for Jennifer and Stuart and their anti-tip budget tour around the world.

Lewis of Arabia-Part I

2008-01-09T15:32:00.000-08:00

At 6:45am, my sisters and I left my apartment to meet a representative from the Travel Agency that had booked our trip to the desert. I had planned the trip in advance, paid for everything, and was excited to have a stress free experience in Egypt. As much as I resisted it, I had surrendered myself to being a tourist in the city that had become my home. I figured all I had to do was get us to the agency by 7:00am, and from there we would be in the hands of experienced Bedouins who would take care of us for the next three days. Looking back, my naitivity regarding the concept of a stress free trip in the desert seems almost cute. Almost.

At 7:00am, we met our friendly agency representative outside of the office, but instead of escorting us to the awaiting caravan of friendly Bedouin, he piles us in a cab and we all head to the Central Cairo Bus Station. Our representative, who is shy and wears braces, quickly explains that we will be taking bus number 5 to Bahriyya, where we would be met by another friendly representative. Before I could even process that our expectedly private transportation to the desert had somehow turned into the public bus and all its delights, the shy adolescent was gone in a flash. Don’t get me wrong, the buses in Egypt are fine, very well run in fact. But this was the first time I had splurged on a tourist package, so I was slightly disappointed that my fancy package somehow started off as my budget trips did, on an East Delta Bus. We found our seats in the front of the bus, with me and Markell together on one side and Frances sitting next to a nice Algerian woman. Frances practiced her French while Markell and I planned out futures, and every once in a while I shocked the bus by breaking into Arabic to defend our seating assignment. After stopping at half a dozen desert towns in the middle of no-where, we finally reached the end of the road, and luckily our stop, Bahriyya. I was crossing my fingers that whoever was meeting us would be there, would be anticipating us, and would know that we had paid ahead of time. I dreaded the possibility of dragging my sisters into the middle of the desert, vulnerable to the vultures of eager hostel owners who prowled around the bus, waiting for foolish little sisters who somehow messed up the reservation. Luckily, my fears were allayed, the boy with braces spoke true, and I easily found our friendly representative. We piled into a beat up old Land Rover which, unbeknownst to us, would become the ill-fated vessel for our safari, and headed into camp.

Camp was a dusty hostel/restaurant which resembled an old west saloon without the swinger doors, booze, or bar fights. It was the meeting spot for groups before they went out on the trek in the desert, so it was here where we first laid eyes on the motley crew who would be our travel companions. Please note the names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty. There was Tom, the laid-back loner from Minnesota who was on a Fulbright scholarship in Germany; Nelson and Patricia, the middle aged Afrikaneer couple from Cape Town; Stewart and Jennifer, the starry eyed young Canadian couple who were at the beginning of their year long tour of the world, Christof and Eva a young German couple who seemed to be veteran backpackers and us three Lewis gals. We were informed that instead of staying the first night at camp as was customary, we would be going out on the safari and camping that night. So, the three couples, the trio, and the lone Minnesotan headed off into the unknown armed with nothing but two jeeps, and two seasoned Bedouin guides.

Our two guides, Ali and Karem, were delighted that I knew Arabic. The only guest on the trip who could speak their language, they baptized me as “Ward” (rose). My sisters were also kindly looked upon, given their smashing good looks and superior hiking abilities. Markell was dubbed “Yasmine” (Jasmine) and Frances was knighted “Ful” (sweet flower). The afternoon was going splendidly, we would drive through the desert, park in front of a hill, hike to the top of a peak, descend, and continue on our merry way. We would lead the charge up the hills, with the other members of the caravan uninterested to competition with the Lewis girls. Despite the incredible steepness of one of the black mountains, we reached the summit and felt zen-ful thoughts while the jeeps honked at us to come back down.

At dusk we reached the top of a tall sand dune, surrounded by rock structures and leading down into a valley of bedrock. After frolicking in the sand for a bit, we were summoned back to the jeeps. The dune was pretty deep, and while the grade proved perfect for extreme cartwheels, I was a bit nervous about the drive down. Ali had the tendency to make donuts in the sand; hard left, hard right, do a 180, 360, you name it he would do it and I would scream.
In Arabic I would beg him to slow down, but the cheering of the other passengers seemed to outweigh my pathetic requests. Given my fear on a flat surface, I was petrified to think of our fate after Ali had taken us down the steep incline, undoubtedly at 70 mph and on two wheels. But before we loaded back into the car, we heared the all too familiar sound of an engine which refuses to turn. As we listened to the coughing and sputtering, I was positive that all 12 of us from different countries and backgrounds were thinking the same thing: Thank God for the Buddy System. An additional thanksgiving would be thank God for manual transmissions that can start on their own if the car gets going enough. Because we were on a hill, we were theoretically in an ideal spot for such a possibility. Theoretically, all we had to do was push the car a bit to get it going down the hill and as we gained speed the car would start and we would be on our merry way doing donuts and terrifying Pauline down the hill. All the women stood to the side, cameras ready, cheering on the menfolk as they swaggered behind the jeep getting in position for the push. It seemed so easy, I didn’t think I would be fast enough with the camera to catch it all on tape, as it seemed it would last a split second. But by the tenth push, the jeep was deep in sand and no further down the mountain. We lowered our cameras, and began to dig out the wheels, playing a risky game of “better move your hand quick or else the land rover crushes your wrist”. This wasn’t working, and Karem, the guide whose jeep was working, decided to take matters into his own hands. We were instructed to get back into the lame jeep. Markell, Frances and I were in the back seat, and we turned to look out the back window to see better.

Like a lion approaching its prey, we see Karem’s jeep slowly accelerating towards us. “They are going to ram us!” We realize the new strategy, and prepare for the worst. However, like the anticlimax of the pushing, the ramming was similarly lacking in excitement. Finally, with the sun set, a mix of pushing, ramming, and scooping sand brought the jeeps to the bedrock. Ali produced a rope, and tied the nose of the lame jeep to the tail of the working vehicle, and this method of dragging produced the velocity needed to start the car. We cheered and entered the car, ready for food, camp and warmth as the heat of the desert had long since left with the passed sun.

We went on our way, resuming our method of driving like crash test dummies swerving around invisible orange cones, only to stop suddenly. Karem’s car has a flat tire. Flat is probably an understatement, more like busted. Ali and Karem quickly begin changing the tire, luckily each car has a spare attached to the back. As we are standing around, I joke “Hope they changed that spare since the last time they had a flat, or else we just replaced the flat with another busted tire.” Turns out instead of joking, I just narrated our reality. No kidding, that’s exactly what happened. Another thanksgiving: Thank God for 2 spare tires. After a few delays and even more prayers, we were finally on our way to set up camp in the white desert.

Taxi?

2008-01-03T15:14:00.000-08:00

I am not used to taking cabs everywhere, and for the most part, I can avoid taxis here. Most of Cairo is attainable through either walking or using the Metro, but about 30 percent of the time, you have to take a cab. No thats not true, you could take a bus if you knew the ropes, but seeing as I am not yet brave enough, or patient enough, for that education, I stick to cabs when I can't walk to the place. I have learned how to hail one-pretty easy considering cabs hail you most of the time. I have learned to speak enough arabic to make it clear that I know what I am doing but keep quiet enough so that he doesn't catch on to the fact that I actually have no idea what I am doing. Most importantly, I have learned how to judge an appropriate rate, and how to exit the vehicle, give my own decided fare, turn, and walk in the opposite direction. Cabs in Cairo don't use the meter, and you certainly never discuss the fare at any point during the trip, unless its a big project like going to the airport. If a driver asks you how much, you don't want that cab. If he shouts "10 pounds", for a 3 pound trip, you definitely don't want that cab. No cab ride is ordinary, you have to stay on your toes, and make sure you are paying attention, cause you never know, for better or for worse, what your ride will be like. Some choice examples.

My friend and I were once taking a cab to Zamalek. On one of the long bridges over the Nile, our driver suddenly stops and swerves to the side of the road. We thought we had gotten a flat tire, when suddenly we start backing up. Our driver seemed incredible worried about something, peering out the windows and checking for something behind us. I look outside my window, waiting to see the inevitable bus that was undoubtedly headed toward us, when a small kitten caught my eye. She was walking timidly across our lane towards the side of the bridge, and right before she went out of sight we saw that she made it to the other side. A bus pulled up next to us, and our driver worriedly confered with the driver of the bus over the status of the kitten. The bus driver, who had a better view, reassured our driver that the kitten was okay. Overcome with relief, our driver smiled and we continued on our way. He was a good man, and needless to say, he got a tip to match his concern for our four legged friends.

Same friend, same destination in Zamalek, different Taxi driver. This one doesn't really know the streets very well in Zamalek, and while he drives confidently, the only thing we are confident about is that he doesn't have a clue where he is. "Is this Blank Street" pause..mutterings that seem to amount to an affirmative. "Really? Because that street sign over there say that its actually not Blank street" no answer. We drive and drive, asking random people for directions, and finally, we get to where we should have been 15 minutes ago, our destination. We exit the car, hand him his fare, and prepare to leave. We hear a "hey!" and keep walking. The basic rule is that no matter how much they yell at you, keep walking until they get out of the car. That means business. So we kept walking until we heard a car door slam. We turn and our taxi driver has suddenly become a 6'3 angry Egyptian man. "You are only paying me 3 and a half pounds for all of that?!?! We went down this street, and that street, and this street, and that street!" we argued with him, its not our fault that you don't know where you are going. But our street arabic was weak at the time, we had only been in egypt for a few weeks, so instead of saying "who the F* do you think you are?" we probably said the equivalent of "why dost thou accuse me of withholding honestly earned income, good sir?" anyways, it was really frustrating. Handicapped by our fledgling Arabic skills and lack of street cred, we paid him off, and were officially scarred from "underpaying" (i.e. paying what an Egyptian would pay) taxi drivers. My favorite part of that whole experience was when I shouted "EXPLOITATION" at him (shockingly a formal arabic word that came in handy) and he yelled back at me.."no, YOU'RE exploitation." does the "I know you are but what am I?" comeback ring a bell to anyone else? Oh 3rd grade, good times.

Finally, another memorable taxi experience was when we took Markell, my oldest sister, to the airport. Found a taxi, agreed on a good price to go to the airport, drop her off, and then take me and Frances back again. During the car ride, the driver kept talking about how we would just drop Markell off without actually entering the airport, avoiding getting a ticket and later paying the entrance/exit fee. I couldn't really tell if it was just a language barrier, but I was like no no, I will pay the fee, lets just get the airport and then we will figure it out. So we get to the airport, and he pulls over before the entrance and is like, okay she gets out now and walks to the airport. "Why don't we just enter and I will pay the fee, you have to understand, I want to make sure she gets into the airport fine" He answers but we can't enter because there are a lot of police. Tersely I ask "And why should the police be a problem?" He answers, "Because my license is expired." Excellent, would have been good to know buddy. Meanwhile, Markell and Frances are awaiting a translation. I translate loudly, in english, using colorful language which is of course universal. We get out of the car, and luckily for everybody, our taxi driver apologizes profusely and doesn't even mention payment, saying that he will wait here for Frances' and my return. We walk with Markell, suit case in tow, through the toll station, through the parking lot, through the throngs of people awaiting arrivals from Mecca, and see her off at the departures gate. It was only like a ten minute walk, and by the time I was back, I had cooled off. We found our taxi, who, like he had said, was waiting for us. He was very thankful that we had come back, which I guess makes sense as we could have gotten a free ride to the airport and found another one back. I was the one beginning to feel sheepish about being angry, so I asked him about his kids that he had mentioned earlier, and we talked about the bad economy and how getting a new license costs money, money which you don't have unless you drive, which technically you cant do unless you...you get the point. I must say it was a new experience when I handed him the agreed upon fare and feeling fully confident that we wouldn't have a disagreement.

In the end, as easy as it is to get frustrated when you are overcharged, they need the money more than we do. As one of my friends put it, these cab drivers aren't saving their pennies to study abroad in America. So while I will never roll over, I always try to remember to not sweat the few extra pounds, knowing that for them it might mean a next meal, or a new license.

The Notorious Lewis Girls

2008-01-02T15:15:00.000-08:00

Meet the Lewis girls. Take us or leave us, we're taking on the world.

January 1, 2008

2007-12-31T15:36:00.000-08:00

2007 has passed. What a year. I slaved over a senior thesis, graduated from college, said goodbye to Ann Arbor, and entered Cairo. I received a Fulbright grant, but I lost my uncle Rupert. In all it was a year. The good and bad, with the former hopefully outweighing the latter, it was my 23rd year and I am happy for it.

I rang in the new year with my sisters. It has been so much fun having them here in Cairo with me, since they have been around I have even forgotten that they normally don't call the city home. Of course it has been strange playing tour guide, translator, and team leader, but as long as I remember to wear these new hats proudly, it has been a blast. We went west to the White Desert, north to Alexandria, and back south to Giza, taking awesome photos along the way which of course shall be posted ASAP. And while I am not used to playing tourist here in Egypt, it has been fun seeing things, like err the Sphinx, that I really have no excuse for not yet having seen. he he.

For New Years, my friend Liz came over with her newly engaged fiancee, Heath. Over wine and pizza, we played games until the new year came along. The toast was eventful, we broke a glass, which I like to think is good luck, right? Either way, it was really fun, and while we didn't pay the 500 pound package for a trendy Egyptian night on the town, I think we got our own money's worth. So Happy New Year to everyone, I know I am a bit early for you guys, but just thought I would let you know that on the other side, things are a-okay.

Really? Australia? Really?

2007-12-14T07:31:00.000-08:00

I had to post the photo or else no one would believe me. So about 2 months ago, my sister sent me "package" of airheads. They are my favorite candy, and she had decided to send them into a small envelope with a letter to me. My sister, Markell, had been scoring the highest for successful mail to me in Egypt. Apparently San Francisco and Cairo have a direct postal route, and my other family and friends were confounded how my sister was able to send me mail when they seemed to fail so consistently. So when Markell asked me if I had received my airheads, and I kept saying not yet, we were surprised, but assumed that they had been lost like the other forgotten letters sent by my mother and boyfriend. We forgot about the airheads, and hoped that some customs officer was enjoying my gift.

That was all until last Tuesday, when I found this is in my mailbox. It was a badly beaten, and taped up envelope from my sister. Immediately my eyes went passed the Arabic script Egyptian customs tape, and saw the bright yellow strip of tape which sealed up one of the corners. The tape loudly and proudly proclaimed "Opened by Australian Post for Inspection by Quarantine" No joke. See photo for proof. It went to freakin Australia. Why? You will have to take that up the International Union for Postal Workers, cause last time I checked, Australia is not on the way from the states to Egypt, nor does Cairo some how sound like Australia, so I really have no explanation. All I got is my airheads, and that makes me happy enough.

Sheep and Cow

2007-12-10T12:46:00.001-08:00

Cow and Sheep in my Courtyard. But not for long.

Not Sacrificed yet...

2007-12-10T12:35:00.000-08:00

This is the cow that I have not allowed myself to name, mustn't get too attached now guys. Read "Sacrifice" if you are at all confused, not that the name doesn't give too much away.

Sacrifice

2007-12-09T07:24:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was washing my laundry in the tub, when I heard a strange sound. First let me explain that I have taken to washing my clothes by hand, and I don't really know why. We have a washing machine, and my roommate prefers to use that modern appliance. But for some reason, the ludite in me has encouraged me to wash my clothes by hand in the tub. Anyways, I was washing my laundry in the tub, when I heard a strange sound. Actually, it wasn't a strange sound at all, it was extremely familiar for any kid who sang "Old McDonald" or for any person who has been to a farm. I clearly, distinctly, heard a Moooooooo from outside. For a brief second, I wondered if a cow might have wandered into my apartment in downtown Cairo. But there was also construction going on in our apartment building, so I wrote the mooing off as a strange drill or bovinely inspired chain saw. I continued to wash my clothes and forgot about the strangely familiar sound until I opened up my window to hang my clothes.

My window overlooks the inner courtyard of our building. As I opened up the shutters and began to hang my freshly washed underwear on the line, I couldn't help but notice a cow staring up at me. Our eyes met, and she let out that unmistakable call which I had previously, and correctly assessed as a "moo". Before I recovered from the shock of actually finding a cow in my courtyard, I noticed that in another corner is a sheep, grinning at me. I quickly scan the remaining two corners, expecting to find a camel and goat, but luckily the barn yard surprises ended with the grinning sheep. The cow and the sheep never stopped staring at me, and in fact I seemed to make the two of them a bit nervous. The cow mooed and the sheep nervously danced back and forth, utilizing the slack of the rope which tied it to a water pipe.

Perhaps this would be a good time to explain why these animals suddenly appeared in my courtyard. There is a Muslim Holiday coming up, called Eid al-Adha, which means "Feast of the Sacrifice" You can probably see where this is going, but its a good story so stick with me. This holiday commemorates the willingness of Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his son. Remember this story from Sunday school? In Judaism and Christianity, Abraham is commanded by God to sacrifice his son Isaac to prove his obedience to God. Muslims believe the same general story, but with a few different details. Muslims believe that God ordered Ibrahim to sacrifice his son Ismael, and after preparing to carry out God's command, the prophet finds that God has replaced his son with a ram. The ram is sacrificed and Ismael is spared, all because of Ibrahim's willingness to put his trust in God.

So to remember both the mercy of God and the obedience of Ibrahim, Muslims sacrifice a sheep, goat, camel, or cow for the Eid al-Adha. This is only for those who are able to afford the animal, and it is custom for a large portion of the sacrificed animal to be given to the poor who themselves cannot afford an animal to slaughter. Eid al-Adha is both a time to commemorate the spiritual significance of Ibrahim's sacrifice, and also a time for the community to pull together support the less fortunate.

As beautiful as this holiday is, it sadly requires the participation of the two animals in my courtyard, and many more of their comrades around the world. The sacrifices are public, and it is said that those who are squeemish about blood should stay inside during the day of the sacrifice as you might see more than one on the walk to the store. I fully appreciate the sanctity of the sacrifice, and the fact that there are religious regulations meant to ensure a swift and least painful death for the animal who is giving his life. If anything, this holiday is a deliberate reminder of the sacrifice of a living creature in order that we might eat and live. I am also not an vegetarian, and wish that I could find within me the strength to watch the reality of where my meat comes from, but cowardly I can't. Perhaps this is why I don't eat meat that often, and why I am happy that I will be out of town when the day comes that my courtyard is empty once again.

Cruising on the Nile

2007-12-09T07:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I have to remind myself that the river I live next to is the Nile, the mother of Civilization. I may be on the Nile, but at least I am not in denial. get it?

Blue Mosque

2007-12-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

Directly across from the Hagia Sofia, stands the stunning Blue Mosque. Said to have been built as Islam's answer to the beauty of the Byzantine church, the Blue Mosque certainly nails first impressions.

Hagia Sofia

2007-12-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

Pauline in front of Hagia Sofia in Istanbul. Greek for "Holy Wisdom" this magnificent Byzantine church was later converted into an equally magnificent mosque. Her green backpack is also magnificent.

Christians believe in Allah?!?!?

2007-12-01T14:31:00.000-08:00

For some reason, a lot of my friends and family are shocked to find out that there are Christians in the Arab world. This is of course amongst the greatest irony of all time because Christianity began in what is now the Arab world, in a little town of Bethlehem, in the Arabic region (for lack of a better word) of Palestine. Christian Palestinians live as neighbors with their Muslim counterparts, and the same goes here in Egypt, where Coptic Christians (Egyptian Christians) are no less a part of Egypt than their fellow Muslim citizens. Copts speak Arabic, praise Mubarak, and in general are impossible to distinguish from their Muslim neighbor. I must say that there are some Copts who do not consider themselves Arab. This of course brings on the question, what is an Arab? My favorite, and one of the most agreed up definitions is that an Arab is one whose native tongue is Arabic AND who considers himself or herself to be...wait for it...Arab. So, it turns out I have no right to snicker when my Coptic friend tells me in Arabic, that he is in fact, not an Arab. As long as one sees himself as a non-Arab, then who are we to force that affiliation upon him? Within the past twenty years, due to fluctuating political trends, tension has arisen between Copts and Muslims, but despite the alarmist attitude that some take, the situation on the ground continues to be one of relative peace and coexistence. For example, as much as my Coptic friends might warn me of plots by Muslims to convert Copts, they still have as many Muslim friends as they do Christian. I am sure that there are Copts and Muslims who would disagree with me on this, so know that I am speaking just from my own experience in Cairo and understanding of the history.

But back to the Arabic, my favorite of course. I know that there are Christian Arabs, or Christians whose native tongue is Arabic, but I still find it delightfully refreshing and exciting to find Bible stories written in Arabic. I know better than to be surprised, but I can't help it. Because Arabic is the holy language of Islam, it is easy to forget that another religion might use it to express its own tenents and prayers. It is here where it is most clear that "Allah" is not the exotic God of the "Muhamaddens" but is just the Arabic word for The God, the same god of the Jews and Christians, and Muslims alike. Therefore in Arabic bibles, you see the word "Allah" thousands of times. Coptic Christians use the same expressions of "In sha Allah" and "Ma sha Allah" that their Muslim counterparts have made famous.

Today I toured around Coptic Cairo which is in the part of town known as "Old Cairo", duly titled for its old churches, mosques, and synagogues. After looking around the interior of the famous Hanging Church, I found the nearby giftshop, where I probably spent more time flipping through bible story coloring books in Arabic. After purchasing "Noah's Ark" and "The Story of Jesus" I stumbled upon a night light that I just had to buy. You know how night lights are supposed to be comforting and calming for a child that might be scared of the dark? This night light was just that, if you find a close up of a crucified Jesus with his wounds agape and the expression of "Why have forsaken me, my God" to be comforting. For this was exactly the icon of the night light, and I just had to have it. Later that evening I terrified my roommate by placing it unsuspectingly in the bathroom. She is Jewish, but I have a feeling that night light would even scare Billy Graham.

Power of Music

2007-11-27T12:01:00.000-08:00

It started with Nelly Furtado, playing "Say it Right" as I walked confidently through the subway, singing to myself that the men staring at me "don't mean nothing at all to me....." I was no longer the out of place foreigner, but a misplaced diva strutting down the metro platform. Then it moved on to Tupac's "Baby don't Cry", reminding me that I gotta "keep my head up, even when the road is rough, never give up." If I am tired, the rhymes quicken my pace, if I am feeling timid, the words empower me. You can see the trend, play the song, and I go to another world. All that I want of the streets in Cairo is to belong, and the music helps numb my self-consciousness. So whether its Michael Jackson's "Beat it" Ryan Adam's "Gonna make you love me" or even Trick Daddy's "Cause I'm a Thug" I am addicted to listening to music in the streets of Cairo.

Before I forget, I would like to say a word or two about listening to music while walking through life. In general, I am not a fan. Back home in Ann Arbor I was the first to criticize the daily use of the ipod, isolating individuals on campus, limiting hellos to a brief wave and an awkward "how are you" left hanging without a response because my friend is apparently really, really into music. This all changed when I got to Cairo, ironically where it actually became on option that I might be hit by a car on a sidewalk. The music removes me, lifts me up from the chaos, and lets me feel like I am the only viewer of the movie around me, cause why else would there be a soundtrack? The music changes your mood, and thank god for it, because for some reason there is nothing like the abrasion of the streets of Cairo to bring down your morale.

"Young man, theres no need to feel down." what was that? "I said young man, pick yourself off the ground" oh no she doesn't, she doesn't actually play..."theres no need to feel unhappy..." drumroll please..."its fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!!!!"

I'll admit, I didn't choose the Village People on purpose knowing that it would be the best choice I have made since I applied for a Fulbright. I was fumbling with my ipod the other day, keeping it in my bag so as not to be that foreigner who counts her money while holding a map while wearing a an ol' glory fanny pack. I just wanted a song, any song, and thought that whatever I managed to get would do the trick. Then I heard the blaring of the horns...that snappy tempo, reminding me of 6th grade dances that I would rather forget. I groaned cursing myself for having such a horrible song in my possession...when suddenly, I looked around and understood. Every man I saw was no longer walking, he was promenading. The groups of men on the sidewalk weren't talking about the funny American girl walking down the street, they were discussing the great new community center where they can wear hard hats and Native American head dresses. I seriously thought that any second they would break out in the tried and true synchronized dance, which of course is a sort of universal language of its own. Y-M-C-A! We would give each other high fives and someone would do a back flip, it was going to be sweet. From that day on, I decided to put the Village People on the top of my play list. Who said Egyptian men were machisto? From what I can tell, they don't want me, they just wanna dance.

Sense of Humor...

2007-11-12T13:13:00.000-08:00

You gotta have a sense of humor to survive in the mideast, this goes for both visitors and permanent residents. Even serious topics sometimes are made the subjet of jokes, not because they aren't taken seriously, but because life is hard enough without some comic relief. For instance, an American might get seriously offended if an Egyptian makes a joke about terrorism. "That's not funny, how can they make a joke Osama bin Laden? I don't appreciate someone making light of 9/11." I completely respect each person's right to take offense at what they feel is appropriate, but I would be very skeptical of an American telling an Egyptian to take terrorism seriously. Egyptians have had more than their share of terrorism, the 90's were practical a constant exchange of terrorist attacks and crack downs in this country. Even in the past few years, there have been attacks at resorts, and certainly there have been numerous attacks foiled before they were executed. I probably shouldn't be posting this on my blog, and my intention seriously is not to terrify my mother, but rather to prove that no one needs to remind Egyptians that terrorism is a serious subect. But, like I said, this doesn't mean that you can't crack a few Osama jokes once in a while.

The other day I was at the gym, and I struck up a friendly conversation with one of the trainers. "Morning of Goodness".."Morning of Light!".."Morning of Sweet Cream!"...and so on. He was thrilled that I knew the Arabic greetings, and went to go find my sports bag which they keep in a giant closet. My "sportsbag" is actually a grocery bag, plastic and horriblly difficult to see amogst the dozens of addidas bags in the closet. He was having trouble finding it, and I went back to see if I could help. We finally spied the bag way in the back of the closet, we laughed at how far back it was, and then my hero practically fell into the closet in his efforts to grab the bag. When he emerged, we laughed again (lots of laughing when lost in translation) and then I began to thank him for his efforts. However, one really formal way of saying "striving" or "effort" in arabic is..drumroll.. jihad. So I didn't think twice and excitedly said.."Thank you so much for your jihad!" While he knew what I was tyring to say, he also knew that I was American, and knew what most Americans think of when they think of "jihad". He laughed and said..."no no..I am not Osama bin Laden!!!" I laughed (again) and made it clear that of course I know that "jihad" linguistically just means effort...striving, and continued to awkwardly thank him for his "struggle" for my bag. Just about to leave, I realized that I didn't even know the name of my valiant trainer. "Sorry, what is your name?" A sheepish look came over his face, he smiled, and the looked down at his name tag which read "OSAMA". Then of course, we both laughed.

Days of our Lives

2007-10-28T14:11:00.000-07:00

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.

Teacher?

2007-10-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

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.

Africa

2007-10-16T13:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Ding Dong

2007-10-09T06:19:00.000-07:00

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.

Como se dice....

2007-09-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

My friends and I often joke about how we can no longer speak English. We struggle for basic words, our search for "humanitarian" results in "humanoidistic", "knife" becomes "tool use cut sandwich sharp" and so on. It's not that our Arabic has become phenomenal, or that I have taken to expressing myself in Egyptian poetry rather than bother with English prose. Quite the contrary, my Arabic is only plateauing while my English descends, placing me smack in the middle of linguistic no-man's-land. Instead of being content with this battlefront, today I decided to enter a new theatre of non-communication. I was happily doggy-paddling in the pool at the Intercontinental hotel-were I am a gym member with access to the pool--when a plump spanish woman smiles between her water treading to ask me something I can't understand. I pause doggy-paddling to kick myself for having fogotten all my Spanish. I studied it for 5 years, went to both Spain and Mexico, and had acheived a sort of fluency before I decided to study Arabic and throw all my subjunctive and imperfect expertise out the window. Here I was, staring dumbfounded at a very nice Spanish woman, and all I can mutter is "Perdon. No Entiendo. She smiled, and we proceeded to chat as best we could, which went something like this. "I study (ARABIC WORD) for time in (ARABIC WORD) Spain." -oh thats great, where did you study? Madrid? " I (ARABIC WORD) study (ARABIC WORD) near by Madrid. -oh me! why we live right near Madrid also, Alcala de Heneras did you say? oh goodness! My husband works there...sweetie! oh mi carino! Come speak to this nice little girl who doesn't speak a word of spanish but is funny to talk to. So now walks over her nice husband, who is very patient, and who thinks its funny that I clearly an struggling to spit out the deeply hidden spanish. It turns out that when he is speaking, I understand 95 percent of what he is saying, and I am excited by this. I try to blurt out answers to questions that I now understand, but am met only with language obstacles. When asked if I find the arabic language to be difficult, I answer... "Yes. The Arabic Language is -how the hell do you say difficult in spanish?? sa'ab?? no no that's arabic..okay, deep breaths...how do you say difficult in english-uh, difficult, okay, spanish is close to english, difficult is....dificil!!!!" How do you say "different?!?!?"...ah, diferente!! "Hotel?!?!?!...ah, hotel!!" And so on and so forth. I didn't remember how to say "week" until I was back in the locker room, and just a few moments ago I recalled how to say "the same". I believe I am going to create a new language called Sparabish, where anything goes, and you actually can also communicate with grunts and theigh slaps if the word escapes you in all three languages. Perhaps this will force upon us a new convivencia, where peoples of different cultures and religions understand one another, and are brought together by a good game of charades. Sparabish also gives my linguistic incompetence the sort of legitimacy which comes with a title. I believe my crowning moment of idiocy was in our discussion about Thai food, when my attempted "tengo miedo" over spicy food turned into "tengo mierda" over spicy food. If you don't know spanish, learn it. Laughing at Pauline's mistake will be well worth the effort.

Superhero of Cairo

2007-09-26T06:54:00.001-07:00

While Cairo is not the setting for too many Marvel Comics, there is a superhero who guards the streets, protects the innocent, and helps clueless americans cross streets. A few weeks ago, I went with my roommate to find some new pillows. We heard that "Carpet City" was the number one place for pillows, and we hoped to find replacements for the cement blocks which we were currently using. The only problem was that when we asked people where Carpet City was, everyone had a different opinion. Imagine the scarecrow in the wizard of oz crossing his arms, pointing in opposite directions, and then nodding adamently. After the wrong guesses of a taxi driver, shop keeper, and friendly pedestrian, we ended up in an open market which we hoped was "Carpet City". After a game of charades with one of the workers--we didn't know the word for pillow--we began to realize that this store was not the famed Carpet City, nor did the owners know, or want us to know, the location of their competition. We were lost, without pillows, and very close to dispair when a figure clothed in black swooped in to save the day. But this isn't Gotham city, its Cairo, and the hero wasn't Batman, it was a Munaqaba. The term "Munaqaba" simply means "the one who wears the niqab", which is the head scarf which fully covers the face except for the eyes, and is made of lose black fabric. Our hero, was just such a woman, and was in fact, the first fully covered woman who I had ever been rescued by. "Do you guys need some help?" she asked in perfect English, her eyes smiling for her hidden mouth. "Carpet City? Oh yes I know exactly where it is! Here, come with me and I will show you." We learn her name is Rowiya, that she grew up in Houston (hence the perfect accent) and that she speaks French, German and English in addition to her native Arabic. She walks quickly, gracefully, and seems completely uninhibited by what looks to me as yards of black cloth. Her hands are covered in black gloves, a fact emphasized when she extends her hand protectively in front of the 10 lanes of traffic which stand before us. "Let me stand on this side"-placing herself in between us, her cubs, and the uncoming traffic. Without blinking, she strides in front of flying cars, as if she and the beat up peugots are rehearsing for a dance recital, and their steps are choreagraphed and seamless. On the otherhand, Sammy and I are doing a lot of blinking, in fact I think my eyes remained closed most of the time as we clung close to her side. We tried to ignore our instincts and the adrenaline which was building in our veins, and just held our our breath till we reached the median. The second 5 lanes were just as harrowing for us, and just as carefree for our savior. With her cubs safe on the otherside of the street, Rowiya shakes our hands, smiles (I assume) and tells us to be safe and to enjoy Cairo. We are flabbergasted to have survived, and mumble astonished words of gratitude, I believe I may have offered her my first born child at one point. The memory of my words are a blur, as was the traffic, but what is still crystal clear for me are her eyes. Warm, young, bright, and a tinge heroic. She was a masked superhero who went in and out of my life like a ghost, and whose acts of goodwill I will always remember even if I never saw her face.

2007-09-17T12:36:00.000-07:00

Isn't this a great photo? What lovely Egyptian women: Ghadeer, Mae, Hend, Amira, and of course, Alexandria. I am somewhere in there also, trying to blend in just like Waldo. They were wonderful young women, so interested in learning about the real United States, knowing that there simply had to be more than Bush and his cowboys. They were also very eager to teach us about Islam, and to show us that Muslim Arabs were more than Muhammad Atta and Osama. They were quick to distance themselves from "Gulfi" women, arguing that the political and social oppression of women in Saudi Arabia and other Gulf States is as abhorrent to Egyptians as it is to Westerners. We talked about the trend of Egyptian woman marrying later in life, divorcing abusive husbands, or choosing to never marry. Ghadeer glowed as she spoke about how women are beginning to realize their rights within society and within the marriage, and that traditional roles of husband and wife are being questioned. All of this, she added excitedly, was of course within the framework of Islam. Before leaving, Hend clasped my arm and warmly thanked me for my choice of research, entitled "The role of Egyptian women in Political and Civic Leadership". She was thrilled that my research considers the posibility of women's empowerment through Islam, not assuming that the faith oppresses its female believers. I told her that there are many western scholars who have taken this approach in their research, and gave her a few professors and books upon which I have relied. It is nice to know that my work here might actually make a difference in someone's life, even if it is just asking someone to reconsider a previously assumed notion about women, Egyptian or American. It is just amazing how with each sentence of conversation, I am forced and re-forced to admit my own stereotypes. In a conversation regarding American cinema, Mae--dead center of the photo-excitedly proclaimed that her favorite movie was "Meet the Fockers". I almost choked on my tea, laughed, and then asked her if she liked it better than "Meet the Parents." She thought about it, smiled, and decided they were both excellent. I consider myself to have a pretty open mind, but as exhibited by my near choking emergency, I am not perfect. Remember, there are two things that transcend space, culture and religion: women's empowerment, and Ben Stiller, toilet humor, Barbara Streisand as a sex therapist.

Sabah al-Kheer (Good Morning!)

2007-09-13T10:23:00.000-07:00

I am not a morning person. Simply that. But here in Cairo, life comes at you fast, and I can't afford to be off my game in the morning. The good, the bad and the ugly all happen here before 8:00am. My alarm sounds at 7:15, and I open my eyes to take in my surroundings. I hear my air conditioner chugging away, not quite a plane taking off, more like a lawn mower caught on a branch. I feel my fluffy pillow which was recently purchased at the mysterious store named "Carpet City" which suprisingly was also famous for its pillows. I burrow my head into the fluffy delight and recall that this pillow was the pot of gold at the end of a long, dirty rainbow road which no taxi driver knew how to navigate. I rub my eyes and see my white washed walls, which I have covered with my photos of my friends and family. I also see that it is 7:20 am, which in my opinion, is way to early to be stumbling around Cairo. Slowly, key word being slowly, I make my way to the kitchen and turn on the gas to light the stove, boil water, and make myself some delicious Nescafe. I am in my own personal Maxwell House commercial as I open the bottle of the freeze dried coffee, and smile as I smell the stale aroma, anticipating the rush of caffeinne to my system. I decide to eat cerael and open the fridge, secretly hoping that overnight a gnome had replaced my falsely advertized "SoyFresh" soymilk with a nice carton of Vanilla Silk. Of course I am not holding my breath, and begrudgingly grab my disconcerting soymilk which tastes slightly like vodka. Slightly ironic of an Egyptian product, isn't it? After I throw down breakfast, my roommate and I lock our door, and face the world. It is about a twenty minute walk to school down a busy, lively street. As long as the traffic permits, we always choose to walk in the actually street. Everyone does, and the sidewalks are usually vacant. Why? Because here in Cairo it actually does rain, but only on the sidewalk. Every five feet you will see water dripping from high above, forming puddles. Cairo rain falls from the thousands of air conditioners that decorate the buildings, and if you aren't careful, you will find yourself taking a freon shower. Okay, so maybe it isn't freon that is dripping, but everyone seems to agree that walking in the street is the only way to walk in Cairo. As we weave through parked and moving cars, we dodge puddles, rotten vegetables and men who think kissy noises and purrs are appropriate forms of greeting. I have almost perfected my dead stare and the dirty look that can answer for me when solicited with a "oh Sugar, do you speak English?...I love you..." If the suitor is particularly persistent, I may spit out some Arabic to prove to him that I am not the American lush of his fantasies. "Shame on You" can work magic here, especially if it is used strategically in bigger crowds. Never underestimate the power of a good old fashioned public shaming. Despite their best efforts, I am not held up by these obstacles of patriarchy, and my walk to school is direct, brisk and empowering. I never look passing men in the eye for fear of unwanted attention, but it is amazing what one can absorbed from a glazed over stare at that place above their heads or at a sea of torsos. It's not that Egyptians aren't friendly people just because they don't smile and wave at strangers on the streets. There is simply a different definition of what is appropriate in public, and what is appropriate for the private space. Friendly interaction is saved for inside the work place, the school, the home, or even inside a store when you are working with an employee. Simply smiling at strangers on the street may be normal in Nashville or Ann Arbor, but in Cairo, it is seen as strange and an event worth making kissing noises after. Of course I also pass women on the way to work, but they seem to always go without much notice. Quietly walking alone or with a friend, colleague, or husband, they watch me just as the men do. They want to see what I will do when the men give me a wink, or if I have done something to provoke such attention. I still wonder exactly what they think when they see me in my loose, modest wardrobe. Is she American? Don't all American women wear mini-skirts? Is she Lebanese? Israeli? I just don't know, and guess will always wonder what they think. I try to move so fast that I am a mere blur in their radar screen, but I am sure that for the shop owners on the busy street, I have become a regular curiosity.

This is what happens when Pauline leaves

2007-09-09T04:48:00.000-07:00

I am very, very sad. I knew that by going to Cairo, I would be leaving my friends and family for a year and that they might miss me as much as I missed them. But I knew that life would go on usually without me. But maybe I was too modest in assuming that life would go on as usual without me, because I know there is a place in Ann Arbor that misses me very, very much. That place is the Big House, the sacred ground that has recently been disgraced by the triumph of both Appalachian State and now Oregon. Oh the Humanity!! Falling from number 5 to unranked in the polls was bad enough, and then the wolverines had to go and prove that the loss to app. state wasn't just a fluke, it was inevitable. Why? Because that frizzle frazzle fan who sounds like an ambulance siren and swears like a sailor isn't there. She isn't there to scream words of comfort to Henne, telling Chad it's okay that he just threw an interception. She isn't there to mock the referees when they make a bad call, then to congratulate them when they make a proper one (of course always checking with Judge Wade to see what I should scream first) She isn't there to try and catch hot dogs from hot dog man, and then to cheer "let him stay" a the security drags him away after he refuses to stop projecting the delicious hot dogs for us to eat. She isn't there to dance to the fight song, especially that trumpet bit that is so good. She isn't there to wish the wrath of God upon the other team, but at least she doesn't have to watch our cheerleaders make that stupid "N". So, if Chad, Mike, Lloyd, or Mario are reading this blog--I know they are big fans--I want to say to you all, that I know its hard. I know it may seem like the games just aren't worth winning if Pauline isn't around. You might just want to give up and roll over, or just fly to Cairo and join a cultural immersion program to be near your number one fan. But you can't give up, you must persevere. You have to make do with Steve's voice, even though its an accepted fact that Pauline is louder than him. Remember that even though I may not be in the stands screaming like a maniac, over here my blood still runs maize and blue, and I really don't want to explain to the camels why I am crying all the time over a pack of wolverines.

Dirty Nails

2007-09-05T03:33:00.000-07:00

I have short finger nails, for piano it became a habit, but here in Cairo I have had to make cutting my nails a daily activity. Why? Having dirt under your nails seems to be form of citizenship here in Cairo, and even if you are germaphobe-like most foreigners petrified of eating a bad falafel or falling in the Nile-you will find dirt underneath those nails within two hours of washing your hands. What have I been doing?? I ask myself, trying to remember if I stopped to dig a few holes in the dirt on the way to the bank, because my nails seem to suggest that new hobby. It takes no more than a trip to the bank, a trip to the store, or a ride in a taxi for the insidious dirt to sneak up those small crevasses and snuggle in for the ride. The culprit, I believe, is the dirty money. Literally, dirty money. Not money from a drug deal or a laundering scheme, but just straight up money with at least one centimeter of dirt coating the paper. Is that Fifty pounds? I don't know, looks like a twenty to me....Twenty pounds or twenty piaster??? The piaster is the equivalent of a cent, except it is much, much more useless. First of all, they are in the form of bills, so it is quite easy to mistake the 50 pound note (lots of money) with the 50 piaster note (barely considered money) Maybe at the mint the bills were separate colors, vibrantly different, but after a few shifts in the streets of Cairo, you are lucky if you can distinguish between the now muddled colors and script. You just can't escape the dirt, the way you can't escape the noise, the traffic, the sounds the smells and the life of Cairo. And as much as I enjoy my shower at the end of the day, I am glad that I can't fully escape the vitality of this city. I guess this just proves that you can't get the real experience without getting a little dirty yourself. But don't worry, this hallmark moment won't keep me from washing my hands like I am scrubbing in for surgery every chance I get.

Learning to Cross Streets

2007-09-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog! With my first entry entitled as "Learning to Cross Streets", one might assume that this Fulbright scholar intends to build bridges between my culture and that of old Cairo. While this allegorical purpose is charming and would fit in with my pledge to "build understanding" between the United States and the rest of the world, there is in fact a literal meaning behind this title. In Cairo, you seriously have to re-learn how to cross a street. Honestly. If you go by the old-fashioned rules of the US, you will never end up on the other side of the boulevard. Traffic here is a video game in which taxi drivers get bonus points for how many clueless tourists they almost run over, for how many "traffic lights" they ignore, and for how many lanes they swerve in and out of in the span of 100 yards. I had always heard that the traffic here in Cairo, lovingly called "zahman" by locals, was atrocious, but nothing could have prepared me for the shear insanity. The first time I was dropped off by a taxi on the wrong side of the street, it took me 15 minutes to timidly wait for a gap in traffic. The cars come at approximately 40 mph, more if there is a green light, less if there is a red (but actually stopping is optional, as are head-lights at night). As I waited, I watched with amazement and jealousy as savvy Egyptians, gabbing on their cell-phones, casually weaved in and out of the oncoming traffic. If they couldn't cross the entire 5 lane road in one go, they would wait on the white dotted line, as traffic whizzed by, nipping their coat tails and hijab, never batting an eye-lash. While I don't think I will ever acheive the talent exhibited by Cairo's locals, I hope that by the end of my stay I will truly learn how to walk like an Egyptian.